Saturday, November 17, 2012
It’s not the bicycle riding I miss. It’s the pushing hard against the pedal, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you inhale a stream of cold air and spit it out. It’s the spitting out that’s the thing; blowing off the crummy boss, the half-hearted employee and attitudes that spiral downward in the breakroom. The whole adventure happens on one level while at another you are enjoying your surroundings.
Winter riding is different. My Excel spreadsheet shows previous rides to snow level. Going downhill at forty-five miles per hour in summer cools you off to normal body temperature. Downhill in forty-five degrees makes any extremity hurt and your snot freeze.
Five days post surgery and I’m looking forward to getting out again. I tap the bike on the seat as I walk by it and I check the tire pressure by feel. It’ll be the first ride post-election. We’ll see if all the signs are down.
Nature should be waking up. The hawks should be out. I type with my fingers and think cycling. My lungs fill with air in memory and anticipation. I’m thinking the weekend after Thanksgiving. The body will have bloated enough the blood slowed enough in the arteries to have reached a level below equilibrium. Time for renewal. Time for my cycling solstice.