Beautiful bike ride

On Sunday, I loaded our bikes onto the back of the car, picked Katie up at Brandeis and headed to nearby Weston so that we could take a bike ride led by Rook.

It was a good day to take a fall bike ride in a 20-mile loop through such historic towns as Lincoln and Concord. We saw some of the places important in the American Revolution and also happened to pass by a modern-day American legend, Bill Rogers, who helped popularize running in America and is best known for his victories in the Boston and New York Marathons in the late 1970s.

Rogers owns the Bill Rogers Running Center in Quincy Market and lives in the area.

We were biking along when Rogers and a woman came jogging towards us. Rook pulled up alongside me and said, "Hey, that's Bill Rogers," and I recognized him immediately.

I lived in the Boston area while working after college and then attending graduate school at a time when Rogers was winning the Boston Marathon. It was a thrill to see him on Sunday, especially since he is a cancer survivor (prostate) who returned to running.

It was basically the same ride Rook and I took over the summer. It was much easier for me this time, although when going up hills, I still feel like I need a new set of quads.

Our ride took us past Walden Pond, where Henry David Thoreau lived for two years. The day was mostly cloudy, but just as we approached the pond, the sun came out and cast its light on the water. It was magical, and we decided to walk our bikes down and stand on the shore. The photos are of us at the pond.

On our way back up, I overheard a woman saying, "I come here whenever I can and walk two times around. Who needs Prozac when you have a place like this?"

Days like Sunday do the same thing for me.

Bicycling becoming more of a breeze

Recently Katie and I went for a "real" bike ride, as opposed to the toodling around I did last time.

We went up and down hills to McCray's Farm in South Hadley, one of our favorite destinations (by car) when the kids were little. These were not killer hills, and they never bothered me before, but, as I said to Katie and Joe before we headed out, "I'm only 2 1/2 years old now."

At the first hill, I thought, "This is going to be too hard, I can't do it." But then I remembered a motto from my longer-distance running and biking days: Don't look too far ahead at the hill or you'll freak out. Look down and only a short distance in front of you, glancing up ahead from time to time. Of course you want to enjoy the view, but look around only when you're cruising along.

It occurred to me that this tactic of looking only a short distance ahead applies to most of life's challenges. When I got diagnosed, I thought, "I'll never be able to do this." The days when I was able to narrow my focus were the best days mentally.

Anyway, I got to McCray's with a little huffing and puffing, but no worse for the wear. Once there, we enjoyed the view, visited the animals for old times, and since it is after all a creamery, had ice cream.

On the way back, I thought how beautiful it is in the Pioneer Valley, not the intense beauty of the ocean or of high mountains but the calm beauty of rolling hills.

Last Sunday, when I was in the Boston area for my checkup, I cycled through more beautiful countryside when I took a ride with my college friend Rook starting from his home in Weston. It rained lightly on and off, but that was OK. We went almost 20 miles, and I really got into the rhythm and overcame the fear of falling left over from last summer when my balance was out of whack and I actually was falling.

We went through Lincoln and Concord, passing Walden Pond and other historic sites. As Rook said, it was hard to believe we were just 30 miles from Boston.

There were some small hills and one big one, and although I went pretty slowly, I didn't get off.

When I picked up speed or cruised along, I remembered why I had liked cycling so much. It's that feeling of being free, of flying along, of clearing your mind and of seeing your surroundings so much more vividly than when you're driving.