8 Personal Narrative

Riding Through Life

by Isac Ortega

I just cannot find a moment to decompress and focus on one thing. “Breathe in for four,” I am told by Lisa, my counselor; this was to help me find footing again. I breathe and settle down; speaking with her helps me a lot. It allows me to sort out whatever I am going through. Lisa recommends going on outings by myself to help ease my stress. I typically bike around on days I do not want to move or be active, so biking is how I have decided to calm down.

Usually, before biking, I feel fine. However, knowing I have to wake up at seven in the morning just to make it in time for class makes me feel exhausted. Being able to breathe in that fresh air and letting that fresh dew hit my face makes getting up and outside easier. Also, knowing that I can simply go out in a light T-shirt and shorts feels amazing. However, the more I biked throughout Fruitland, the hotter the morning became.

During my ride, I took the time to make sure I could think about what I was going to face throughout the day. I would think about my objectives and phase everything out. “Math is first: I have an assignment. Did I finish that? I have English as well; we have an exam.” Thinking super hard made me zone out until a little chihuahua barked with such fervor that it scared me back into reality. This little dog was a check for how far I was from the school—about five minutes. On my way to school, I sometimes liked to alternate routes, which usually allowed me to pass by my friends’ houses, and I’d meet my friends while biking or when I arrived at school.

The sun’s beams blazed brighter and brighter. I thought back to the gleaming sun whenever I reminisced about racing with my friends. The school day was usually tame yet tiring, having to navigate seven classes and juggle so many assignments. Biking back home after school was usually tougher than going to class. The 30-minute bike ride home was an annoyance though it never stopped me from biking throughout the various fields in my small hometown.

I would have to pass by two specific fields to get to and from school. Passing the corn fields also made me feel tranquil. I saw rows of corn lined up uniformly. Dad would often take me to get corn. “Feel the kernel; if it is still hard, it isn’t ready.” I would get frustrated about not doing a good job of picking the right corn, and he would tell me to catch my breath and collect myself. Later that night, we would enjoy a few ears of corn with dinner.

Following the corn fields would be the lovely aroma of mint. During autumn, I truly smelled the mint at its strongest. Why was it so strong then? I was never entirely sure, but being present when passing the mint fields became a nostalgic experience for me. The fields felt as though they were neverending, somehow giving off a desolate yet inviting feeling.

After biking throughout Fruitland, I am tired. My legs are tired, and my breathing is more labored than usual, which leads me to stop by Fruitland Mesa Park. It is a small, adorable park with a red-and-blue jungle gym. I am enticed to play on it again, but I ignore the calls to do so and sit on a bench. I rest my legs, “one, two, three, four,” breathe in, and continue with the last part of my journey because I am anxious to get home.

I am pedaling hard “left, right, left, right” until I make it to my final checkpoint. In a tunnel, I get off my bike in order to be able to look at the graffiti that surrounds me. All types of phrases are written. “Give up; it isn’t worth it.” Even a few stated, “Don’t let the worst take control.” I never saw anyone claim that piece, but I liked looking at it. I take it as my final sign to go back home.

After making it home, I thought about how much I had done and seen that day. What comes to mind are the nostalgic moments of riding around Fruitland, reminding myself that biking is my means of feeling good and a way for me to collect my thoughts. Biking through Fruitland without a set route is also a liberating feeling. That said, I must also remember that one must keep pedaling and moving forward in order to reach one’s destination. Living in beautiful Fruitland, with its verdant fields and picturesque resting spots, makes it easy for me to want to continue my biking routine in my charming little town.