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morning; days
and nights at sea, on Navy Warships far from home. This morning I had
somewhat the same feeling as in those days; I'd not seen another person
on the Trail in my first 4 miles. I felt completely alone as I rode. I thought
of my years at sea and all the nights I'd looked up at this moon, all the
lonely nights wondering if my family was okay while I was away, the many

silent prayers I said.

"Lord please take care of them while I am here so far from them.
Watch over and keep my wife and children that no harm should come to them."

To this moon I would speak to my children on these nights at sea.
Oh yes, I remember well. I held conversations with my wife from the
steel decks of the ships I rode, in the darkness of the night and early
morning hours, before the age of the internet and email.

I looked upward at THIS same moon and spoke to her. I sent my love
along the rays of light that shown down on me. I called her name and begged
she kiss our young children for me, a special hug and kiss from Dad.
I imagined her looking up at the same Moon and speaking back to me
"Don't worry honey, we're okay." Only then was I able to go below and
hit my rack.

Now I've passed Mile Marker 30 and I pedal toward my turn around
point at Mile Marker 29 on the Trail as I continue to think. I say a silent prayer
as I ride along the Pinellas Trail, much as I'd said those many days and nights at sea, except this time...this time I was home.

"Thank you Lord."

I know I've said it before, each time the most recent ship I was assigned to, returned from sea. In those days I was always so elated to return home and see my wife on the
pier waiting for me. To hear from her lips that our children were safe and
well. To have their arms about me, welcoming me home.

"Thank you Lord," I whispered silently. "Thank you for always watching over my family
when I was away. Thank you for this morning that I can look up to this
full moon and remember the aloneness of other nights that you led me
through. Thank you for allowing me these moments to reflect on the wonderful
life that I have had and find hope for the days and years ahead."

I coast past mile marker 29 and slowly turn to head in the direction
from where I'd just come. Now the full moon is at my back. I glance over
my shoulder and it all but winks at me I'm certain. A feeling of satisfaction
warms my very being and I pedal faster on the return leg of my 12 mile
ride. The rabbits and raccoons are about this morning and scamper across
my path in the early morning moonlight. I cruise back through Tarpon Springs
and past mile marker 33 toward trail's end. It's peculiar, this morning my legs
feel no sense of fatigue as I reach the end of my bicycle ride. I feel this
wonderful warmth in its place. I come to mile marker 34 which is the
end of the Pinellas Trail and I turn and roll down the sidewalk that heads
North alongside US19 to my home in Brittany Park. I cross the bridge to
the Anclote River and minutes later I am opening my garage door and
parking my bicycle. My morning ride on the Pinellas Trail is done. I walk
inside my house and glance at my sleeping wife and know how lucky
I am.

I think to myself again, "what a great life". Later today before the Sun has
set, I'll ride the Pinellas Trail again another 12 miles. On this trip I'll
see all the faces of the other people who ride, walk and skate along the
Trail each day. Every once in a while I will stop one of them and find
a way to start a conversation, that I might find out something of their
ride along the Trail, and through life.

Learn more about this author, Charles Piercey.
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