I'm the stereotypical recumbent trike rider: old, white, fat and bearded. Once I thought, when I rode two wheels instead of three, I could be somebody: I was fit, fast and fashionable in spandex. Then I turned forty, and fifty and finally sixty. And one day, in a moment of distraction, the two-wheeled dreams ended when I upended into a cedar thicket. 

 

That crash left me with more than a bruised ego. It was then that the Better Half of my conscience told me times were a-changing. The two wheels were carefully cleaned and racked, and my three-wheeled adventure began.

 

If you've been indulgent enough to read this far, then maybe you'd like to sit a spell and read a few random thoughts about recumbent triking, the open road, sleeping in a hammock and the occasional detour into life as a Christian in 21st century America.