I read this the other day: "A fool always wants to shorten space and time. A wise man wants to lengthen both." I can get in my car or, I can hop on my bike, extend the time it takes me to get to work and take in all the sights and sounds that come with the journey.
So come for a ride with me!
My bike tic-tic-tics quietly as I wheel it through the back yard and slide the gate open. A quick hop on and the tic-tic-tic turns into a gentle constant whirring. I make my own breeze. The air is morning fresh. I can hear the robins, the black birds, the chipping sparrow's sewing-machine song.
I come to this walkway:
In the mornings it is lined with purple flowers all cheering me on! I click, click into 5th gear. By the time I return in the afternoon, all the flowers have closed up hiding from the summer heat. No cheer squad left.
I pass a couple women chatting. The older one's voice sounds gravelly; like she has spent years smoking cigarettes and drinking whiskey.
There are numerous dogs on walks - little ones, hairy ones, big ones. They all look pretty happy, assorted-sized tongues hanging out, and a few sniffing around picking up on the latest dog news.
I head down the hill and give this year's hill cry. WoHOO! I say it not too loud, but loud enough to exalt in the pick up of speed.
In the middle of town the smells are greasier, and I keep on alert. I know if take on one of these metal monsters, the odds are against me, it is not a fair fight. I have to bike on the defensive. The metal monsters rumble and growl around and behind me. And then they whoosh by.
Now it's up the hill - my heart starts pumping and I hope it can hold up. It is getting on, much like the rest of my body!
I pass a young woman as she is jogging. Her step so light I can't hear it; her long black pony tail swings rhythmically back and forth. She's vital and beautiful and gives no indication to me that any of her joints ache, like my right knee is.
Getting onto the long flat stretch now. I've got my second wind and my bike is purring as I click into 7th gear.
There is not nearly as much traffic on the roads these days. But yet, there are lots of dead squirrels still, some nothing left but flat pieces of fluff. I navigate around them, along with a variety of hubris: rocks, sticks, cigarette butts, an old Tim Horton's coffee cup.
I turn into the parking lot at work and coast, gearing down to 4th. Tic-tic-tic- - tic - tic - tic. I slow down, swing my leg over and hop off.
Rides over - thanks for coming with me!
