The beginnings of a Sunday morning ritual

"Smell!" I yelled over my shoulder as I cruised across the bridge on Tropicaire just passed the Sumter Boulevard intersection, my bicycle clicking because my feet stopped peddling.
"What?" my friend shouted behind me as she did the same.
"Fresh pine. Fresh oak. Fresh palmetto," I yelled back.
"Nature," I heard her say.
It was true. The fresh smell of nature had engulfed us - one of the pure joys of cycling through the North Port Estates.
It was Sunday morning. We had woken up early. I met her at her house, just around the corner of my own, in our densely populated neighborhood off Chamberlain. Our bicycles immediately took to the pavement, the cool morning dew hitting our bare arms, keeping us cool despite the growing heat from the rising sun. We quickly turned north on Toledo Blade Boulevard, out of our neighborhood and beyond the interstate overpass.
Then, with the bustling of the city behind us, we entered the Estates - one of two North Port neighborhoods where the tracts of land span three or more acres.
I love cycling through the Estates, past the Plantation houses, horse farms and thick oak canopies. My tires pick up great traction on Tropicaire Boulevard's smooth pavement and I can easily get up to speed.
My friend and I rode our bicycles to the American Legion, tucked on a small side road in the center of the Estates. It was exactly 6.4 miles from our driveway. There, we ate a quick breakfast with the rest of the Sunday morning crowd. Friends greeted us, teasing us for our tenacity to ride our bikes that far. A couple motorcyclists agreed with us that it was a great morning for a bike ride. And after a couple cups of coffee and quite a few laughs, we took to the pavement again.
This time, we ventured home along Estates Drive, adding an extra mile to our trip. We cruised slowly, looked for alligators along the canal that stretches along the side of the roadway. We saw plenty of fish and various water birds. We then turned home.
The breeze was light - but strong enough to keep us just cool enough that we didn't notice the sun's late morning heat.
When we neared our homes, I admitted that I loved riding in the summer time. If it were Spring, we would have fought a tough wind to get home.
My friend and I agreed that we should try to repeat the ride next Sunday.
Who knows... maybe this was the beginning of a Sunday morning ritual.