Tuesday, June 10, 2014

A Cyclist Despite Myself

I pedaled easily along the quiet road.  Despite the suburban development that’s overtaken the old family farm the ride through the cool I could squint and almost see it as it was in my childhood and in my teen years.  I don’t agree with the scope or quality of the subdivision developments that have sprung up on the creek.  There’s too much traffic, too much water use, too much bandwidth drag, for the meager space that was allotted long ago when only a few farming families occupied the drainage we now call home.

Dry morning air ripped open a gaping hole in the space-time continuum and took me back twenty or so years to a time when I roamed the Chainring holdings like a prince.  I remember overgrown fencerows, fields of hay, leaning barns full of archaeological discoveries awaiting my curious mind, and overshadowed by a backdrop of green hills full of their own inviting mysteries.  At least I can still roam the woods in freedom.  For the most part.

Last week I felt pretty wretched.  At first I thought it was allergies, but in the end it seemed like I was suffering from either a cold or a sinus infection.  And maybe allergies were killing me on top of whatever I really had.  Friday I felt somewhat better, and hoped for a good day of riding or running or whatever between the kids’ ballgames and getting caught up on stuff around the homestead.

Saturday morning I woke feeling worse than when I went to bed.  Injury insulted when I stepped outside and felt the low humidity and mild air temperature.  It would have been a perfect day for rock climbing.  Or mountain biking.  Or climbing Cobhill on a singlespeed.  Days like that make me feel like I can do anything.  Except when my head feels like a boil ready to pop.

Defiantly I chose to ride the Xtracycle to town to get a haircut before meeting Mandy and the kids at the city park for baseball.  I headed up the creek for a traverse of Granny Moppet instead of trying to tackle Steamshovel Hill in my weakened state.  Six in one hand; half dozen the other.  But I wanted a relaxing ride and going deeper into the valley had that effect.

Just up the road on a more humid day

I felt fine granny-gearing over Granny Moppet.  I cruised through the middle of town, popped my head in to ask if they could squeeze me in—they said in twenty minutes—so I sidestepped over to the library and killed the requisite amount of time perusing Jerrell Goodpaster’s Cave Run trails guide and a Red River Gorge rock climbing guide (for the photos).

Once I was sufficiently shorn I meandered over to the park.  Along the way I realized it was kind of fun to just ride around town.  That’s not something I do often.  Mostly I’m passing through on my way from home to somewhere else or back from form somewhere.  On a quiet Saturday morning it’s not a bad place to just cruise around.

I stayed at the game until it was painfully obvious that our boys would win 10-0 and I started home.  I felt okay on the ride back, but once inside the cool refuge of the Red River Regional Bikeport my energy evaporated, and I opted for a marathon of Longmire second season episodes courtesy of Netflickers.

And daydreamed of future adventures.

No comments:

Post a Comment