As a kid growing up, I remember my grandfather would routinely go on 50 mile bike rides. At the time they seemed like an impossible distance. He would come home, sweaty and salty from roaming the Eugene hillsides and sit down at the kitchen table in black spandex shorts, wife beater undershirt and start inhaling anything within reach. I still remember the way he smelled.

It took a while, and unfortunately my grandfather passed a couple of years ago, but I too share his passion of long road rides, coming home too tired to shower before cramming in as many left overs as possible. I thought about what I was going to eat the last twenty minutes of my ride, willing myself to go faster so I could get that much closer to eating.

As I go back for my second helping of mushroom risotto, I think of you, Bope. And toast the next big spoonful of goodness to you.

Long live long road rides!