twenty-three seconds.
almost a commercial, or the length of time I microwave my coffee to warm it up.
about how long it takes me to comb my hair and pull it into a ponytail.
and what seems like forever when I'm holding a challenging yoga position.
also, the length of time I rode hands free, pedaling, easing into a gradual turn down beacon drive yesterday.
woo hoo!
which leads me to Why We Ride.
two years ago, when I was just getting into cycling, I had a conversation with someone about my life. I was tired, and struggling to make sense of all that was going on in my life and the path (was there a path?) I was moving along. it was a discussion of What Could Give, you know those conversations. I can't keep doing it all, how can I change things, what can give, because I'm at my limit. at that time I remember saying, well, I'm getting up awfully early each morning to ride, I suppose that's something I could give up. the answer from my friend: no! you can't give that up! that's the most important thing right now: it's giving you a sense of competence, of success, of joy. and even more than that, it's one thing that's yours, and yours alone. no one else has done the work for you, you own this experience, no one can take it away, it's yours.
this conversation has stuck with me, and I thank her immensely for pointing out this seemingly obvious point. my cycling is all about me: it's not about a spouse, a partner, or kids, and it's not about what someone else has given to or asked of me. it is fully mine.
the successes, the frustration, the commitment, the focus, the exhaustion, the tight muscles, the increased laundry, the bike maintenance, the exhilaration . . . it is all mine.
and this thought, this morning, led me to extrapolate my experience to other cyclists out there. (and this could be spread out to all other individual sports, as well, all of those millions of people who are out there running, skiing, swimming, kayaking . . . add whatever individual endeavors you would like.) we do it for ourselves, and for a myriad of reasons that combine and make us who we are.
we may do it to escape, to gain physical strength, or to increase mental strength. we may do it as a release, or as a tool to experience joy. it may have started as a sport or a form of exercise, but I don't believe that it stays there for us thinking humans. it can't. there are just too many aspects of it for it to remain solely a physical workout.
on a day when I pass twenty or thirty cyclists on the road, I am passing twenty or thirty different stories.
part of a story I want to share is that of the Fat Cyclist. I don't know enough about him to tell his whole story ~ are any of us truly able to verbalize our whole story? ~ but here is a tiny sketch. this man started a blog in May of 2005, a middle-aged (yep, that's me too) guy (nope) named Elden. biking is his main sport, but he found himself heavier than he wanted to be and it affected his riding. so, he started a blog to provide the incentive for himself to lose that weight, as he shared what his scale told him along the way. and a few stories. well, people started enjoying what he had to say, and now he has a pretty well-read blog which you can visit at www.fatcyclist.com
at some point, his wife was diagnosed with breast cancer. this later metastasized to other parts of her body, and she ~ and thus, Elden and their four kids ~ has been going through an unbelievably difficult and painful struggle.
I envision Elden riding, and I imagine what his mind and body are doing on those rides. I can't know the truth of it all, but I have a pretty good sense of what his cycling is doing for him. a release, an escape, a joy, time for thought, time for thoughtlessness. it is all of these things, and more, to him. and if it weren't cycling, it would have to be something, because we all have limits to how much we can bear. and we all need escapes and releases.
and those little 23-second stretches of pure joy.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Sunday, October 5, 2008
raisins and velvet
I slept in this morning, and wakened to the faint sound of car tires on wet pavement. it was just before 8: I had slept for almost 10 hours. guess I needed it.
I sipped coffee while I read and watched the rain slap its drops against the road, watched the river of runoff in the street gutters beside my house. I did not want to be out on my bike. apparently, no other cyclists wanted to either, bless them. I hope they all had as good a morning as I had.
I went to yoga at 9:30, and am proud of myself for three things: 1) using a funny blue colored mat, because my favorite green ones ~ the ones I always use ~ were taken, 2) positioning myself in the front and center, since my usual spots ~ back row, centerish ~ were taken, and 3) being open to the substitute teacher, who taught a class nothing at all like miguel does. wow. what progress I've made.
the weather channel predicted an end to the rain mid-day, and that the afternoon would be just partly cloudy and dry. so I planned an early afternoon bike ride. I waited until the streets dried up and the clouds made a commitment to lighten up and stop throwing moisture down, and about 1:30 I set out for Big Mountain. I didn't want to 1) work too terribly hard, 2) go too far away, 3) freeze, or 4) be gone too long, so Big Mountain seemed the perfect choice.
