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Old Love January 25th of the second year

It's an instant relief. What it's a relief from I'm not exactly sure.

Life in Modesto was good. It was easy. Quality time with the 'rents is always a plus. If you didn't know him, you could easily mistake Dad as a professional story teller -- his recollections of past events are amazingly funny. Between some good meals and the long-awaited movie marathon, time flew by and I'm already back on the road with a new pump and a collection of Meatloaf tracks. We're off to see San Francisco. We're off to Portland to visit Doc-B and my sister, Stacey.

I expect it to be cold and rainy. I haven't seen any real weather since "The Apocalypse" in New Orleans and even if it were to rain everyday from now until Portland, I'd still consider myself lucky. I'm due, really. It's become apparent that I write better when I have extended time in front of the computer, so I'm not real sure if I'm going to make efforts to keep this site updated as I ride. The journal will be all I have when this is over -- I don't want to skimp out on it.

I can't believe I've stopped for so long. My gloves are less gloves and more a pile of scrappy, cracked leather completely removed of all life. I'm not ready to ride. I never feel ready to ride, but this time the hiatus has been too long. I know I'll fall back into it. I know it will be like old times. The gloves will be renewed and the eyes will smile at the dawn of each day. I'll be reborn once more.

It's an instant relief. What it's a relief from I'm not exactly sure.

As I hopped on the pedals and closed the garage door, we rolled down the driveway and the adventure came alive. Immediately my spirit soared. The flood gates gave way and I rushed out of anxiety... out of fear... out of the familiar and into the unknown. There's an effortless smile that comes about. The ears perk up and the senses are at new heights. My body becomes weightless. I've dropped all those worries; all those inexplicable worries that seem to spawn from nothingness and linger deep in my throat. In one deep breath, they are erased from the mind. I'm right back in it. It's like I never left. It's an old love that I never quite got over. It's an old love gone astray and all you've ever wished was to "go back to the way things used to be". Only this time it isn't impossible. This time it's happened. This time, we're back in the saddle.

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My name is Charles Tronolone and I'm attempting something a bit unconventional; I'm trying to make a living by writing while on a perpetual bicycle tour. How I got to this point is a story in itself, but suffice to say that I refuse to be just another cog in the machine. There's too much important work to be done and too many eyes to open for us to be content with personal goals or riches. In late 2006, I managed to escape the machine, and now I'm setting off to help bring it down.

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