Why do you ride?

For the competition? The exercise? To escape? To commute?


All of the above?


For me, it's always been a moving target. When I began cycling as a teenager in the '70s, it was all about BMX racing, hanging out at the local bike shop and trying to win Florida Bicycle Motocross Association medals.


I didn't win many. But after watching On Any Sunday and being mesmerized by the opening bicycle scene, BMX was the thing. At least until I could talk my parents into a dirt bike.


Then I began "jumping,'' which my buddies and I called it then, now called "freestyle'' or "vert'' among the X Games generation; my crew was way ahead of the curve. That's when I found something I was really good at on two wheels. It was all about showing off. I generally soared the highest, furthest and with more style than most, all from dirt jumps we meticulously built with Army shovels and a little mud. And we never wore helmets or had second thoughts about trying just about anything while in the air.


Jimi put it best. "Freedom, that's what I want now. Freedom, that's what I need now.''


But after tweaking one too many goose necks, forks and wheels -- but never my body -- and discovering girls, alcohol and Van Halen, I retired, never to give a serious thought to owning or riding another bicycle until my early 20s.


Along with a good friend and fellow BMXer, we decided to buy beach cruisers in the early '80s to turn cycling into a more grounded, leisurely activity, complete with pub stops. That is, on the few occasions we weren't drinking while pedaling.


From Tampa, where we lived, we'd dress in our swim trunks and ride our cruisers, equipped with mini-coolers fitted to our handlebars, over the Gandy Bridge to the pink Don Cesar beach resort on St. Petersburg Beach. Round trip: a little more than 50 miles. Beers consumed: at least 12 apiece. Even then, I knew the importance of proper hydration.


How we made it back alive from more than 20 trips I'll never know.


It's now 1999. Christmas Day, to be exact. My cruiser is rusting in the garage and Charmain and I have been living in South Florida for six months. I step on the bathroom scale and receive a yuletide wake-up call.


One-hundred and sixty-six pounds.


166?


75.5 kilos?


Hanging on my 5-foot-4 frame?


In January, I began a lifestyle change. I watched what I ate and started jogging and lifting weights again. By mid year, I had dropped about 20 pounds. Jogging was getting boring and I felt myself slipping from my new healthy state of mind.


Fortunately, I saw an ad in Sports Illustrated about a giveaway for a Specialized Enduro mountain bike, sort of a grown-up BMX bike, I thought.


Well, I didn't win the Enduro, but Charmain gave me a Specialized Hard Rock mountain bike that Christmas. I was a mountain biker, soon to buy a helmet, clipless pedals and Ned Overend's book Mountain Bike Like a Champion. Most importantly, never to become fat again.


Talk about lifestyle changes, I even quit drinking.


So why do you ride?