it was a day for solitary cyclists, especially on the road from Little Mountain to Big. we're coming to the end of the season, and there are still some of us die-hards out there who aren't going to give it up yet, but the "let's go ride" groups have lost momentum. it's like we're all little raisins in an almost-empty box, and the box is being shaken. one comes out and starts on its ride, then another, and then maybe two, but as the box gets shaken again and again, just a solitary raisin comes out. I felt like one of those raisins today, alone on my climb up to the summit.
it was a day for photographers: I've never seen so many cameras in use at Big Mountain. I did not take a picture with a camera, but one is imprinted on my mind, and it looks like this: as we look out to the south, the hills go on and on, and we can see in the distance the mountain range that is home to alta, snowbird, brighton and solitude. it's as if the first set of hills are covered with a multi-colored velvet, one that changes from browns to deep greens to bronzes and golds, and it shimmers in the sun that is striking the hill, just as the nap of a velvet throws off light and changes colors. the next furthest hills are also covered in velvet, but this is a more subtle one, where shades of deep cobalt blue and navy flow into indigo, and it is rich, so rich, I expect an ermine collar to top it so that it is ready for the king. these hills are regal, royal, unfathomably elegant and complex. then in the distance we see the higher peaks, which are dusted with snow from this weekend's storm.
the juxtaposition of these strikingly different colored mountains is shockingly surreal. how can this be? if I were to paint this, it wouldn't be accepted as life-like. my description here defies logic as well.
yet it was reality, it was gorgeous, it was one of those sights that causes you to sigh in awe, in a stunned acceptance of the visual richness of the world we inhabit.
my little raisin self then rode home, hurried to write this before I forgot one single moment of my ride, and is now going to go take a long, very very warm shower and warm my chilly self up.
I sipped coffee while I read and watched the rain slap its drops against the road, watched the river of runoff in the street gutters beside my house. I did not want to be out on my bike. apparently, no other cyclists wanted to either, bless them. I hope they all had as good a morning as I had.
I went to yoga at 9:30, and am proud of myself for three things: 1) using a funny blue colored mat, because my favorite green ones ~ the ones I always use ~ were taken, 2) positioning myself in the front and center, since my usual spots ~ back row, centerish ~ were taken, and 3) being open to the substitute teacher, who taught a class nothing at all like miguel does. wow. what progress I've made.
the weather channel predicted an end to the rain mid-day, and that the afternoon would be just partly cloudy and dry. so I planned an early afternoon bike ride. I waited until the streets dried up and the clouds made a commitment to lighten up and stop throwing moisture down, and about 1:30 I set out for Big Mountain. I didn't want to 1) work too terribly hard, 2) go too far away, 3) freeze, or 4) be gone too long, so Big Mountain seemed the perfect choice.
it was a day for solitary cyclists, especially on the road from Little Mountain to Big. we're coming to the end of the season, and there are still some of us die-hards out there who aren't going to give it up yet, but the "let's go ride" groups have lost momentum. it's like we're all little raisins in an almost-empty box, and the box is being shaken. one comes out and starts on its ride, then another, and then maybe two, but as the box gets shaken again and again, just a solitary raisin comes out. I felt like one of those raisins today, alone on my climb up to the summit.
it was a day for photographers: I've never seen so many cameras in use at Big Mountain. I did not take a picture with a camera, but one is imprinted on my mind, and it looks like this: as we look out to the south, the hills go on and on, and we can see in the distance the mountain range that is home to alta, snowbird, brighton and solitude. it's as if the first set of hills are covered with a multi-colored velvet, one that changes from browns to deep greens to bronzes and golds, and it shimmers in the sun that is striking the hill, just as the nap of a velvet throws off light and changes colors. the next furthest hills are also covered in velvet, but this is a more subtle one, where shades of deep cobalt blue and navy flow into indigo, and it is rich, so rich, I expect an ermine collar to top it so that it is ready for the king. these hills are regal, royal, unfathomably elegant and complex. then in the distance we see the higher peaks, which are dusted with snow from this weekend's storm.
the juxtaposition of these strikingly different colored mountains is shockingly surreal. how can this be? if I were to paint this, it wouldn't be accepted as life-like. my description here defies logic as well.
