We snap on our helmets. We secure our water bottles in their cages. We move into position, gripping the padded handlebars and hovering over the raised, metal pedals.
“Okay, on three,” my husband says, looking over his lean frame at me, “One, two, three!”
We push off, teetering for a brief moment, then balanced as we continue to pedal. My husband guides us. He chooses a way he knows well. We pass through our neighborhood and then a few others, riding towards our destination: brunch. A cool breeze tickles my nose as we complete mile after mile.
The movement of wheels over road powered by nothing but our muscles elates me. I enjoy the soft whir of the tires on pavement as we climb up and glide down hills and go around turns. I watch the white line blur under our tires. I glance out at the scenes we whiz past, glimpsing gardens and fields and horses and trees.
The sweat of our labors dries in the wind before it reaches my nose. From the backseat, I catch the faintest touches of fragrances as we ride: pine, mulch, grass, honeysuckle, mint. They mark the passage of time on our route.
“Alright,” my husband says from the front seat, “Ease up. Lean slightly to the left on this turn.” We turn into the complex where the restaurant sits. We coast over speed bumps and roll up to the curb.
Together, we dismount and park the tandem near our sidewalk table. One of us is tired, and one of us is not. We smile and slide into chairs, eager to fill our hungry stomachs. More work will greet us on the way home to complete our 25 miles; I still need to master cadence. Until then, we celebrate our first spin together.