I left the house with plenty of time and no expectations. I hadn't ridden in 8 days; meetings, out-of-town seminar, showing property, walking the dogs, sorting my receipts and shredding old papers -- the list goes on and on.
So I needed some peace of mind and an endorphin fix bad. After spending the morning orgazing the loft/office (loftice? Offloft?), shredding a couple reams of old documents, and a couple loads of laundry I decided it was time to ride. The sun was bright, the sky blue, with big puffy cumulus clouds floating overhead.
I gave the dogs a bone to chew and rode out shortly after 1, when it was about as warm as it was going to get. I spun out the first couple of miles to warm up. I noticed when I hit the small rollers how much stronger my legs felt. Thanks, TRX!
There was little traffic, no wind, just sights, sounds and smells. The shady parts of Cantelow, still smelling freshly wet. The burbling of the seasonal creeks under the bridges. The brilliant exuberance of mustard in still-dormant orchards, with the bright clean green of the hills in the background.
Uphill, downhill, rollers, smelling the sensual honey essence of almond trees in full bloom, then back to crisp clear air. Fresh-cut grass in the face, then wet road in the shade, more gurgling small rapids of a creek alongside the road. Clean air in the face, sun on my back. Effortless pedaling over smooth road, rough road, avoiding gravel, dancing up the hills, standing and sprinting because that felt like the thing to do. I didn't anticipate anything but the next turn of the cranks.
35 miles later, having spent every moment in the moment, I arrived home. Refreshed, renewed, energized, feeling like the world was right again. Grabbed a snack, cleaned up, downloaded the data from my Garmin, and was pleasantly surprised to see a 2-mile increase in my avg. mph and a decrease in my avg. heart rate.
There's magic in taking each pedal stroke as a gift, appreciating the open road and views to sate the senses, and enjoying a ride for just that -- a ride.
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