The excitement starts the night before. I’m at work, almost at the end of my shift, doing the last few things before I punch out and lock up for the night. My breath catches in my throat and I feel emotional, not just excitement, at the thought of a Sunday ride.
I’ve been watching the weather forecast for the last few days, necessary in March in Michigan. It’s supposed to be 45° around 11am. My minimum comfort is 37°, but it actually starts to feel pleasant somewhere in the mid-forties, depending on the sun, the wind, and humidity. Everything is coming up Milhouse as I give myself to go to bed, to turn off the light, to close my eyes in the dark, too excited to lie still, a kid on Christmas Eve.
I sleep eventually, waking up only once in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. What should have been an autopiloted chore turns into a 3am mental avalanche of all the things I’m worried about, all the things I haven’t done yet that I’m trying to remember, all the things I think I’m fucking up. I fall asleep again eventually.
The sunlight teasing the edges of the curtains wakes me up, and I rise, not fully rested, but not willing to let that stop me. I eat a hearty breakfast and, while I drink my second cup of coffee, I get my gear ready to roll.
I could talk about my bike, why I love it, all the technical things about it that make it awesome. I could talk about the gear I have, why I chose it, why I still use this but not that. It’s all very nerdy and I love to talk about it. But as I get ready to ride, none of it is important.
The ride is important. The only thing that’s important.
It’s the realization that I’ve warmed up enough that I feel perfectly comfortable in the chill morning air. It’s the steady sound of the tires on the pavement. It’s the feeling that I am completely in this moment, and that’s all that matters.
An hour and a half passes too quickly. Time is relative after all. I don’t feel quite the same thrill as I did when I would go out riding as a kid, the taste of freedom new to my lips. But I feel as close as a middle-aged guy can. Which is still pretty good.
-/-
I’m pulling myself together and getting a handle on what my life is now. I expect to get back to regular entries here soon, but I have one more upheaval to get past: a surgery I’m undergoing in a couple weeks.
The Chimerical Dark 