September 11, 2023
Old Friends
I’m not ready.
My shifter cables are stretched so I can’t use my big chain ring. I don’t know if the tent can still keep water out. I’m not strong. My taillight is held in place by rubber bands. My shoes have big rips down the sides.
But it’s time to go, so I’m going.
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I head out of town on a road I’ve driven hundreds of times before. Yet I see things I never noticed in a car, like the gravel drive that leads to the edge of a lake. I pull off and catch my breath and eat wild berries and send a message to Kristen to let her know I haven’t passed out or quit yet.
The things I love about cycling come back to me, like spitting at signs at the road’s edge and grunting with joy when I hit them, and riding over the just-painted shoulder line again and again when it makes a weird squishing sound beneath my tires. There are also the things I don’t love, like when a bug flies into my left eye and have to dig it out with a dirty finger using my helmet mirror as a guide.
A rush of cold wind washes over me as I speed down the back side of the last hill and turn into San Juan County Park half an hour before sunset.
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1 year ago