For as long as I can remember, every morning when me and my brothers wake up, my father would be in his cycling clothes and with the biggest smile waiting for us at the table. While having breakfast he tells us how many kilometers he's done cycling that precise morning and how it went, talking about it for the whole breakfast time. You can see when he has had a great ride, because his voice a little cocky saying ‘’ can you believe I rode 107 kilometers today!’’ and I just look over to my brothers and we all laugh in a silly way, but not at him, with him. He wakes up every day through rain and through shine to go out whether it is on the road or the mountains. When he can't go for an apparent reason he just doesn't feel like the day is really going, cycling is what keeps him at ease. I can still remember that one time when he broke his knee in six tiny little pieces, I just couldn't stand his face, laying on the hospital bed when the doctor said he might never cycle again, but he just wouldn't accept the fact. Actually the bicycle kept him sane and was a form of rehabilitation for him. Since he was just a little boy he taught himself how to use it, and up until now he still continues to ride it. When he taught me I fell a thousand times and became scared of it, but he just wouldn't let me give up on the bike until I actually learned. Sometimes he takes my brothers on a morning ride under the tall trees of Chipinque, and even though me and my brothers don't find it as exciting as him, we just go because you can see how his eyes sparkle every time he talks about it. Everytime I go out and see a bike or anything related to it I instantly have a picture of his face going out in the morning like everything just fell into place that day. Going out the main door every day, you can see at the garage, his TREK bike up in the stand, clean, as always because he has a way of taking care of his things like no one else. His pickup truck always ready to get him somewhere for him to ride his bike.