yet it was reality, it was gorgeous, it was one of those sights that causes you to sigh in awe, in a stunned acceptance of the visual richness of the world we inhabit.
my little raisin self then rode home, hurried to write this before I forgot one single moment of my ride, and is now going to go take a long, very very warm shower and warm my chilly self up.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
the rain thing
the thing about rain is that it's really wet.
and wet is fine for certain activities, say swimming, boating, showering, things like that. but wet is not fine for others. it can get uncomfortable, and it can get cold. and when you mix rain and wind it can be miserable. rain and wet pavement combinations get slippery. rain and wet pavement and bicycle tires equals a dirty, wet rooster tail up your back. you know where I'm headed.
biking in the rain is fairly low on the list of "things susan likes to do."
but apparently more people would rather bike in the rain than bike in the dark.
I have seen so many people riding in the rain today I lost count. and I saw them not just riding along residential streets, but riding up and down emigration canyon. in the rain. this is not a mist, not a light sprinkle, not a refreshing little shower, this is rain.
I want to tell all these people that they have an option: they could get up earlier on their weekdays and come ride in the dark, when at least it's been dry. but then again, do I really want them all up there with me? no, not really. I will keep my mouth shut and let them ride in the rain.
and I have ridden in the rain, and I know what it's like to have the free time and want to cycle and to not want to be limited by the weather. but I also know what it's like to get home and peel off layers of saturated clothing and shoes, to make a puddle in my laundry room, and to have to stand in the shower under a hot stream for a good twenty minutes to unthaw my bones.
and if I weren't ready for a day off today, I might have been out there this morning, too.
but I've ridden every day this past week except monday, and I've ridden 11 of the past 13 days, so my body deserves a rest today.
I have become a weather watcher, always keeping an eye on highs and lows and storm systems on their way to us. every night I check the weather news to see how warmly I'll need to dress in the morning, and what I can expect for the next few days of riding. I've known all week that today and tomorrow are rainy days, so I purposely saved my day off the bike for today.
now tomorrow might cause me some difficulty, as to have two days in a row off my bike might throw me into some kind of physical shock. however, since there's currently only a 60% chance of rain tomorrow, I am hoping that at some point the skies will stop sending wetness down to earth and I will be able to get out.
and if it doesn't clear? will I ride in the rain?
tune in tomorrow, when you and I will both have the answer to that question.
and wet is fine for certain activities, say swimming, boating, showering, things like that. but wet is not fine for others. it can get uncomfortable, and it can get cold. and when you mix rain and wind it can be miserable. rain and wet pavement combinations get slippery. rain and wet pavement and bicycle tires equals a dirty, wet rooster tail up your back. you know where I'm headed.
biking in the rain is fairly low on the list of "things susan likes to do."
but apparently more people would rather bike in the rain than bike in the dark.
I have seen so many people riding in the rain today I lost count. and I saw them not just riding along residential streets, but riding up and down emigration canyon. in the rain. this is not a mist, not a light sprinkle, not a refreshing little shower, this is rain.
I want to tell all these people that they have an option: they could get up earlier on their weekdays and come ride in the dark, when at least it's been dry. but then again, do I really want them all up there with me? no, not really. I will keep my mouth shut and let them ride in the rain.
and I have ridden in the rain, and I know what it's like to have the free time and want to cycle and to not want to be limited by the weather. but I also know what it's like to get home and peel off layers of saturated clothing and shoes, to make a puddle in my laundry room, and to have to stand in the shower under a hot stream for a good twenty minutes to unthaw my bones.
and if I weren't ready for a day off today, I might have been out there this morning, too.
but I've ridden every day this past week except monday, and I've ridden 11 of the past 13 days, so my body deserves a rest today.
I have become a weather watcher, always keeping an eye on highs and lows and storm systems on their way to us. every night I check the weather news to see how warmly I'll need to dress in the morning, and what I can expect for the next few days of riding. I've known all week that today and tomorrow are rainy days, so I purposely saved my day off the bike for today.
now tomorrow might cause me some difficulty, as to have two days in a row off my bike might throw me into some kind of physical shock. however, since there's currently only a 60% chance of rain tomorrow, I am hoping that at some point the skies will stop sending wetness down to earth and I will be able to get out.
and if it doesn't clear? will I ride in the rain?
tune in tomorrow, when you and I will both have the answer to that question.
