Originally Posted by Ray9

I have a fleet of expensive bicycles and I ride one of them 50 miles a day; I am 73. I saved a lot of money over the years from not purchasing thousands of cartons of cigarettes, a warehouse full of beer and fields of weed. I have sympathy for those who were shoveling powder up their noses 40 years ago when I was running 10 miles a day, but that sympathy can be measured in microns. Live and let live I say and if some choose self-inflicted disease and early death then let it be so. It is a free country so far.

I ride big circles these days so as not to cross state lines during these turbulent times. A ballfield is mostly silent and deserted. They built it and few come. I have no worries about foul balls crossing my path; there has been no one there until very recently.

I just keep peddling. A doctor told me many years ago that when my joints and ligaments began to protest from running impact, I should go to the bicycle. It was advice for the ages.

The sound of rubber on the road and the whir of a chain are music to my ears. My lungs are rich with country air and my legs are stallions! I see, do, and feel things that many can only dream of.
To each his own, it is hard work, but it is hard work that pays. The mechanical advantage of the machine I sit astride requires just the amount of effort necessary to keep the juices of life flowing freely. Gravity and wind speed work for me, not against me.

The hills are my friends while potholes and cracks in the road keep my mind alert. A bicycle is a beautiful thing.