The Rides That Changed How I See the World: How Cycling Builds Memories That Last

The Rides That Changed How I See the World

Quick Take: Every long ride leaves a mark. Not just on your legs, but on how you see the world—and yourself. These are the rides that shifted something in me.

Last updated: October 30, 2025

Cyclist silhouetted at sunrise on a hill overlooking wide plains, symbolizing perspective and reflection

Some people collect trophies. Some collect stamps. Me? I collect rides.

Each one changed the way I think. The road doesn’t just build endurance—it rewires perspective. Sometimes it humbles you, sometimes it restores you, and sometimes it simply reminds you that you’re still alive enough to feel it all.

🥵 The Ride That Taught Me What Survival Feels Like

It was part of a long tour from Kingsville to Raymondville—eighty miles of open road and no shade. Forecast: 110°F.

I stopped in Riviera for water, filled every bottle, stuffed ice into my jersey, and rolled out. Twenty miles from the finish, the heat stopped being background noise and became a living thing pressing down on me. The horizon shimmered. My vision wavered. For the first time in years, I wondered if I’d actually make it.

I did. Barely. And that ride burned one truth deep into me: preparation keeps you alive, but respect keeps you honest. The world isn’t out to get you—it just doesn’t care if you’re ready.

🌄 The Ride That Showed Me Silence Has a Sound

I left Las Cruces before dawn. The desert was dark, the air cool, my headlight a narrow tunnel of light. Not a car in sight.

As the climb began, the sky started to glow—first pink, then orange, then full gold. I stopped on a ridge just as the sun broke free of the mountains. The sound wasn’t silence exactly. It was the hum of the tires, my breathing, the faint tick of the freewheel. A small orchestra of presence.

That morning taught me that quiet doesn’t mean empty. It means tuned in. The world speaks—you just have to ride slowly enough to hear it.

🚴‍♂️ The Ride That Rewrote My Limits

After my knee replacement, the doctor said six months before I’d ride again. Maybe longer before real endurance returned.

I circled a date on the calendar anyway: “24 Hours in the Canyon.” Goal—200 miles in one day.

He told me, “Be careful.” I trained, I recovered, I prepared. And when that day came, I rode all 200. My legs hurt for a week, but my belief system never went back to what it was.

That day taught me that limits aren’t walls—they’re settings. You can change them if you’re patient enough to earn the right.

💬 The Ride That Reminded Me We’re All Connected

Across thousands of miles, I’ve met strangers who felt like old friends. Farmers waving from tractors, kids cheering from yards, riders who shared half their water when mine ran out. I’ve been chased by dogs, guided out of wrong turns, and rescued from storms. Each moment a small thread in a larger weave.

The more I ride, the more I realize we’re all part of the same road—different paces, same direction.

💭 The Ride That Still Isn’t Over

People ask why I still ride at seventy. The truth? Because the road keeps showing me new ways to look at the same world.

Each climb, each sunrise, each mile reminds me that movement changes more than muscles. It changes the way you see everything else.

I don’t know how many rides I have left. But I know this: I’ll keep collecting them—not for the mileage, but for the moments that change how I think.

Because writing the story of my rides isn’t about the words—it’s about how the rides keep rewriting me.

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