I checked the air pressure in the tires. A little low, so out came the pump. The sun drenched my body with warm light as I added compressed air. Above my head, a stately old elm tree was beginning to leaf out. The breeze was gentle and carried the faint scent of rebirth, the kind of aroma exclusive to springtime. A car drove by at a leisurely pace, the top down and the occupants smiling. A glorious Minnesota day.

The gauge indicated 110 psi, a reasonable value for the situation. With the pump back in the garage, I was ready to go. After days of setbacks, it was finally time to set out.

I put my right foot on the right pedal and likewise for my left. The cleats snapped into place as I began spinning my legs. As the wind rushed by my ears, I found my cadence. I tapped the shifter and heard the rear derailleur move the chain to the next smaller sprocket. The houses lining the road flew by.

I glanced at myself in the mirror just before I left. If nothing else, I looked the part of the road biker. I must admit that I initially felt silly being out in public in such a getup, but those concerns melted away once I got on the bike. On the bike, I fit in with the other bikers. On the bike, I would have looked foolish dressed any other way.

My LeMond Tourmalet proved a trusty steed as I ate up the miles. It was last year’s model, new but being closed out at a significant discount by Penn Cycle. It’s a high-tech piece of machinery made of aluminum and carbon fiber. Quite a step up from my childhood mountain bikes.

I’d wanted a nice road bike ever since I borrowed one for the triathlon in 2004. I would research bikes but could never muster the will to buy one. After realizing how long I’d gone without riding, I finally decided to take the plunge. I’m glad I did.

Up and down my legs went, and round and round the wheels spun. Every so often, I encountered a group of riders at a stop light, and we would ride together for a while until our paths diverged. I made my way along Summit Avenue in St. Paul, a wide boulevard lined with stately mansions from the early 20th century. Bike lanes are marked on the street, which terminates at a paved regional trail that follows the Mississippi. It’s a beautiful ride.

Eventually, I navigated back home, my mind blessed with the clarity that exercise brings. I had fun, and I wanted more. It was a good return to the word of bicycles.