It’s like riding a bike - once you learn you never forget.

When I was growing up, my bike was my freedom.  It took me places that nobody else did.   It gave me the ability to experience things, go places and entertain myself like nothing else. 

I got my first bike when I was about 8.  I remember my dad coming home with it and telling me he had something for me.  It had training wheels and when I first got them taken off, I felt like I could do anything.  I did not know this at the time that I got it, but it was actually a girls bike.   Of course, this was quickly brought to my attention by one of the kids in the neighborhood. 

From that point on, I really did not want to use that bike.  But the bug had bit me and I wanted to really have my wheels.  For Christmas, my dad made up for it in style and got me a Huffy BMX style bike.  It was amazing and the best.   As I got older, I wanted a bigger bike, so I saved my own money and purchased a used Fuji white 10 speed racing bike.  It was great.

I would wake up in the morning, hop on my bike and come back way into the night.   I would go from our local town to the park two towns over – through the highway, and onto the trails.  I would go to the next town and get my haircut.  On my way there or back, I would get chased by dogs and they could not keep up with me and my 10 speed.

It would also help me get to and from my baseball games.  My bike was everything.  I got so good at it that I could ride the bike with no hands,  I could run and jump unto my bike, and I would also be seen popping and riding wheelies up and down the street, for what seemed to be miles at a time.  It was probably close to a quarter or half mile at most, but it felt like I was Evel Knievel and a lot of people knew me for this.
I would ride bikes with and without my friends.  At times, we had a caravan of about 10 people riding around town and to the park.  One time, I was riding so fast down a hill, that a car pulled up beside me when I was riding and he said that I was travelling 34 miles an hour!

Today, about 31 years later, I went on a 34 mile bike ride called the Virginia Creeper Trail with my son, Nick, and the scout troop he is in.  We had 38 people there and we broke up into 3 groups.  I was in the first group because, of course, in my mind, I feel like I am still 14 and was amazing on my bike when I was younger.  We started at White Top mountain, going through Damascus and ended up down in Abingdon, VA.  It was long, it was intense and it was very painful.  I didn’t remember going through this much pain, on my bottom when I was young.  But man, oh man, does it hurt now. 

I haven’t driven a bike for several years and definitely not like I did when I was growing up.  As I type this the pain is gone.  At least most of it, but it was definitely worth it.  Not only were the memories rushing through my mind when I was riding, but I was taking this trip with my 14 year old son.  So I got to relive this great experience with my son who was at the age I was when I experienced those beautiful memories.  We pushed each other, we slowed down, we raced each other and it was absolutely the best time.  It is definitely worth all of the pain I went through to get to the end of the trail.

We finished the trek in 3 hours and 10 minutes, had a 45 minute lunch break, travelled an average of 11 miles an hour and at one point, were travelling 21 miles per hour.  Not as fast as my “record” but man it was fast. :)

We saw 2 snakes, had 1 flat tire (in the group), had 2 chains come loose, had 2 leg cramps and had a major wipe-out which I helped clean with my first aid kit.  It was a blast and great to experience something that I have not felt since I was a teenager.  Especially seeing that I still had it in me.

What a great time.

Nick and I at the end of the trail.

Here is a map to the trail we took.

View Virginia Creeper Trail in a larger map

What Easter means to me….

Tomorrow is Easter. Easter is one of the holiest days of the year for Christians, a time to see the innocence of kids scrambling around for Easter Eggs, eating chocolate, especially for those who gave it up for lent, but it also is a day of remembrance for our family. Easter is the day that Luisa’s grandmother passed away. Mima, as she as affectionately called, raised Luisa from the point that she was a baby. I met her when I started dating Luisa when I was in high school. Actually, I think I met her before then, as she was a seamstress in the town I grew up in and I remember going to her house with my mom to get some clothes hemmed.

To be honest, when Luisa and I started dating, Mima actually did not like me. She did not like me because I am Puerto Rican and her family is Cuban. Even though there is a saying that Puerto Ricans and Cubans are two wings of the same bird, she obviously did not see it that way. You see, when Mima came over from Cuba in the mid 60’s, all she heard were rumors about Puerto Rican guys hitting their wives, and she immediately assumed the worst of what could become to her precious granddaughter :)

My family is not like that, and never has been. Nor was I aware of any of the so called Puerto Ricans that did that in the town I grew up in. Anyhow, Luisa and I dated for about 5 years before we got married. Over time, Mima softened up her view of me and we actually grew to have an amazing relationship with each other. She took care of our first son, Dan, along with Luisa’s mom and my mom. Every afternoon, I would go to Mima’s house to pick up Danny from her house and find him in the yard in the back of the house playing with his dinosaurs with Mima. She would tell us stories about her adventures with Dan and how he would try to run away from her when she took him for a walk.

Over the years, Mima and I loved to enjoy listening to music together. She would love to play these games with my brother in law where she would tell him what music I had purchased and then tell me what music he would purchase. Adding fuel to the flame just to get us to enhance our music tastes and collection.

She lived in FL with Luisa’s parents and her brother’s family. But she would fly up or would get dropped off to spend weeks with us at a time. During those times, she would always look out for my best interest and ask Luisa, what she was planning on making for dinner. To make sure that I was taken care of. Since I have a very adventurous appetite, pretty much eating anything prepared, she loved to cook for me, making traditional Spanish foods that Luisa would not eat but that she would and of course, I would.

This went on for many years. Even after her love, Mipo, of over 50 years, passed away, Mima had the will to live life to her fullest. Enjoying her family, especially her grandchildren and great grandchildren. They were her pride and joy and everybody knew this. She was extremely faithful and always believed that she had better things that awaited her.

My dad’s mother, whom I saw only 4 times in my life, was the only “related” grandmother that I knew of. That is of course, until I met Mima. She gave me so much to look forward to. To enjoy and to appreciate. She gave me a lifetime of memories and a new appreciation of my heritage and my culture. She inspired me to rise up to the occasion and to prove to her that Puerto Rican’s were not what she thought they were but what I was able to make her see.

I loved to give her grief and would constantly remind her about how much she did not like me at first. She would always immediately respond that she was so sorry and that she did not know me. I did this not to be evil but to kid around with her. I would also tell Luisa that, in the end, Mima loved me more than her. Of course, that was not the case, since Luisa was everything for her. But I do believe that Mima loved me like a grandson and I absolutely loved her as a grandmother. I actually got to know her more than my own grandmother and I sincerely could not have asked for a better one than Mima.

So, Easter is of course a very special day for me. It is a Holy day. A holiday. A day with beautiful memories of all of the Easter baskets that we have given the kids, the pictures we have taken and, and the restaurants that we have gone to, to celebrate Easter. But most of all, it is the day that I will remember for the rest of my life. The day that Mima went to be with Jesus. I miss you.