Two excellent things happened this weekend. But I should say
these were normal happenings, perhaps, but the canvas for them was the weather
for the past week: a dungeon of sodden greyness, turbulent wind, shrinking into
hopeful spring coats that weren’t nearly warm enough. The skies were
monochrome, unceasingly deep blankets under which we were all hidden and
morose. Occasionally a maverick cloud might dart uncharacteristically quickly
past its role of sun obscuring, and a weak ray of gold would grace us. But
then, after 15 seconds, snow would begin on some sort of cruel whim.
And there’s a deeply concerning draught in California. (oh
climate change)
But coming back to the local. Today. Today was Spring.
Glorious sun leapt me out of bed, permanent sun, sun all day. My quads and
lungs and soul have been waiting for this day. Waiting to go bicycling. Bicycling
in celebration, not in stoicism. Not a rainy buzz out for eggs or soymilk, but
a glorious revel of exploring new places.
Cleaning my chain, pumping my tires: it was like getting
ready to go on a date, all eager and anticipating and a little nervous maybe. How
would it go? Would I still have it? It had been so long, so long since I’d
roared off on two wheels; which shoes
do I normally bicycle in? Which shorts fit the best? I had to step back and
remember these things.
And then: oh, it was like reconnecting with a love after a
long time separate. The previously delicious comfortable things now unexpectedly
new and exciting. How my feet fit in the pedals, the balance and grind of
standing into the handlebars to climb a hill, the brakes that do squeak, darn it.
I opened the Tompkins County bicycle map and arbitrarily
chose to head towards Dryden. A small town separated from Ithaca by fields and
trees and shabby houses and hills and streams. I took Whispering Springs
Actually-A-Killer-Hill Rd, or something like this, and began to climb. And
climb. I down-shifted. I took off my over shirt. Then rolled down my knee socks.
Then took those off completely. I was doing something I hadn’t done in ages: I
was sweating in the sun. Digging into my long-lost legs. Chipping the crusty
layer off my lungs. Suffering and glory all churning together. It was amazing.
And, after rounding many forested turns---believing to
finally be at the victorious crest only to thwartingly find there was more---I
did reach the highest bit. One of those yellow road signs of a truck riding
down a triangle indicated it would be a great descent. And oh my: that descent
went on long enough I got to move past the adrenaline of it, to sit with this
descent, to be in it for a long delicious time. The unexpectedly long climb was
winter, which when I was in it I never believed it to end (must work on Faith),
and this descent was the giddy glory of spring.
The descent was so fantastic and jostedly that I noticed an
undue amount of clatter happening after I landed. Upon inspection, I realized
my bicycle had lost a bit of hardware connecting my back-rack and rear-fender
to the frame. Poking tentatively around Dryden, I realized this town failed to
have content on a Sunday, and I had to be all clever with a bit of wire
scrounged roadside and some electrical tape purchased at Walgreens. But this
mending held and I was pleased.
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The descent into spring. It took me all the way to that valley. |
28 miles. My First Ride of the season. I feel so happy. I
have mild sun addiction, perhaps, and when I get a fix life is so much
improved. I’ll see how I am once I inventory the legs tomorrow morning.
The other excellent thing was music. The Christian
Scientists have a soloist instead of a choir, and as organist my task is to
learn their piece and accompany them. This week a soprano. I was expecting some
flimsy demanding blonde thing, but this girl, Miss Spunk, was tall like me and indeed a presence. She was young, irreverent and driven, quick
sense of humor, fast to laugh; we hit it off immediately. We had just met and
were creating music together, like a dance.
Rehearsal Saturday morning, though it was technically “work” I suppose,
was really fun.
There was a bit where she got all high and belting and I was
playing smooth arpeggios beneath. To hear this striking operatic voice,
resonating these wide notes, “aahhh”—rolling up into the
registers—“aaaahhh”—all like an aria—“ahhhh”—and here I was accompanying under
it!—“aaaaahhhh”—and then: “aahhhh-shit-aahhhh” as she expressed some unwanted
musical aberration. I started giggling, then laughing, then had to stop
playing. Then in my agile keyboardist grace I flail out and knock over my metal
thermos, which is a veritable gong. To have such a crash follow her operatic
expletive sent us both into a full train wreck. We had a blast.
But oh did we do well Sunday morning. I was giving myself
chills while she sang.
3 comments:
Anybody I know??
This a fantastic description of the first real ride of the spring — "like reconnecting with a love after a long time separate." We also went on our first recreational ride yesterday (not quite so long, nor so hilly, as yours), and I was revelling in spring, and biking, and the glory of not wearing a hat under my helmet.
I'm dying here....your “aahhhh-shit-aahhhh” followed by your flailing thermos gong...hysterical! Welcome, Spring!
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