Some days the clouds appear to leap away from bright blue skies, demanding my attention.
Some days vibrant colors of stunning yellow mustard flowers, deep red clover or crystal white clover smother the fields to the horizon.
Some days the cherry, peach, apple or hazelnut blossoms refuse to be ignored in endless groves lining the hills.
Some days the flocks of geese command the skies; some days the lone flight of an eagle.
Some days it’s deer.
Some days turkeys.
Some days it’s the lake.
Some days the river.
Some days it’s everything.
Some days nothing.
Everyday on my bike is a good day.
Oh sure, back when this love affair began, it was always something — usually physical.
Maybe the burn in my thighs.
Maybe the gasps of air.
It slowly evolved to my form.
Relax my arms.
Stretch my back.
Pull on the upstroke.
Rise out of the saddle.
Eventually it morphed to therapy sessions — primarily mental.
Maybe that story writing itself in my mind.
Maybe plotting to meet that looming deadline.
Maybe debating that job offer — OK, in reality dreaming about getting an offer.
Then?
Then somewhere, sometime, it transcended to become part of me. Part of my essence.
Some days it unfolds organically, and I’ll not realize it until I’m an hour into it that I’ve decided to ride today.
Some days it requires a debate that seems to always end with a softer more gentle way of saying, “Dude, Just Ride.”
Everyone has a reason for riding.
Mine is simple: It’s part of me.
Time to ride
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I will say that the titanic shoe company stumbled across something brilliant with their tag line analagous to ‘Dude, just ride.” Sometimes the ride sucks.
Sometimes it’s great.
Who’m I kidding.
It’s always great.
At least afterwards.
Well put. I’m often surprised when I find myself smiling — if not down right laughing — when the weather is at its worst or the trail has beaten me to a pulp