It takes me 110 minutes of pedaling to leave myself behind. That guy with bicycles to make, emails to answer, and tchotchkes to hustle. It’s good that most of my rides are twice this. Or longer. But even if I ended at the two hour mark, the ten minutes would be a gift.
I realized this afternoon after turning right out of the driveway, then taking the two roads that get me out of town and into the woods, that starting is often a chore. I have to push my way through the heaviness before I feel light. When my own light goes on, I’m transformed.
So many hours on the bicycle this year. Many more now that I’m riding rather than training. I’m still driving all of it; I’ve never been one to freewheel along. And every time I get to that moment when I’m in my own rear view mirror, I think about not returning. And then I do.
All This By Hand