“Laughter is the highest form of prayer.” – Reinhold Niebuhr

Twenty-seven years ago I set out on a bicycle trip with my friends Kathleen O’Hara and Mary Ediger. I was twenty-eight years old. We’d never done anything like it but it seemed like a fine idea.

We went to British Columbia’s Gulf Islands.

I had a vision of cycling around the perimeter of pretty little islands on undulating sea-level roads. We would wear fun little frocks at night.

Those party dresses remained crunched in the bottom of the pack. Instead we lived in sweaty shirts and a couple of skin-tight Lycra shorts that did little to protect our screaming butts as we discovered the truth…there were no seaside roads.

Our chains fell off as we learned to shift those endless grinding gears. We struggled up, and plunged down, endless hills. But hey! We ate copious amounts of Thundercrunch potato chips as we discovered the joy of burning so many calories by cycling all day.

Every night we toasted our efforts and laughed. Oh my god, we laughed so much. Didn’t we Mary?

Oh Kathleen, remember how we laughed until we cried?

In the years that followed we invited new and old friends, until finally, we declared ourselves a closed group. No more additions. If someone couldn’t make it, there would be no substitutions. Because really…how could there be?

The trips have morphed. This year, like last year and the year before, we rented a house. This year’s place is exquisite, a movie set of a home on Osooyos Lake in Oroville, Washington.

However. The heat is astonishing and we’ve spent more time frolicking in the lake than on our bikes. In fact, my bike has remained parked for the entire time we’ve been here.

Each day begins on our chaise lounges with coffee and soft breezes off the lake. And each day, we orbit each other in various configurations; some hike, some walk into town, some cycle, others kayak, read, knit, and bob endlessly in the water on inflatable toys and pool noodles. Someone has an inspiration for dinner. Shopping and chopping ensue. Intermittent bursts of laughter break through the sound of the breeze and the bird songs, and then later, is heard above the iPod playlist.

Each night we raise our glasses. We toast ourselves and our absent friends.  We miss Mary but know she’ll be here next year.

We congratulate ourselves for being smart enough to give ourselves this gift of time. We toast the memories. We remember Kathleen as she lives on in our stories.  We tell our stories and laugh and laugh, until once again, we cry.

We all realize this trip was never really about cycling after all.

The real reason for these trips is love and laughter.

And if laughter is truly the highest form of prayer? Well darlings, we’ve been praying for an awful long time.