Under my hat Touching bases with my bicycle buddy

I received a surprise email the other day from one of my favorite people.

It's always a special day when I hear from fellow writer Pattie Mihalik.

We worked and played together for years before her retirement and relocation to Florida.

She commented about a story I'd written regarding a local man whose father was killed in a mine tragedy. The body was never recovered.

That's heavy stuff. Pattie, who grew up in Shamokin, has ties to the historic event on several levels and wanted to touch base.

She also wanted to know how I'm doing.

Sometimes journalists can be impacted when writing sad, heartbreaking stories. It's a danger of the job. We're human. Some stories are just so tragic it's hard not to be drawn into heavy emotion.

Of course, the only thing I need to pick up my spirits is a word or two from my coal-region buddy.

During our years together, we did some fun and crazy things.

One time she took me along to her djembe drum class in Allentown. It was taught by Moe Jerant, world-renowned percussion specialist.

Thanks to Pattie and Moe, I acquired a sense of rhythm, although, truth be told, I'll never be Ringo Starr.

In 2005, Pattie and I were invited to hang out with journalism students at Moravian College in Bethlehem.

They told us about challenges in producing a campus newspaper and asked for pointers, such as how to add new dimensions to each edition.

Driving home, Pattie and I chatted about their optimism and how it's contagious.

When we stopped for dinner, our dialogue became more personal. We shared thoughts only best friends can share.

We talked and laughed. Actually, we laughed uncontrollably.

Have you ever laughed so hard your stomach hurts? A prolonged belly laugh? That's what we did.

Why is this so special?

It's because Pattie and I were laughing at a time when both of us had every reason to cry.

We were healing after losing soul mates. We were in the same position, having just served as caregiver to a life partner with terminal illness.

We found ourselves living alone, learning how to begin anew. Both of us, simultaneously.

And that's how unpredictable life can be. Sometimes a new direction comes without choice. Things get handed to us, good and bad.

Pattie described the challenge in one of her columns.

"I had to find my own happiness. Anyone who has ever gone through losing a spouse knows how hard it is to fill the emptiness," she said.

Weeks later, we dared to jump on a tandem bicycle to ride around Penn's Peak. It was a gimmick for a photo, reinforcing the idea of teamwork in journalism.

We didn't do well in balancing the bike. It wobbled all over the place and was difficult to stop.

In fact, we were lucky to avoid soaring over the hillside and crashing onto Maury Road below. But, boy, did we laugh. So therapeutic.

Something good invariably comes out of something bad.

When things appear to be the most bleak, it helps to look for happiness in a new direction.

It might sound strange, but it's important to laugh when you really want to cry.

You don't need a bicycle built for two in order to move forward.

All you need is a smile, some optimism and a friend who cares.