I Fell Off My Bike…and into the Kitchen

At one time riding my bike consumed my days. Relationships were built around riding. I rode hundreds of miles a week and thousands every year. My social life revolved around my collection of bikes.

Then things started unraveling. COVID ended. The relationship ended. The bike group shunned me. I fell during a rally and broke my collarbone, sidelining me for months. I started avoiding local rallies and riding solo when I was able to ride. Walking my one remaining dog became my outlet.

Somewhere along the way I lost that zeal for the ride, that love of the bike. It was traumatizing.

I was in freefall.

Then one day my chef friend called me asking for help in producing a weekly video. She couldn’t pay me in cash, but I got whatever was prepared as lunch and leftovers. Plus I got an education in culinary skills.

I’d found my way to turn those traumas into fuel. I’d fallen off the bike and into the kitchen.

I started preparing the recipes at home. Sunday became brunch day with friends. I began with pre-prepared meals like tamales. Then moved to shish kabobs and crab cakes. It became a whole experience rather than just food.

The experience and skills needed in the kitchen partially replaced the time on the bike.  It was a redirection I needed.  Instead of spending hours on the bike, I spent minutes and a few miles.  Instead of eating out, I enjoyed trips to the markets and the prep time in the kitchen.

And the time at the table with my friends became the replacement for a speedy ride with a beer at the end.  It was a more whole and uplifting experience.

I’d turned the trauma of brokenness into wholeness. I found balance again. And a more diverse lifestyle.

Let’s see where it goes.


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