Friday, October 3, 2008
notes
my mother asked me the other day if I was perhaps obsessed with cycling.
I laughed, and replied, of course not, then canceled our lunch date so I could go for a 50-mile ride before the clouds moved in.
no, I didn't.
then there's the article in this month's issue of Bicycling magazine (to which I have a subscription, but please note that this was given to me by a friend; I didn't ask for it, either) called, Are You Addicted to Cycling? I read the teaser on the cover, then immediately turned to that page and skimmed the article (I didn't have time to read it, as I was getting ready to go for a ride), to see whether or not I met the criteria.
so, am I? am I not?
after my mom asked the question, she went on to say, as long as you don't need to do it . . . and then she qualified that statement by saying, well, I do need to do my walking . . .
and there's the rub. I love to bike, and it's an activity that is good for me. at what point does one cross over from healthy levels of activity/fitness to obsession and addiction?
what I know is that I have not made that cross.
how do I know this?
because I drag myself out of bed or off the couch to go riding, and I am almost always thrilled when it is over. on a day off I am grateful. I love to sleep in and ignore my bike. all of these indicate that I still possess some level of sanity around my cycling. on top of all those, I have never maxed my credit card out at the bike shop, and though I may have bike and gadget envy, I can patiently await the day when I can afford to buy my new toys. (that's because, remember, I have thoroughly learned patience in this life.)
therefore, I deduce that I am neither obsessed by nor addicted to cycling.
there are a few points on the other side, however . . .
such as my odometer reading and commitment to reaching that next big number.
such as my determination to keep riding each morning, dark as it is.
such as my dislike of stopping along the way to smell the roses: I catch enough of the fragrance as I ride past.
when I first started riding regularly, my path took me through many neighborhoods. and on my "recovery days" I still often wind through streets with houses, sidewalks, yards, and gardens. that first summer I saw so many different styles of gardens and yards, and was amazed by how many truly beautiful homes there are. so very many people must take great pride in how they care for their homes and yards, and I love this about riding through neighborhoods.
what it made me think of was that I should carry around a pad of paper and pen, and leave notes for people. "Your yard is stunning ~ it is pure pleasure to ride past your house" -type notes. "Your house is gorgeous, and you take wonderful care of your yard--thanks!" and then sometimes it would be, "Are you aware that you have a broken sprinkler head by the driveway that is gushing, 6am, Tuesday?"
but I have yet to put paper and pen in my pocket.
because then I would have to stop along the way, which doesn't fit with my cycling life.
which leads me to think I'm a little too addicted to the whole pattern of get up-ride-get home, do it again tomorrow.
yes, I said addicted.
someday, I think, I will be calm enough to go for a leisurely ride with a small notebook and a pen. and I will stop every time I want to write a note to a homeowner. I will write it, put my bike down, and go tuck the note in the mailbox. then pick my bike up and ride away, off to find the next beautiful yard.
I laughed, and replied, of course not, then canceled our lunch date so I could go for a 50-mile ride before the clouds moved in.
no, I didn't.
then there's the article in this month's issue of Bicycling magazine (to which I have a subscription, but please note that this was given to me by a friend; I didn't ask for it, either) called, Are You Addicted to Cycling? I read the teaser on the cover, then immediately turned to that page and skimmed the article (I didn't have time to read it, as I was getting ready to go for a ride), to see whether or not I met the criteria.
so, am I? am I not?
after my mom asked the question, she went on to say, as long as you don't need to do it . . . and then she qualified that statement by saying, well, I do need to do my walking . . .
and there's the rub. I love to bike, and it's an activity that is good for me. at what point does one cross over from healthy levels of activity/fitness to obsession and addiction?
what I know is that I have not made that cross.
how do I know this?
because I drag myself out of bed or off the couch to go riding, and I am almost always thrilled when it is over. on a day off I am grateful. I love to sleep in and ignore my bike. all of these indicate that I still possess some level of sanity around my cycling. on top of all those, I have never maxed my credit card out at the bike shop, and though I may have bike and gadget envy, I can patiently await the day when I can afford to buy my new toys. (that's because, remember, I have thoroughly learned patience in this life.)
therefore, I deduce that I am neither obsessed by nor addicted to cycling.
there are a few points on the other side, however . . .
such as my odometer reading and commitment to reaching that next big number.
such as my determination to keep riding each morning, dark as it is.
