Melancholy has been stalking my days. Her lugubrious melodies have risen above the background threshold of noise and are inviting me to become enmeshed and enveloped in their intoxicating spell. A veritable chorus of inner critics are raising their voices in unison, clamoring for attention and begging me to invite melancholy to stay for a lengthy visit.
Instead, on this overcast, dismal-looking Monday, I’ve decided to send melancholy on her way. I’m bringing out the heavy artillery: my Schwinn Worldsport is old and has seen better days, but still packs a wallop and can deliver a payload of pure bliss to whomever occupies the saddle. Melancholy avoids bliss like the plague; I’m armed and ready to do battle.
Eight miles out and I pass a group of cyclists wearing matching plain, bright-yellow jerseys with a leader wearing a plain, bright-orange jersey. Other than noting the riders seem to be middle-age males, I think nothing of the encounter. Only later, as I’ve put several miles between myself and them, does it occur to me these casual riders may have been on furlough from the jail or the group home. I offer my thanks to the Universe that I’m under no restrictions when I ride; the only limitations I experience are self-imposed.
At the 14.25-mile mark I’m halfway up a long hill climb. I’m in a part of the Cuyahoga Valley National Park where trees, farmlands, deer and other wildlife are prevalent. The bustling, urban metropolis of Akron seems remote and distant—a world and another lifetime away. The farms and farmhouses here are old, some dating to the time when the Ohio and Erie canal was the economic lifeblood of the region. Yet, as this is highly coveted and controlled real estate, I pass a couple of new McMansion-type houses looking incongruous amongst the century-old clapboards—one, in particular, speaks of significant wealth with gated fences and finely manicured lawns redolent of estates in Akron built during the great rubber industry boon of the last century.
The last climb of the day confronts me twenty-six miles into the ride. I’ve already conquered this nemesis of a hill three times this summer. Now, while still a challenge, I’ve no doubt of the outcome as I begin to attack the incline: steadily working the pedals I reach the apex with the knowledge the miles of roadway remaining to be traveled to reach my back door will, literally, be all downhill.
Turning my bike into the driveway I glance at my watch and see I’ve completed this 31-mile ride in less than two hours. I’ve won another “race” with myself and I celebrate/share my “victory” with the ebullient dog who greets my arrival.
Life is good.
Comments
2 responses to “Thoughts on Two Wheels: September 9, 2013”
I like your eye for detail, Ted, an artist’s eye. But “effervescent dog” had me worried for a second; I pictured foaming at he mouth before I got to wagging vigorously at the tail.
Yes, I suppose “effervescent” doesn’t quite work. I’ve substituted “ebullient” which (perhaps) better conveys what I was going for.