the first woman I passed this morning had short gray hair, curling slightly under the back edges of her helmet.
the next had longer gray hair, pulled back in a pony tail.
both were riding at a good pace, working steadily, climbing up the canyon.
the next few women had gray hair as well, as did the two men.
and they were all cheerful, exchanging greetings with me, smiling between labored breaths.
this is who I want to be.
I'm never good at guessing ages, but I think they all had at least a dozen or fifteen years on me.
and some day (sooner than I think) I will be the one riding a little more leisurely up the road, being passed by those younger than I, turning and smiling and saying good morning, as I drink in the fresh air and smell spring everywhere.
my gray hair tucked neatly into a ponytail or curling beneath the edges of my helmet, my breath labored, my soul happy as ever, I hope to keep climbing up the canyon until my legs can no longer pedal around and around,