Daddio just left for the airport to go home (I called him his first Uber). This time tomorrow he’ll be picking the grandkids up from daycare, greeted by gleeful shouts of “Papi Papi!!!” And he’ll have a huge smile on his face.

Still, we’ll both miss riding together. A few days ago during a water break he said, “just in case I don’t remember to say it later, I’ve really enjoyed this time biking with you.” Me too Daddy.

My dad went from a summer weekend biker to a 50+ mile-a-day touring cyclist in 4.5 weeks. He climbed mountains, battled headwinds, raced thunderstorms, and walked away from a crash. He rode with stitches, carpal tunnel in his hands, and with knees missing ligaments. He waited patiently for dozens of roadside pee breaks and for my painfully slow morning routine (he’s had practice waiting on my mom and I for years).

My dad makes people smile, he asks them compelling questions about their lives and the places they live. He shares his story with them, finding common ground in retirement, grandkids, history, or wherever he can. He accepted all our hosts and encounters as they were, and was grateful for whatever they had to offer. He helped an old lady put groceries in her car on our way through a parking lot.

My dad and I have taken a few trips together over the years, visiting Civil War battlefields and California wine country. He’s a good person to have along. He gets excited about natural sites and museums and memorials like you’re supposed to, not cynically like me, and it’s contagious. He’s always saying, “Imagine what it must have been like for people living here then,” putting himself in their shoes.

Not many people get the chance to take this kind of adventure with a parent. I know I’m lucky. I think it was interesting for my dad to spend time with me as an adult, a competent, organized, independent person on a mission. And it was interesting for me to see my dad out of the family context, chatting with strangers. Up until the last few years, it had been decades since my dad did what he wanted to do. He worked because he had a good job and a family to support, not because he loved it (or even liked it sometimes). Even on this adventure together, he always referred to it as “your bike trip,” deferring to me on directions and decisions. I hope he feels some ownership too, and that he’s inspired to embark on his own journey, whatever that may be.