such as my dislike of stopping along the way to smell the roses: I catch enough of the fragrance as I ride past.
when I first started riding regularly, my path took me through many neighborhoods. and on my "recovery days" I still often wind through streets with houses, sidewalks, yards, and gardens. that first summer I saw so many different styles of gardens and yards, and was amazed by how many truly beautiful homes there are. so very many people must take great pride in how they care for their homes and yards, and I love this about riding through neighborhoods.
what it made me think of was that I should carry around a pad of paper and pen, and leave notes for people. "Your yard is stunning ~ it is pure pleasure to ride past your house" -type notes. "Your house is gorgeous, and you take wonderful care of your yard--thanks!" and then sometimes it would be, "Are you aware that you have a broken sprinkler head by the driveway that is gushing, 6am, Tuesday?"
but I have yet to put paper and pen in my pocket.
because then I would have to stop along the way, which doesn't fit with my cycling life.
which leads me to think I'm a little too addicted to the whole pattern of get up-ride-get home, do it again tomorrow.
yes, I said addicted.
someday, I think, I will be calm enough to go for a leisurely ride with a small notebook and a pen. and I will stop every time I want to write a note to a homeowner. I will write it, put my bike down, and go tuck the note in the mailbox. then pick my bike up and ride away, off to find the next beautiful yard.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
heart work
When you are born, your work is placed in your heart.
(attributed to a Native American elder.)
I've determined that one of the seemingly many things placed in my heart at birth is patience. and riding up a hill today I was struck with the realization that I have learned this. I, susan imhoff, have thoroughly learned patience.
this learning has been in the works for a very long time, with a super-concentrated, intensive course load the past five years. I'll throw a little kierkegaard out here, referring to his statement that life must be lived forward, but can only be understood backwards. from my current vantage point, I can see just how much of my life has involved lessons in patience.
and perhaps almost all life lessons involve patience; perhaps patience is part of the work placed in everyone's hearts.
I think my patience lessons are part of why endurance rides have dovetailed so well into my cycling life. I am not a sprinter, nor am I fast enough to want to race. I am good at the 'long haul,' the completion of enduring rides. I can climb well enough, and I can ride quickly enough, but my greatest strength is probably just that I can keep going for a long time. woo hoo! what a talent, I am laughing to myself.
and endurance has a definite aspect of patience to it, doesn't it? in fact, some dictionaries use the word 'patience' in their definition of endurance, and 'patience' is considered by some to be a synonym of endurance. I know that at times they feel the same to me. endurance, to me, has a suffering connotation to it, and I know that at times my patience comes with some small amount of 'suffering.'
patience is about continuing forward, whether or not you like it, feel safe and secure, or have knowledge that the end result will be something you'll feel was worth it all. patience is living with uncomfortable things, believing that you will grow and become stronger because of it. patience is wanting a certain outcome, wanting it today, but knowing that the universe will be what determines whether or not you receive that outcome, and on what timetable. patience is letting things germinate and grow before you expect a blossom.
I once heard a wonderful analogy having to do with patience. it's about one who planted seeds, and wanted them to grow. she would plant a seed, then water it, and wait for a week or two and finally give up in frustration, digging down and pulling out the seed to see what's wrong, why it was not growing . . .
my life is full of germinating things. children are germinating things: we love and nurture and bestow bushels of patience on them, and eventually they become these amazingly self-sufficient, productive, beautiful beings. my writing, my business, my cycling progress, my house, my friendships and other relationships: all of these things take time, have periods of germination and even hibernation, and the good ones all have an aspect of patience to them.
as all those grandpas and grandmas out there say: good things take time.
good things, good rides, good cycling fitness: patience, endurance, and more patience are what keep me going and help me reach the tops of those hills, and the end of those long rides.
(attributed to a Native American elder.)
I've determined that one of the seemingly many things placed in my heart at birth is patience. and riding up a hill today I was struck with the realization that I have learned this. I, susan imhoff, have thoroughly learned patience.
this learning has been in the works for a very long time, with a super-concentrated, intensive course load the past five years. I'll throw a little kierkegaard out here, referring to his statement that life must be lived forward, but can only be understood backwards. from my current vantage point, I can see just how much of my life has involved lessons in patience.
and perhaps almost all life lessons involve patience; perhaps patience is part of the work placed in everyone's hearts.
