I met my husband, Tim, on a 400-mile bicycle ride in 1998. He lived in San Francisco; I lived in San Diego. He was born in New Jersey; I grew up in New Jersey. We married in January 2002 and now live in the Bay Area.
When my mother heard the news, she threw her hands over her head and screamed, “It’s a miracle!” She was right. I was 39 when I met Tim, divorced for 11 years after an unsuccessful early marriage, and I lived in Southern California, where it seemed as if everyone else was already married, or else had no intention of ever being so. I got lucky. Now I tell all my single friends to get on their bikes, or go for a hike, or do whatever it is they love most. The right person will be doing the same thing, and already you’ll have something in common.
These days, Tim and I rarely ride our bicycles together. With two young kids, one of us usually stays home while the other exercises. But we’ll get back to it eventually. Soon enough, our children will be riding alongside. Or better, we’ll be following them.
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