You head on out, leisurely. It's all downhill and easy and the sight-seeing is ah-maaaaaazing.
You pick up pace, you're all over the road because you can't stop looking at the scenery. On and on and on you ride, sight after sight, you are mesmerised and you don't notice the bike starting to wobble.
The road gains momentum, the bike flips and veers, you're in danger of falling off. The street lights have been on for an eon, you were due home ages ago, yet still you ride on, faster and faster. Zipping along the road like a missile on a mission, you're a blur of wheels and colour and thoughts and...
You crash, of course you do. The wheels fall off. The bike is in pieces, you've hurt your head and you're kicking yourself that you didn't see it coming. No one can ride forever and now your family is surely furious because you didn't leave a note, didn't call, just didn't show up when you said you would.
You limp back home, the bike squealing in protest, head down, bottom lip quivering. Your family melts at the abandoned sight of you.
You take a break. Slowly the bike gets put back together, wounds heal, you start to miss riding, but you've learned from your mistakes. You set yourself a riding schedule. You can go out on these days, but not these. You can go for this long, but you have to take the kids with you; you're not allowed to leave them behind.
You all ride out for a little test outing. The path is still blissfully easy, the road no less beautiful; but you're more careful about what you look at and you've got the kids to consider so you don't ride as far. You manage to get home before the street lights are on.
You congratulate yourself. Maybe you can do this. Just ride and enjoy and not crash. You miss seeing lot s of those wonderful sights you used to get to see, but you know you'll ride on by and visit them whenever you can. Ride right on over: carefully, gently, just marvelling at the wonder of it all.
Happy biking, everyone!