My most recent micro-epiphany came to me on the bike, as almost all of the best epiphanies do: What cycling means to us might change drastically over the years, but it doesn’t ever have to leave us (or, us it).
My mind flitted into the territory of cycling and identity as I picked up the pace with my now one-year-old on the back of my own bike, watching the now ‘big girl’ riding shotgun with her dad. It was our first ride as a family of four; I was on the aluminium hybrid designated for exactly this kind of excursion. We covered about eight miles, stopped at the pub for lunch, then rode four miles home.
