tradition

yesterday I rode up to brighton ski resort.

I had a (woo hoo!) tail wind on the way to the mouth of the canyon, and then a tail wind (woo hoo!!) almost all the way up the canyon.... these are always beautiful things.

until you turn around, of course.

but this story isn't about that.

this story is about the store at the top of the climb, the Brighton Store and Cafe which has been there since the first time I went to brighton ski resort, probably 23 years ago (and how long before that it had been around, I don't know).

an old, weather-darkened A-frame wood building, the Brighton Store and Cafe had a sign out front proudly declaring the elevation (8645'), sold awesome brownies, and had employees who would fill water bottles with ice for you, or serve you hot chocolate or tea by the fireplace as you tried to warm your core.

they sold t-shirts and nutri-grain bars, licorice ropes and silly what-nots with "brighton" painted on them. cold ice cream bars, big huge cookies, GU's and gatorades and mountain dew and popcorn balls.

there were benches out front, tables with umbrellas, on the asphalt of the parking lot, where we could sit and soak in the sun, munch our treats, rehydrate.

the bathrooms were clean.

and I write of everything in the past tense because it is no longer. when bob, andy and I rode up at the end of march, we saw that it was closed, but it wasn't until yesterday's visit that it became reality.

when I reached the top of the canyon yesterday, I rode past the no-longer-store and waved at two cyclists who were lying on the asphalt of the parking lot, their bikes propped against the thick wooden posts holding the brighton ski resort sign. they were soaking in the sun, sans chairs and table.

there was nowhere to buy a drink, a granola bar, a big fat cookie.

there was nowhere to use the bathroom.

there was nowhere to sit and savor the joy of being at the top of the hill.

there was only a sign that stated "child care" and another that simply said "closed for the season."

sigh.

a cycling favorite is gone; a landmark has quietly shut its doors.

a tradition---to eat, drink, rest at the top of the climb---has just been removed from the local cycling world.

it just doesn't feel right.

salt

today I had a plan for what I was going to be writing about here.

it was about traditions, those special experiences and events that we repeat over time. how sometimes we begin something new, and enjoy incorporating that into the pattern of our life. how some things have been with us for years, some things our entire lives.

how stability, patterns, traditions, and even things and people who've been around longer than we have add certainty to our lives. how they ground us, make us feel a connection with something greater than we ourselves are.

how I think we humans are programmed to crave this connection. how we desire an attachment to that which is more significant than us, a higher power, a larger world, a greater expanse of time than that we've lived. how mountains and oceans, the milky way and the moon all provide this something that somehow centers us. how a building fifty years older than us can provide that same groundedness, how we learn to place ourselves in the world based on what surrounds us.

how traditions mold us, how traditions help us form a sense of who we are, and how rich it is to add a new tradition to your life.

but what happened, you see, is that I've run out of time, and won't be able to write about all of that. instead, as a result of adding a possible new tradition to my life, I've got to go scrub the salt and cinders off my bike.

merry Christmas.