Rolling down my driveway the warm spring sun caresses my cheeks as softly as my mother’s hand while a wave of euphoria washes down through my body all the way to my toes.
I literally choke up for a moment, lost in utter serenity before my meditative trance gets shattered by the lightning bolt thought: What the hell is wrong with me?
The true signs of spring leap to life under the bright blue skies — cherry, apple, hazelnut and other trees fill the air with white blossoms floating on the breeze. Fields of green ripple to nature’s rhythm. Yellow daffodils fade as a rainbow of tulips take center stage.
This feeling of joy and wonder typically purges my essence of negativity. But today, a sour bitterness lingers.
Just a few years ago I joked, and secretly longed, for a new reality that included many glorious bike rides in February and March after more than a few occasionally joyful treks in December and January.
Yes, if this is what Global Warming is all about — fewer cold, rainy and cloudy days in Oregon, well, can it really be that bad?
The rivers and streams still flow. The reservoirs don’t overflow, but still fill.
Then those riding opportunities declined significantly last year.
No sweat, I thought. After nearly two years of pandemic and post-pandemic nonstop riding and fitness, my body, mind and spirit could probably use a breather.
So when spring sprung a little later, I felt as like a genius. My body rebounded quickly from a nearly complete two-month layoff when cool, not cold, left winter behind.
This year?
This year Mother Nature held me hostage. Winter rains came hard and heavy in November and December.
I’ve always bragged that our winters in the Willamette Valley aren’t that bad. Certainly not Seattle bad. Sure we have rain, but it seemed like we found an hour or two of sun break almost every day.
Not this year.
Instead of spurts of rain and temps in the 50s, we got smothered with endless rain in the upper 30s and 40s.
Don’t get me wrong, I tried. I went out a couple times when the mercury rose into the mid-40s, but, damn. Maybe it’s just me, but that feels a hellava lot colder than it used to.
So I spent most of the past four months gazing out my office window waiting, and hoping, for a reprieve.
When it finally arrived, I realized I’ve changed.
I’ve never held grudges. But I did today.
I’ve seldom felt anxious. But I did today.
I nearly always live in the present. But not today.
Until I rode up that climb — you know, the one I hate that always kicks my ass — and rolled to a stop.
I soaked in the view of the hazelnut groves that stretch over to the white church and steeple atop the hjll across the valley, with Turkey Vultures soaring on the stiff headwind I cursed beneath my breath just a few miles back, and two farm dogs barking and chasing their owner on his Gator.
Hmmm. Maybe good things do come to those who wait.
Let me check the forecast first.
Time to ride
