Ah, this time of the year we need to chill, reflect, remember, and dream of our days chasing the horizon.
Lost in a sea of endorphins, the waterfall of perspiration cascading from my eyebrow to cheek feels sweetly exhilarating rather than annoying.
I savor the sound of my 2.35-inch knobbies crunching into dusty gravel.
The dry, summer scent of true Oregon Douglas Fir fills my lungs with every rhythmic heaving gasp.
As I crest another foothill of Oregon’s Coastal Range the horizon unfolds before me with the wonder of a child opening a birthday present.
It strikes me that, from the vantage point of that horizon I gaze upon, I am the horizon.
Nothing but my spirit connects me to the sky dotted with billows of clouds.
I can’t say I’ve thought often about the horizon. Once brought to my attention I realize it is what my soul yearns for, and where my heart takes me every chance I hop on my bicycle.
I understand why I continue to flee from big city to smaller city to, now, town.
I understand why, given an hour or two of freedom, I head for the hills.
I understand why I prefer to ride my bike than drive my car.
And why nothing fulfills me quite as much as being out in nature with my wife and daughters.
For all the advances we appear to make as mankind races into its future at spaceship speed, I find the simplicity of life that has survived the ages as the true marvel of life.
I realize why one of my favorite song lyrics of all time is the Counting Crows:
“If you’ve never stared out into the distance, then your life is a shame.”
Time to ride