Pedaling forward

The green bike wasn’t perfect. In fact, it was barely functional. Heavy, clunky, and questionably assembled, it had the kind of charm that only a Facebook Marketplace impulse buy could offer. But on the first day of school, Keenan Baker didn’t care.

It had been over a year since he had last biked to class—or even had classes to bike to. It had been a long time since the first day of school had meant anything to him. Since it had felt like something worth celebrating.

He threw on a New Orleans Jazz shirt and blue khaki shorts and had everything he needed. His backpack was packed, his notebook tucked safely inside, and the green bike was waiting in the backyard.

Before he took off, there was one thing left to do.

The heat was unbearable, thick even before the sun reached its peak. Sweat clung to Baker’s back as he adjusted his phone against the wooden fence, trying to get the angle just right. It wasn’t anything fancy - just a quick timer photo before he hopped on his bike—but it felt important.

He stepped back, held up three fingers, and waited for the shutter to click. The last time he had taken a first-day-of-school picture was years ago, when his mom had posed him and his siblings before they rushed out the door.

This time, there was no one to tell him to take the photo. He had chosen to do it.

Third year.

The camera clicked. The moment was captured. A quiet, personal celebration. Proof that he was back. Then, without overthinking it, he sent the photo to his mom, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and grabbed his bike.

A Year Away

Baker wasn’t supposed to be here—not in the way most juniors were. By the typical college timeline, this should have been his senior year. But in May 2023, he hit the brakes.

“I left at the end of May 2023 to recalibrate,” he said. “I got diagnosed with pretty severe ADHD and was figuring out medication, and it got to a point where I was like, I need to actually take this time off.”

His mind had been running at full speed with no brakes—constantly moving but never quite in control. “A way that I’ve heard people describe ADHD, especially when you’re unmedicated, is like having a Ferrari engine and bicycle brakes,” he said. “You want to do all the things all the time, the best you can, but at a certain point, it’s going to burn through.”

So he stepped away.

He moved home to Apex for the summer, working at Pace Yourself, a running shoe store where customers could buy sneakers and sip a beer from the in-store bar. By August, he was back in Chapel Hill, settled into a rental house just off East Franklin Street. While his classmates were worrying about class schedules and syllabus week, he was mowing the lawn, weeding, and fixing things around the house.

He stayed in town, working full-time at Fleet Feet in Carrboro and Durham, adjusting to a life without classes or deadlines. But something about the job stuck with him.

“I was reminded how much I liked being a storyteller, a journalist, listening to people’s stories,” he said.

He started carrying a notebook, jotting down small yet profound interactions at work. A man reciting Wild Geese by Mary Oliver while his wife was in hospice, a quiet moment helping an elderly woman put on socks.

After a year away, he was ready to go back. Back to writing, back to storytelling.

The First Ride

The green bike had seen better days, but so had he.

It was a relic of another era, its bright color standing out against the August morning. Beneath the eye-catching paint was nearly 30 pounds of stubborn metal—heavy, cumbersome, and undeniably worn.

The first few minutes felt exhilarating—wind in his face, the hum of Chapel Hill waking up, the sense of movement. He expected nerves, the tightness in his chest that came with seeing familiar faces, answering the inevitable Where have you been? questions. But instead, he felt grounded.

“For days when I don’t want to go to class, I think back to that day and remind myself why I’m here,” he said.

For a day, the green bike carried him forward.

Then, on the second day, it didn’t.

The Breakdown

Something snapped—maybe the chain, maybe Baker’s faith in secondhand purchases. Either way, the ride was over.

There was no dramatic crash, no cinematic slow-motion fall—just the realization that the bike was no longer functional. After just two days, his grand return-to-school ride had reached its end.

He found another bike, one lighter and more reliable, but he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of the green one. It had carried him through one of the most significant days of his life.

“I still have it in my backyard,” he said, almost fondly. “Next to the same fence where I took my first-day picture.”

Moving Forward

Now in his second semester back, Baker is balancing school with a lighter workload at Fleet Feet, taking journalism classes, and thinking about what’s next. He doesn’t regret stepping away. If anything, it made him appreciate being back even more. He’s excited to share the stories he’s collected, the ones he’s lived, and the ones still waiting to be discovered.

While his new bike is lighter and more efficient, every once in a while, he looks at the old green one, leaning against the fence, and remembers those first pedals back to school. It wasn’t the best bike, and definitely not the most reliable. But it got him back when he needed it most.