At the time, I was running a nonprofit food truck that employed people with disabilities. It was a mission close to my heart, and the hours were just as demanding as my classroom had been. So while I had technically stepped away from teaching, I was still going full speed ahead — just in a different direction.
We ran that food truck hard through the summer and into the fall. Then, like every year, we shut down in November. That’s when things began to feel different.
That’s when it started to feel like… maybe this was retirement after all.
But just a few months later, the pandemic hit — and like everyone else, I was suddenly back at home, full-time. But that didn’t feel like retirement either. It felt like survival. We were locked down, routines were broken, and for a while, time stopped meaning anything.
I should say — this wasn’t the first time I’d gotten serious about riding after retirement. Back in 2020, during the heart of the pandemic, I actually rode my bike across Texas. Nearly 1,000 miles from north to south. Physically, I was in great shape then. But that experience was shaped by the times.
The pandemic forced everyone out of their routines, and instead of sitting around wasting away, I rode.
But that ride was lonely.
You couldn’t just walk into a restaurant or linger in a gas station talking to locals. In many places, you could only go inside one at a time. I’d grab takeout food and sit on the concrete outside the building, eating alone. There weren’t many conversations, no real moments of connection. It felt like I was pedaling through a world on pause.
So even though I was strong, even though I was riding big miles, it didn’t feel like a second act.
It felt like a way to cope.
After things opened back up, I went back to running the food truck. We kept it going until July of 2024. Only then — five years after I officially "retired" — did retirement finally start to feel real.
This past year has been the first full year that I’ve actually been retired. No teaching. No food truck. No job pulling me out the door. Just time — my time — and the question of what to do with it.
By July of 2024, when I finally had nothing else pulling at me — no work, no projects, no reason to get up early unless I wanted to — that’s when everything really changed.
I had all this time, but I didn’t feel great.
My weight was up, even though I’d been riding. But I wasn’t riding the way I wanted to ride. I wasn’t doing the kinds of long, joyful, purposeful rides I used to love. I was just spinning pedals to survive, maybe trying to hold something together.
Part of that was the food truck. I was around it all the time, and while we mostly sold shaved ice, I was also eating a lot of shaved ice. And ice cream. And whatever else was easy. That kind of diet catches up to you fast, especially when your 60s are in the rearview mirror.
I can look back now and say that July 2024 is when it all shifted. That’s when I had a moment of clarity:
"You’re retired now. Really retired. What are you going to do with this time?"
That’s when the idea hit me:
"I’m going to train to ride from San Diego to Las Cruces."
And just like that, I had a goal.
A purpose.
A reason to ride — not just to burn calories or fight aging, but to prepare for something bold and deeply personal.
That’s when things started to change.
Suddenly, things started falling into place.
I felt like I had time again — real time — to give to my family, to the house, to the yard. I’d fix something that had been on the to-do list for years, then step outside and water the plants. I wasn’t rushing anymore. I wasn’t juggling ten things at once.
But also important, I had time for the bike.
Time to enjoy it again.
Not just short survival rides or stress relief loops, but real rides — 30, 40 miles at a time. Rides that gave me a sense of freedom, space, and strength. My legs got stronger, but more than that, my mind got clearer.
And when my mind cleared, something else came back to life: my blog.
I had started The Old Guy Bicycle Blog back in 2021. I worked on it a bit in 2023, but it mostly sat in the background — an idea without momentum.
But now, with retirement fully mine and my head finally above water, something shifted. I had stories to tell. Lessons to share. And the energy to do it.
So I came back to the blog.
I started writing.
And slowly, steadily, it began to take shape.
It’s not just a hobby anymore. It’s become a way to connect — to other cyclists, to fellow retirees, to people figuring out what their second act might look like.
I can honestly say I’m probably more fit than I’ve been in years — maybe decades. I feel great. But more than just getting stronger on the bike or dropping a few pounds, what really changed is that I found purpose again.
Once I stepped fully into retirement — no food truck, no teaching, no clock to punch — I started leaning into the things I love. And that purpose gave me something I didn’t even know I needed:
A rhythm.
That rhythm gave me a second wind.
Now I wake up in the morning with something to do — something I want to do. I ride. I write. I fix things around the house. I think about what I want to say next on the blog. And in that rhythm, I’ve noticed something else: I’m more open.
Retirement can be isolating. I spend a lot of time with my dogs and not a lot of time with people. But since rekindling the blog, I feel like there’s a thread connecting me to the world again. A thread of conversation, of reflection, of shared experiences.
And funny enough — I’ve noticed it carries over.
When I go to the grocery store or out in public, I find myself more willing to talk to people. I’m friendlier. I listen more. I start conversations. And really, that’s what makes life better — those small, human connections.
So even though I technically retired in 2019, this past year — this first year of being truly retired — has given me a second life.
And cycling is what carried me into it.
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