Sophomore year begins and is punctuated with contrasting emotions. There is still that ever present uncertainty of being a young adult, but at the same time you have more confidence than a year ago when you were a floundering freshman.

This first week of school, I have seemed to fall into what resembles a routine, at least more of a routine than I had over summer. I wake up an hour and a half before class starts, crack some eggs into a frying pan, grind some coffee, and start my morning. I open my computer to see what the heck has happened in the world in the past 7 hours when I was asleep; often times increasingly lowering my faith in society.

If current events are the sour apple to my morning, then my commute to school must be pure cane sugar. It is short; only a couple of minutes long. Fifteen minutes before class, I pack my backpack and grab my bike. I mount my horse made of metal and carbon fiber, and effortlessly set off into the apartment complex parking lot, pumping over speed bumps as if I was in a UCI cyclocross world cup race.

I blast through a roundabout, dodging sleepy or perhaps over caffeinated individuals piloting their automobiles. Then it's up the hill thinking, "Can I make this in my big-ring?" I feel like a "rouleur" hammering out kilometers upon kilometers somewhere in Belgium - but I'm not. The fact that I am not a pure bred racer on my way to school is what makes it so special.

In my few minutes of commute oriented pedaling, I feel euphoric. The freeing freedom of being liberated from my car. The slightly labored breathing, wind in my hair, pedals turning over and over, gears shifting every once in a while.

Street clothes instead of spandex is certainly a change from my personal status-quo. On a "training" ride you are constantly thinking about variables. Do my legs feel good? Should I be riding harder? Is this ride long enough? These are all questions running through my brain. The mind is free on a joyful commute ride.

After five days of this, I believe that commuting by bike is amazing and therapeutic. A simple bike ride can mean so many different things to each individual. The people in cars are blasting music and morning talk shows, but us cyclists listen o the sound of the wind. Drivers have not idea the euphoria that I feel in those minutes while I ride my bike. It's personal, and that's what makes it special.