Part of my summer ritual for the last 30 years is a final bike ride, coasting down the hill from our Oak Bluffs cottage, past the remains of the Baptist Temple in the woods and into the sunburst view of the Oak Bluffs harbor stretched out below.

At the center of town, I ride past the Flying Horses Carousel where, when my daughters were young, the cacophonous organ music would lure us in. The music seemed to drive the twirling carousel faster and faster until it all merged into a dizzying blur. Now that my children are grown up, I miss their glee at capturing the brass ring and getting a free ride. That thrill is gone, packed away with the Barbie dolls.

I ride past Ocean Park and the gazebo, past the early morning groups at Inkwell Beach, and finally arrive at the safety of the bike path. I always check to see if the mother and baby wooden sea serpents are gliding slowly in the pond on my right. They anchor my memories of summers past and present.

As I bike along I watch the clouds shape-shift and feel the wind pushing me forward and holding me back. I rarely notice the clouds or the wind in my mainland life. On the Vineyard I find I can rediscover my senses, finally able to leave schedules and traffic lights behind.

I notice how the colors are endlessly changing, taking on the light and shadow of the day: emerald greens and golds, mint green, lime green, velvety forest green.

Yellow, white and purple flowers border the bike path between Sengekontacket Pond and the Nantucket Sound. Plump rose hips burst into view. A white heron picks its way through the grasses. Gulls skim the surface and glide over the road to break open clam shells on the pavement.

Years ago, I shared the bike path with regulars who kept the same early schedule. An older woman walked at a good pace, but her body angled to the left. She was often joined by a middle-aged man and a black lab whose muzzle grew grayer every year. After a few years, the man walked alone.

Another man dragged one foot as he walked past the fishermen on the bridge. I imagined that he was recovering from a stroke. I never spoke with any of the regulars, I just noted that we were fellow travelers on the path. The usuals have been missing for some time. I haven’t replaced them in my early morning story with new regulars.

In my younger days, when my older sister came to visit, we biked to South Beach and back, a round-trip of about 20 miles. We could bike, play tennis and go to the beach with ease. We dropped the South Beach leg years ago, but for a time kept the round-trip to Edgartown and back. That ride is just under 12 miles and ends with a quiet stretch through the Oak Bluffs Campground.

My sister is in her 80’s now and she no longer rides bikes or visits Martha’s Vineyard. I never thought our rides together had an expiration date. Aging becomes a process of elimination, as what was taken for granted floats out of reach.

Each year, I think about jumping off the Big Bridge between Edgartown and Oak Bluffs. Countless kids and some adults do it everyday, and I wonder if I should join them before it’s too late for me. Our neighbor’s mother jumped off when she was in her late 70’s after decades of opposition from her family. I imagine balancing on the railing, hearing the current rushing below and the gulls squawking overhead. But the 15-foot drop to the water looks endless. I tell myself that next year will be the one.

My last ride of the summer comes to an end too soon. I always expect to be back again the next summer. However, I know that I too will someday disappear from the bike path. But for now, as I return to Oak Bluffs, the wind is at my back.

Linda Sanders lives in Oak Bluffs and Brookline.