The First Ride and A Good Sing

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.

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.