The riding world has changed, the weather has changed, and I’m finding myself facing the approach of fall with winter hot on it’s heels. That’s the picture my mind paints when it’s cold in the morning — 48F this morning, 38F the day before. A cold damp fog leaking past the collar of my riding jacket feels like a knife at my throat — the cold pushing into meat and bone in a single, sharp intrusion. Hell, it’s not even cold yet and I love riding in fog. The seasonal change has the world on end and my mind twisted out of shape and making irrational conclusions when I’m standing at the front door thinking about riding to work. I feel the draw to the car on a cold morning much as I feel the draw to the reclining chair at the end of a long day.
It’s not the arrival of cold weather that’s shocking, it’s the approach of old age. How did I get here?
As always, concerns and conundrums conjured while standing evaporate once I’m on the road. Cold, fog, gravel — they’re just experiences to savor — the feel of cold air sweeping over me, the fragrance of cut hay, the moisture forming on the visor. everything is waiting to be consumed. The process on some rides can completely erase the world until I am left without thought or feeling, just a complete emptiness where anything is possible.
Gravel has become a comfortable riding surface over the years though it can still surprise me when my attention wanders and I’m suddenly faced with braking decisions or avoidance maneuvers that clearly call for practiced technique. One day my wandering mind will lead to a tumble in the stones.
Parked at this fork in the road the empty mind is overwhelmed by memories of walks in this place with long gone dogs on quiet foggy mornings. Once those mental doors swing open and nostalgia sweeps across consciousness the ride diminishes to a mechanical process of transportation as I think of my father and mother, childhood, and other sundry images both pleasant and bitter, the experiential building blocks of a life.
Each time I ride there’s an expectant thrill at what might emerge while on the road, riding in the fog…
For a look back at an early experience with the knife at the neck check out a post I did called COLD COLD COLD!
