signals

while cycling, I sometimes yell at cars.  a refined yell, not a scream or shriek.  just loud enough that I feel good about putting energy into the noise, yet restrained enough that I know they're unlikely to hear me.
and what I most often yell is
blinkers!
use your blinkers!

the other day my 18-year-old daughter and I were driving to an appointment and she commented on a motorist who didn't use blinkers to signal a turn . . . I can't believe how many people don't use their blinkers.  I hate it.  
I, of course, had a small moment of parental pride, yes! I've trained my child to use and respect blinkers!
I've spent a bit of time contemplating the blinker situation, why people do and do not use them.  I've decided that drivers who don't use blinkers to signal their intentions are some combination of ignorant, arrogant, lazy, and distracted.
arrogant tops the list.

my other daughter pointed out to me that one can apply for a driver's license and NOT have to take a driver education course if one is age 19 or older.  maybe some motorists are simply ignorant.

distracted drivers?  not too hard to imagine.
lazy?  ditto.

whatever the cause, motorists who don't signal their intentions cause me grief as a cyclist.
just as, I suppose, cyclists who don't signal their intentions cause grief to motorists.

so I try not to be arrogant, ignorant, lazy, or distracted . . . and use my blinkers in my car, and my arms when I'm riding.

there's not one thing wrong with letting the world know where you're going.

see you at the lotoja finish line next week!
and the bestseller list next year,
and at the mini dealership for my new car a bit after that . . .

I have no problem letting you know where I'm going.

under the perigee moon

last sunday night's perigee moon was one of three perigee moons this year, the moon appearing 30% brighter than normal and appearing 14% bigger as it reached the point of its orbit closest to earth - 221,765 away, but the closest it ever comes. 

this perigee or supermoon was the second, and biggest, of a trio of supermoons to appear in our skies this summer.

on july 12, a smaller supermoon occurred, while on september 9 another is due to appear.  the next after that will be september 29, 2015.

and isn't perigee a cool word?  peri-near, gea-earth.

well, guess what a big, huge, full, super moon means for this early-morning cyclist?

yep, you're right:  an incredible ride without a headlight.

last monday morning I walked my bicycle out of the garage and was confused by how bright it was outside:  had I somehow lost an hour?  usually 4:50 is ink dark, and it was lit as though by street lamps everywhere.  I grinned and looked up, and saw the moon grinning back at me.  everywhere.

I must have smiled the entire way up the canyon, riding through moon shadows made by trees lining the road.  I'd turn my front light on whenever I saw or heard a car approaching, and then quickly turn it off once they passed.  

the question, of course, is why.  why is this such a delight?  and the only answer that will unveil itself to me is that the absence of artificial light draws me that much closer to the natural world.  the real world.  the earth, rocks, hills and trees that surround and support us.   losing my battery-powered light allows me access to the authentic dawn, which comes subtly and particle by particle as I move slowly through it all.  I myself become subtle, I blend into my surroundings.  I am one with the morning, more peaceful, more delighted by my moon-given opportunity to shed edison's invention.

when sunflowers follow the sun

years ago I fell in love with heliotrope:  the word, the color (purple), the flower (sweet, delicate, and purple.)
over time, heliotrope faded into a fold of my memory bank and I hadn't thought about it until today when I began researching sunflowers.  no, there isn't a purple sunflower, but sunflowers do possess the attribute of being heliotropic, which sounds suspiciously like heliotrope but like many things in our intriguing english language, has nothing at all to do with being purple.

sunflowers have popped.  it's august, it's hot, and these cheery tall plants gently bend and wave along the sides of emigration canyon road as I bike past.  it's only been a few weeks since they burst forth,  and they've brightened my mornings as their little heads catch my light beams.

the first clump I noticed had blooms facing east, and I remembered that sunflowers follow the sun ~ facing east in the morning and west in the afternoon.  in the early morning dark they'd already turned their heads toward the sun that hadn't yet risen, and I thought, these flowers are just like me.

at night before I retire, I pull together the biking gear I'll need in the morning:  shorts, top, heart monitor and socks in the bathroom, cyclometer and lights on the bike, shoes, helmet and glasses by the door, water bottles on the counter next to a protein breakfast bar.  I prep before the sun comes up.

so too the sunflowers.  I thought.
until I noticed that some sunflowers, in the early morning dark, were still facing west.
and then some faced east.  random?  or was the story that sunflowers followed the sun just a myth?

to google I went, and while googling I bumped into a tweaked version of my old friend heliotrope.

heliotropism is a trait of moving toward the sun.  and sunflowers are heliotropic.  well, the actively growing parts of sunflower plants are heliotropic.  young leaves and buds still in need of photosynthesis are heliotropic;  once the leaves and flowers have matured, they no longer chase the sun because their needs have been met.
and this is how they do it:  during the day, the stem on the side away from the sun elongates, tilting immature flowers and leaves toward the sun.  as the sun moves, the stem adjusts, which allows the flowers to face first east and then west.  in the dark, the process continues, preparing the plant by pulling it back into position for the next morning's light.

mature flowers no longer need to follow the sun, and will face any direction, often hanging their heads from the weight of seeds.

so.
I guess I'm like the young, immature sunflowers, preparing ahead of time for what's to come.  stretching one part of myself to help another, keeping a vision of something bright always in view.  knowing what I need, and availing myself of that:  bikes rides, great conversation, a few baked goods,  fabulous books, strong coffee, hot showers, plenty water, productivity, a goal or two.
friends, love, hugs, a good chamois.  google.

and bike rides in the dark so I can learn about things like heliotropism.