“A sense of humor is the ability  
to understand a joke  
— and that the joke is oneself.”  
~ Clifton Paul Fadiman

On a sunny San Francisco day in the early 1970s, one of my best high school buddies and I went for a bike ride. I had purchased a Raleigh Grand Prix 10-speed touring bike with money I received for my 16th birthday, so I appreciated any opportunity to ride around San Francisco. I would often ride through Golden Gate Park, up to Twin Peaks, or down into Glen Canyon, just below O’Shaughnessy Boulevard. On this particular day, however, the plan was to ride our bikes across the Golden Gate Bridge and down the hill into Sausalito. 

The ride across the bridge was memorable. I’d crossed the span many times in a car, but this was my first experience on a bicycle. When we got to the Marin County side of the bridge, we continued down Alexander Avenue to where it turns left and becomes South Street in Sausalito. In just a block or two, the road turns to the right and becomes 2nd Street. After three short blocks, the main flow of the traffic turns right again onto Richardson Street. Just a block down Richardson, the road curves to the left for the drive into downtown Sausalito along Bridgeway, right along the water of San Francisco Bay. It’s a beautiful drive in a car or on a bike. But when we got to the intersection of 2nd and Richardson, my buddy, Bob, told me to turn left onto Richardson. We went one block to 3rd Street and stopped. Apparently, Bob had an uncle who lived on this street. It was a fairly steep slope uphill.

At the time, I don’t think I’d ever really given much thought to how competitive boys are, but I would soon find out. Bob looked toward the top of the hill and said, “I’ll race you to the top!” Challenge on! We both took off, struggling to get our bikes going up the incline. I shifted gears and found one that seemed to work for me. Without ever looking back, I pumped those pedals as hard as I could, right up to the top of the hill. At that point, I looked back. Bob was standing on the sidewalk in front of a house just three houses up from Richardson Street, and he was laughing uncontrollably.

Yes, that’s where his uncle lived. Not knowing this, of course, I took the bait and raced him to the top of the hill quite unnecessarily. I had to admit… he got me!

If I didn’t enjoy riding my bike so much, I might have been upset. Instead, I realized that Bob had pulled-off a very successful practical joke and I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. 

Those were some good days. A day out bike riding, alone or with a friend, was always better than a day sitting in the classroom. My bicycle became my constant companion in those years, and served as my primary source of transportation, even through my first two years of college. I had no problem understanding Sir Arthur Conan Doyle when he wrote, “When the spirits are low, when the work becomes monotonous, when hope hardly seems worth having, just mount a bicycle and go out for a spin down the road, without thought on anything but the ride you are taking.”