I think my patience lessons are part of why endurance rides have dovetailed so well into my cycling life. I am not a sprinter, nor am I fast enough to want to race. I am good at the 'long haul,' the completion of enduring rides. I can climb well enough, and I can ride quickly enough, but my greatest strength is probably just that I can keep going for a long time. woo hoo! what a talent, I am laughing to myself.
and endurance has a definite aspect of patience to it, doesn't it? in fact, some dictionaries use the word 'patience' in their definition of endurance, and 'patience' is considered by some to be a synonym of endurance. I know that at times they feel the same to me. endurance, to me, has a suffering connotation to it, and I know that at times my patience comes with some small amount of 'suffering.'
patience is about continuing forward, whether or not you like it, feel safe and secure, or have knowledge that the end result will be something you'll feel was worth it all. patience is living with uncomfortable things, believing that you will grow and become stronger because of it. patience is wanting a certain outcome, wanting it today, but knowing that the universe will be what determines whether or not you receive that outcome, and on what timetable. patience is letting things germinate and grow before you expect a blossom.
I once heard a wonderful analogy having to do with patience. it's about one who planted seeds, and wanted them to grow. she would plant a seed, then water it, and wait for a week or two and finally give up in frustration, digging down and pulling out the seed to see what's wrong, why it was not growing . . .
my life is full of germinating things. children are germinating things: we love and nurture and bestow bushels of patience on them, and eventually they become these amazingly self-sufficient, productive, beautiful beings. my writing, my business, my cycling progress, my house, my friendships and other relationships: all of these things take time, have periods of germination and even hibernation, and the good ones all have an aspect of patience to them.
as all those grandpas and grandmas out there say: good things take time.
good things, good rides, good cycling fitness: patience, endurance, and more patience are what keep me going and help me reach the tops of those hills, and the end of those long rides.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
the stew pot
a number of thoughts have crossed my mind this morning, but none seemed significant enough to hold my interest for a whole mini-essay.
here are a few of them:
the house on the hill that looked liked the perfect grinning-monster Halloween house: two big square windows for eyes, with a larger one positioned just below that made a big rectangular mouth. they were all lit up, and the house was alone up on the hillside, and it just shouted spooky, mean, demonic grin to me. and then I rode on.
joggers and runners who are out there in the dark, in the street, with no lights or reflective strips on them, anywhere: (now this one almost qualified for its own essay, but I just don't have it in me today.) what are they thinking? part of me can relate, as I love the feeling of being one with the dark, with the cool air and the dense atmosphere, moving through it so quietly, not disturbing a thing. light changes that. but reflective strips on your clothing don't, and it just seems crazy to not have some kind of early warning system for cars and even us cyclists. I have had runners suddenly appear in my vision, six or seven feet away from me, that I could have taken down quite easily, which would have completely disrupted any sense of peace either one of us was cultivating.
where have all the cyclists gone? I saw one this morning, whom I believe to be my daily commuter, and that was it. have they changed their schedule so that they can ride in the evening now? am I one of that teeny tiny population that is (pick one, or more, if you wish) too stubborn, too rigid, too inflexible, or too type-A personality to give up this piece of my routine? mornings work for me ~ I get up and start going before I have time or projects or functioning brain cells to talk myself out of it. and it's not THAT cold out there, yet.
traffic: there was not nearly as much traffic today as yesterday, which is curious.
the house where the man usually sits at his desk by the big picture window: he's almost always there, and sometimes there's a female with him, also. the house has been dark since last wednesday morning, which is highly unusual. I'm thinking they must be on vacation. because people who are consistently awake at doing something at their desk at 6 in the morning are probably not going to change into people who sleep in, are they?
mileage: it is the first of october, and I have 7650 miles on my odometer. I believe I started the season with about 3500 (I don't really know ~ can you believe that? I seem like the type who would know, don't I?) and my goal is to reach 8000 before the snow keeps me from riding. I did become a wimp late last fall, refusing to ride if the roads were wet or if it was in the low 40s. I'm thinking I will have no problem at all reaching my goal, and I might even need to revise it upward . . .
so that's my mini-collection of thoughts, none of which are worth a whole entry of their own. at least not today, when my mind is into short-term activities and not deep contemplation.
happy october!
