My legs are long and dominate my physique, but come in handy as I gracefully throw the right one over the top tube of my Surly. My feet nonchalantly slip into the toe clips on my pedals and those dominating legs get to work. There really isn't much settling in when I hop on a bicycle, I feel at home. My hands gently squeeze the brakes when I am moving too swiftly down a hill. On a rare occasion, I let myself feel what it's like to just let it rip without touching the brakes. The wind passes through my helmet, I unknowingly crack a smile maintaining tight lips, fearing bugs would ruin my triumphant moment. My right hand doesn't have to wait for a message from my legs sent through my brain to adjust the gears on a climb, it just opens up the lever and the release is immediately felt. I love climbing, which may be rather strange to admit, but for some reason I enjoy hushing up all the tiny whispers that tell me I can't do it. When I climb, I can.
For all the cumulative moments I feel awkward in my daily life, I never feel awkward in the saddle.