As a boy, I rode in rural Vermont and small-town Texas and through European forest trails, in pursuit of the feeling of freedom and independence that only the bicycle can provide.

I rode in a small Florida beach town as a teenager, stunning my stepfather with how far I could traverse on two wheels under my own power. I remember the darkened streets, the smells of shrubs and forbs among the dunes, Campy grease and sewup glue on my fingers.

Eventually I stopped. It was having a child that brought my passion back to life.

Now, I love to ride to work in the winter in Florida with all my woolies to arrive with red cheeks and tousled hair. As I once did, I come home and and just go for a ride to clear my head, and recover a taste of that same freedom I felt so long ago.

—Steve