here are a few of them:
the house on the hill that looked liked the perfect grinning-monster Halloween house: two big square windows for eyes, with a larger one positioned just below that made a big rectangular mouth. they were all lit up, and the house was alone up on the hillside, and it just shouted spooky, mean, demonic grin to me. and then I rode on.
joggers and runners who are out there in the dark, in the street, with no lights or reflective strips on them, anywhere: (now this one almost qualified for its own essay, but I just don't have it in me today.) what are they thinking? part of me can relate, as I love the feeling of being one with the dark, with the cool air and the dense atmosphere, moving through it so quietly, not disturbing a thing. light changes that. but reflective strips on your clothing don't, and it just seems crazy to not have some kind of early warning system for cars and even us cyclists. I have had runners suddenly appear in my vision, six or seven feet away from me, that I could have taken down quite easily, which would have completely disrupted any sense of peace either one of us was cultivating.
where have all the cyclists gone? I saw one this morning, whom I believe to be my daily commuter, and that was it. have they changed their schedule so that they can ride in the evening now? am I one of that teeny tiny population that is (pick one, or more, if you wish) too stubborn, too rigid, too inflexible, or too type-A personality to give up this piece of my routine? mornings work for me ~ I get up and start going before I have time or projects or functioning brain cells to talk myself out of it. and it's not THAT cold out there, yet.
traffic: there was not nearly as much traffic today as yesterday, which is curious.
the house where the man usually sits at his desk by the big picture window: he's almost always there, and sometimes there's a female with him, also. the house has been dark since last wednesday morning, which is highly unusual. I'm thinking they must be on vacation. because people who are consistently awake at doing something at their desk at 6 in the morning are probably not going to change into people who sleep in, are they?
mileage: it is the first of october, and I have 7650 miles on my odometer. I believe I started the season with about 3500 (I don't really know ~ can you believe that? I seem like the type who would know, don't I?) and my goal is to reach 8000 before the snow keeps me from riding. I did become a wimp late last fall, refusing to ride if the roads were wet or if it was in the low 40s. I'm thinking I will have no problem at all reaching my goal, and I might even need to revise it upward . . .
so that's my mini-collection of thoughts, none of which are worth a whole entry of their own. at least not today, when my mind is into short-term activities and not deep contemplation.
happy october!
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
on golfing
this morning was about numbers:
24
17
5
3
1
0
24 is the number of vehicles that passed me heading west this morning, as I rode up emigration, down to little dell reservoir, and back.
17 is the number of vehicles that passed me heading east.
5 is the number of cyclists I saw that were heading east: 3 were just reaching the summit and 2 were not far behind them as I was heading down from the top.
3 is the number of cyclists heading west as I was heading up: I saw them all before I was two miles up the canyon, and one of them I saw right by Ruth's so there were parking lot lights and I confirmed my belief that he was a commuter (panniers on the back). I think they are all commuters, but in the dark it's really difficult to tell.
1 is for me, the only cyclist who had my exact experience this morning.
0 is for the number of golfers I saw on the course as I was on my way home.
and golf is what I wish to discuss this morning.
I ride through bonneville golf course on my way to and from emigration and city creek canyons, and also when I meet biking buddies bob and andy at the zoo. the golf course is a very familiar place, at least this small strip of it that rests on either side of wasatch drive.
this morning the sprinklers were on both as I went up and as I came down, and I'm thinking this might have been due to a small glitch of the system. the wind is often quite strong through this section, and this morning at 5:40 the wind carried the sprinkler spray onto the road ~ and thus, me ~ more than any other time I've ever ridden through. brrr. not what I wanted or needed, but a rather cool experience, as those first miniscule droplets of water landed softly on me, in the silent dark, seemingly from nowhere. my headband, covering my ears, muffled any sound the sprinklers themselves were making, so that first fine spray caught me completely by surprise.
but the watering system of the golf course isn't really what I wanted to write about. I want to write about golf. I want to apologize to the golfing universe for all of the unkind things I've ever said about the game. I was married to a golfer, and I came to resent golf, and that has thrown a shadow over any thoughts or feelings I might have about the game itself. it's time to be free of that shadow, though, and I think that my frequent rides through the course have helped me push that away and release it.
