Sometimes you just have to let go of the handle bars, sit back a bit and coast down the hill, if you really want to get the thrill of the ride.
I rode my bike a lot when I was little. I rode no-handed all the time. Once I learned the balance of that new posture, it was all good. I could ride and eat my fudgesicle or candy bar or Coca-Cola Icee that I had just bought at the Golden Pantry. Hands free was the way to go, at least as long as the road was flat or one had a downhill distance to travel. Up hill, no hands, was harder, much harder. It could be done, it took nerve and steady pedaling, but it, too, could be done, if the hill was not so very steep.
I remember the moment, just before an incline, when I would have to decide if I was going to keep on no-handed or adjust in my seat, grab the handle bars and steer. If I kept on no- handed, I could continue to enjoy the fruit of my foray to Golden Pantry, if I grabbed hold, something would have to give. It was a little geometry and a lot of history that helped me make those decisions.
I considered and remembered all the great free-handed rides, how they were somehow so much better, so much more like flight. I remembered that I had not wrecked often or ever been stranded. It usually seemed worth it to keep my hands free.
Sometimes God says steer through here, keep both hands on the bars. Sometimes, like today, He says, “I’ve got this, just ride with Me, let’s fly.”
“My hands are high, God. Let’s fly!”