Still Riding

On friendship, freedom, and the quiet joy of showing up

We hadn’t ridden together in years, but as we pulled the bikes from the hot shed, the air thick with that old cottage smell, and dangled our helmets over the handlebars, it felt like no time had passed. We’d been riding together since we were kids. And here we were, fifty years later, falling into step like always.

The afternoon was winding down, but neither of us was ready for it to end. A bike ride felt like the perfect next step. We didn’t plan a route, we just started pedalling, falling into rhythm without needing to speak. Her tires spun beside mine, and the warm air brushed our faces. It had been a good day, sun-soaked and filled with girlfriend conversation. A quiet ride was the perfect way to wrap it up.

I felt the ride in my body, both the years and the aliveness. The uphill stretches made my thighs burn, my breath steady but a bit stretched. There was something grounding in feeling the work of my body. Then came the downhills, when gravity took over and all I had to do was let go. We raced each other silently, laughter and chatter trailing behind us in the breeze as the neighbours turned their heads to watch. The trees blurred, the road curved, and that old thrill bubbled up again, that same wild spark of freedom and mischief we’d known since we were ten.

Do you ever think about how lucky we are?

To still be riding?

To still be.

Yes. Yes, I do.

There was peace between us. Words flowed easily, but so did the silences. After all these years, our friendship had settled into something sturdy and still, like two old trees growing side by side, just like the trees we planted together so many years ago.

As we pedalled on, I paid attention to the warmth of the sun on my back, to the flowers edging the road, to the joy in my legs. Time had softened us, but it hadn’t dulled the joy of movement, of choosing to keep going, always seeking a new adventure.

Coasting downhill with the wind pressing against our skin, I felt the way the world opens up when you're moving just fast enough. Not rushing. Not running away. Just riding forward. Present. Alive. Together.

Aging, I’ve come to realize, isn’t about holding on. It’s about continuing to show up, with friends, with curiosity, with just enough speed to feel the freedom in your body.

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