There are countless reasons why I bike. I ride to stay healthy. I ride to explore. I ride to keep myself grounded and free. But on this particular day—Mother’s Day—I’m reminded of one personal reason why I bike: because my mom needs the car more than I do.

My mom is a senior and a person with a disability. She’s wheelchair-bound, and her daily life comes with limitations that most of us don’t even have to think about. For her, the car is a lifeline.

It’s how she gets to her dialysis appointments, the mall, or even access parts of our neighborhood. The car gives her access to the world, and when I choose to bike instead of use the car for my own needs, I’m choosing to keep that access open for her.

I don’t talk about this often because I’m highly critical of car dependency, but seniors and persons with disabilities like my mom need such mobility vehicles to get to important places. But today, I want to give it space. Because this small choice—to bike instead of using the car—is a daily reminder of how our lives are intertwined with the people we love.

There was a time when I didn’t fully understand how mobility affects one’s worth. Watching my mom navigate the world in a wheelchair has taught me that being able to move freely isn’t just a practical matter, and losing independence can be isolating.

Gaining even a little bit of it back, whether through a wheelchair ramp, a dependable driver, or the simple availability of a car, can mean the world. So when I say that I bike so my mom can use the car, I’m really saying that I bike so she can continue living with agency, comfort, and connection.

Biking has become more than just a sport or a hobby for me. It’s how I participate in our family system. It’s how I make space—literally and figuratively—for my mom to move through her life with more ease. I like to think that in some small way, every ride I take is part of a larger circle of care.

Of course, my mom has always been the one to care for me. She’s the reason why I’m headstrong, curious, and resilient. She raised me with quiet strength as a single mom, often without complaint.

I see now that this trait runs through me, too, even in the way I choose to navigate and explore the world.

What she may not know is that she taught me to ride in my own way… not on a bike, exactly, but to ride through life with intention, patience, and a sense of humor when the road gets rough. She taught me that our choices matter, even when they seem invisible.

And that sometimes, love looks like giving someone else the keys.

So today, on Mother’s Day, I just want to say thank you to my mom for everything. And thank you to the many moms, grandmothers, and caregivers out there whose lives are shaped by strength and softness in equal measure.