Where do I begin? As I was riding my bike to the bike shop for my volunteer gig this morning, I marveled as how wonderful it feels to ride. Just riding a bike is pure bliss. How wonderful it is to just roll on by without too many cares. How magical it will be to start our first full week of school and how tremendous it is to claim my routine.

Yes, claim my routine. I’ve never been on strike and never in my 30 plus years in my school district have we, the teachers, striked until this year. It has been absolutely weird but last Thursday we voted on our tentative agreement which means we ended the 7-day strike and will start the terms of our new 2-year contract. This is good but there are residual hurt feelings between workers and management that are not easily mitigated. Navigating that part of the discourse will be the challenge of the year.

I want to talk about it, but I also absolutely don’t want to talk about it. It has been the focus of all energy and ire and stamina and the vitality with which I usually greet the new school year is dulled. We’ve hit a flat in the relationship and trust is a bent rim, you know? I am still processing everything that has happened since the start of the strike, and there’s no Google map for this sort of journey. I’m not in a place where I’m ready to talk deeply about it. I’m glad it’s in the rearview mirror and we are stronger as a union because of it. I don’t feel like the same person I was prestrike and I don’t know what that means going forward.

Strange that I’m writing so much about the thing I wasn’t going to write about. Go figure. My bike ride to the fire station which was our staging area for picketing is close to my school. I rode my bike like I always do toward school, but stopped at the fire station and waiting for my colleagues to join me. I was a picket captain and that means there are some details to iron out before we hit the line. My point in talking even this much it to say that riding my bike to and from was my meditation. It was my normal and without it, well, who knows. The bike ride was the most normal thing I could do amidst the oddness of the start of the year.

To feel the bike under me.
To feel the cold morning air in my face.
To pedal the cadence of the commute felt like the best aspect of my routine I could perform.Every day felt out of true and yet riding brought me comfort.

The picketing meant I was doing a daily duathlon. We were all walking 10 to 15 miles in just steps back and forth, so it was quite a workout which again I feel like I was prepared because I commute by bike.

As I perused my photos there were hardly any recent photos of my bike or sceney or anything beyond the daily picket line. I wanted to take a moment to blog about my absence and say that getting back into the routine is like riding a bike. You don’t forget. Time has muscle memory and seeing the students and getting back into a routine is what back-to- school is all about.

As I see my fellow staff members and walk the halls or settle into the paceline of being back at work, I know we’ve all been through something monumental together. I’ve never felt as in tune with my colleagues as I do now. We walked and talked and thought together. There’s a collegiality and companionship that will bind us together beyond the 180 days we spend working together.

Get out there and ride even if it seems like an indulgence, because it could be the only part of the day that brings you peace.

Thanks for reading my blog and hanging out with me. I appreciate it. Have a good week!

BG