It happens when I’m least expecting it.

One moment, I’m pedaling along, like I’ve done for decades. Then out of nowhere, I’m back to where it all began. Sometimes it’s a cool fall ride when the crunch of my tires skittering over leaves becomes the sound of her Keds scuffing the asphalt as she ran next to me. Or a whispered “you’ve got this” breaks through a symphony of wind-sucking and blood pumping. On the best days, my pack disappears entirely, replaced by a steadying hand on my back and a final push

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