A college student, trying to explain recreation, said, “It’s the way I feel when I ride my bike for an hour or two, alone, on a quiet, hilly road.” My friend, Jan, says, “Biking gets all five of my senses working together in sync.”

A 50-year-old fellow in New Zealand put it this way: “When I hop on my wheel and ride out eight or 10 miles I come back feeling that I’ve done something.”

Dad bought me a brand-new Sears Roebuck bike when I was 9. I had enjoyed that and a different one for 40 years before I really learned to pedal effectively. Early one morning I hauled my bike up to Route Z, read the mileage on the speedometer and pedaled back and forth on level terrain. I’d rest often, have a cold drink and check my mileage. Three miles, seven, 11. The miles flew by faster all the time. If I rode 25 miles in less that three hours I’d earn a coveted youth hostel patch for my jacket. The meter clicked to 25 when I still had 19 minutes left. Proudly I showed off my new white jacket with the “25-in-three” patch on its sleeve.

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By the end of that 25 miles, I was pedaling more skillfully without realizing it! I pedaled in a smooth rhythm, humming a tune. And I tried shifting to lower gears so I didn’t have to work so hard. Automatically I was “revving up,” and this made me go farther by working less. “More mileage for less muscle.” I’d heard our Walt talk about cadence and revving up but hadn’t actually tried them. Because I was riding better, I was bit by the bike bug.

My first “tour” was with five young cyclists -- our Nancy and Walt and their friends, Barbara Smith, Mike Riley and Jim Carr. We bought one-way tickets on the train to Centralia, loaded our bikes in the freight car, got in the passenger car and watched northern Boone County go by, slowly and through dirty windows. We claimed our bikes and headed home through Hallsville. We ate lunch there and talked of more tours to come. The ride back to Columbia ended too soon.

Out of that experience came Columbia’s first bike club, an enthusiastic mix of families, teens, university students -- and old-timers such as ourselves. We rode an hour on Sunday mornings, had breakfast together and were home in time to get ready for church. A group rode around town on Thursday evenings.~ Racers worked out together each Wednesday. We started the annual 63-mile overnight ride, the Hermann Hassle, in 1970. The club’s first century ride -- 100 miles in a day -- ended with the squish-squish of water in our shoes for the last 20 miles, but 12 of us stayed the course.

“The President’s Ride” started when the club secretly planned a 60-mile ride on my 60th birthday. I couldn’t back out if I’d wanted to. I completed that event and each similar one for the next four years. Chub and I rode 55 miles in Ireland on my 65th birthday.

Yes, Jan, bicycling got all five senses working in sync. Now, in my second childhood, I’d love to ride again. Daredevil that I am, I just might try to ride a mile or two on my birthday, just to experience, again, that joy of having “done something.”