Like most of us, I'd ridden as a kid. Commuting to school, etc. In High School, I pretty much stopped.

Sophmore year in college, there was a guy named Pete on my floor, who had a Fuji he tooled around campus on. He had endless fun on it, so I went out and found my first Peugeot. I used to take time off, every day, and tear around the local graveyard or the Wisconsin countryside on the Peugeot, at least until the @#$%! snow got too deep. By spring, I'd be itching and the first nice day, I'd be out riding. Sometimes I'd wipe out on some leftover ice, but hey, I was back on two wheels.

When I got a job, I continued riding on a daily basis, commuting, whatever. Cycling became a practical part of my life.

Late last year I found out Pete died suddenly of an anyereusm in his NoCal cabin. I went back up to the college and rode around on the Peugeot one more time. Never did get to tell the guy what he'd led me into, or how he'd altered my life for the better. Maybe if I'd never met him, someone else would have introduced me to the joys of a nice bike, maybe not. Who knows?

So here's to Pete.