I see people playing golf at 6:30 in the morning, in twosomes and foursomes, mostly male but some females, in the heat of the day, against the wind, under cloudy skies, beneath skies bluer than blue and sun so hot I want to hide from it anywhere and anyway I can. I hear the smack of the club hitting a ball so dead on that I know it will fly hundreds of yards straight down the fairway. I see men off in the weeds and overgrowth, bent over, searching for a small white ball they will likely never find. I see people walking, golf bags slung over a shoulder, I see them riding in carts, smiling and laughing and holding on to the roof supports.
what I see is people enjoying their experience. and like the people with too much body fat that I see out walking, running, working to change that, I see these golfers outside, working to hone a skill or just to feel the thrill of playing the game, and I admire and appreciate them all.
it's that kinship thing: we are all doing something from which we receive some kind of satisfaction, whether it be because we're improving a skill, becoming more fit, or practicing a task that brings us a sense of accomplishment. or something else, completely ~ I can't begin to know why we all do what we do.
but I have relaxed my position on golf, and it feels good. it doesn't mean that I again want to be married to a golfer, but it does mean that I have a greater appreciation for the personal fulfillment that can be gained by spending those hours on the course.
and who knows: one day, I may find myself out there on a golf course, smacking my own little white balls into the rough . . . oops, I mean, straight down the fairway and onto the green.
24
17
5
3
1
0
24 is the number of vehicles that passed me heading west this morning, as I rode up emigration, down to little dell reservoir, and back.
17 is the number of vehicles that passed me heading east.
5 is the number of cyclists I saw that were heading east: 3 were just reaching the summit and 2 were not far behind them as I was heading down from the top.
3 is the number of cyclists heading west as I was heading up: I saw them all before I was two miles up the canyon, and one of them I saw right by Ruth's so there were parking lot lights and I confirmed my belief that he was a commuter (panniers on the back). I think they are all commuters, but in the dark it's really difficult to tell.
1 is for me, the only cyclist who had my exact experience this morning.
0 is for the number of golfers I saw on the course as I was on my way home.
and golf is what I wish to discuss this morning.
I ride through bonneville golf course on my way to and from emigration and city creek canyons, and also when I meet biking buddies bob and andy at the zoo. the golf course is a very familiar place, at least this small strip of it that rests on either side of wasatch drive.
this morning the sprinklers were on both as I went up and as I came down, and I'm thinking this might have been due to a small glitch of the system. the wind is often quite strong through this section, and this morning at 5:40 the wind carried the sprinkler spray onto the road ~ and thus, me ~ more than any other time I've ever ridden through. brrr. not what I wanted or needed, but a rather cool experience, as those first miniscule droplets of water landed softly on me, in the silent dark, seemingly from nowhere. my headband, covering my ears, muffled any sound the sprinklers themselves were making, so that first fine spray caught me completely by surprise.
but the watering system of the golf course isn't really what I wanted to write about. I want to write about golf. I want to apologize to the golfing universe for all of the unkind things I've ever said about the game. I was married to a golfer, and I came to resent golf, and that has thrown a shadow over any thoughts or feelings I might have about the game itself. it's time to be free of that shadow, though, and I think that my frequent rides through the course have helped me push that away and release it.
I see people playing golf at 6:30 in the morning, in twosomes and foursomes, mostly male but some females, in the heat of the day, against the wind, under cloudy skies, beneath skies bluer than blue and sun so hot I want to hide from it anywhere and anyway I can. I hear the smack of the club hitting a ball so dead on that I know it will fly hundreds of yards straight down the fairway. I see men off in the weeds and overgrowth, bent over, searching for a small white ball they will likely never find. I see people walking, golf bags slung over a shoulder, I see them riding in carts, smiling and laughing and holding on to the roof supports.
what I see is people enjoying their experience. and like the people with too much body fat that I see out walking, running, working to change that, I see these golfers outside, working to hone a skill or just to feel the thrill of playing the game, and I admire and appreciate them all.
it's that kinship thing: we are all doing something from which we receive some kind of satisfaction, whether it be because we're improving a skill, becoming more fit, or practicing a task that brings us a sense of accomplishment. or something else, completely ~ I can't begin to know why we all do what we do.
but I have relaxed my position on golf, and it feels good. it doesn't mean that I again want to be married to a golfer, but it does mean that I have a greater appreciation for the personal fulfillment that can be gained by spending those hours on the course.
and who knows: one day, I may find myself out there on a golf course, smacking my own little white balls into the rough . . . oops, I mean, straight down the fairway and onto the green.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)