The snow and cold has forbidden me to ride since November. Others can bicycle in the sub-freezing temperatures but I grew up in sunny California; I do not have the thick blood required to suck in polar air without getting frostbite in my lungs. I have witnessed those with more severe constitutions bicycling in the freeze of winter and it causes me to wonder at their iron nerve and concrete resistance to glacial cold.
The worst winter in memory is coming to a defiant end. With the warmer weather I am feeling the call to return to my morals and ride the bike to work again. Today I lugged the poor thing up from its exile between the laundry machine and the hot water heater in the dusty dank basement. It looked unhappy to have been in social quarantine for three months.
A quick inspection confirmed that the mice had not chewed through the rims or that the cables had not become bunched up around the sprocket on their own. I ignored the cobwebs and began turning the crank. It still turned and the wheels still looked reasonably round and true. That was all I needed. I found my helmet next to the kitty box, (what the kitty was doing with it I thought was a matter best left alone- cats can be so condescending).
Today would be a shakedown ride, about half way to work and then back just to make sure things were OK.
My normal route was up the sidewalk and across a short grassy stretch to a path. The first surprise was that the grassy stretch was a quagmire of mud and soggy soil; I sank beyond the rims and had to stand on the cranks and fought to keep forward momentum. I envisioned sinking between the buildings and not being found until sometime past the next millennium.
Next was a gentle incline that memory told me was an ideal warm up for my daily ride. Memory is faulty. I strained and panted all the way up. It seemed some convulsion of seismic activity turned the gentle incline to an alpine slope, after all I couldn't be that out of shape!
I found my stride after emerging onto the road behind my townhouse and began to enjoy my ride. The day was crisp with a winter nip left in the air. I made a mental note to wear my windbreaker tomorrow morning. I coasted behind the neighborhood swim center and raced a squirrel for a dozen yards until it climbed a tree.
The old bike seemed to be OK. I noticed a few squeaks in the chain and decided to give it a good oiling when I got home. The front break cable seemed a little soft but I remembered rebuilding the front break and having to tweak it some, so it the mushy response made sense, I would have to live with it until I get a new one. The left gear shifter still had a rough feel to it. I had hoped a season of convalesce would have caused the bike to return to its old self but it seemed the bike still needed my loving attention.
I had been on city streets and chose to return home on back roads and paths. Once off the street onto the quiet woody paths the peace and quiet began to charm me. I remembered this was the best part of riding home from work- the tranquil time silently coasting through woods, where there was no one talking to you, no demands, and no time to think about the mess back at work, just ride the bike. It was a time alone with mental activity turned down and life turned up. I felt it was too long a season that I neglected such a peaceful relaxing practice.
The first ride of the year made me realized how much I had missed the bike riding every day; I missed not only the exercise but the spiritual and emotional benefit of it.
The worst winter in memory is coming to a defiant end. With the warmer weather I am feeling the call to return to my morals and ride the bike to work again. Today I lugged the poor thing up from its exile between the laundry machine and the hot water heater in the dusty dank basement. It looked unhappy to have been in social quarantine for three months.
A quick inspection confirmed that the mice had not chewed through the rims or that the cables had not become bunched up around the sprocket on their own. I ignored the cobwebs and began turning the crank. It still turned and the wheels still looked reasonably round and true. That was all I needed. I found my helmet next to the kitty box, (what the kitty was doing with it I thought was a matter best left alone- cats can be so condescending).
Today would be a shakedown ride, about half way to work and then back just to make sure things were OK.
My normal route was up the sidewalk and across a short grassy stretch to a path. The first surprise was that the grassy stretch was a quagmire of mud and soggy soil; I sank beyond the rims and had to stand on the cranks and fought to keep forward momentum. I envisioned sinking between the buildings and not being found until sometime past the next millennium.
Next was a gentle incline that memory told me was an ideal warm up for my daily ride. Memory is faulty. I strained and panted all the way up. It seemed some convulsion of seismic activity turned the gentle incline to an alpine slope, after all I couldn't be that out of shape!
I found my stride after emerging onto the road behind my townhouse and began to enjoy my ride. The day was crisp with a winter nip left in the air. I made a mental note to wear my windbreaker tomorrow morning. I coasted behind the neighborhood swim center and raced a squirrel for a dozen yards until it climbed a tree.
The old bike seemed to be OK. I noticed a few squeaks in the chain and decided to give it a good oiling when I got home. The front break cable seemed a little soft but I remembered rebuilding the front break and having to tweak it some, so it the mushy response made sense, I would have to live with it until I get a new one. The left gear shifter still had a rough feel to it. I had hoped a season of convalesce would have caused the bike to return to its old self but it seemed the bike still needed my loving attention.
I had been on city streets and chose to return home on back roads and paths. Once off the street onto the quiet woody paths the peace and quiet began to charm me. I remembered this was the best part of riding home from work- the tranquil time silently coasting through woods, where there was no one talking to you, no demands, and no time to think about the mess back at work, just ride the bike. It was a time alone with mental activity turned down and life turned up. I felt it was too long a season that I neglected such a peaceful relaxing practice.
The first ride of the year made me realized how much I had missed the bike riding every day; I missed not only the exercise but the spiritual and emotional benefit of it.
