The sound of rain falling as sleep fades and the day takes form draws pictures in my head — of mystical worlds shrouded in sheets of water and mist on some mornings, and others, like today, of toil and drudgery as I drag my mind and body through the relentless discomfort the weather presents.
Today I awoke to the latter. Standing along the road with my little camera, happy and recognizing the fragile nature of being alive, how could I let a little rain move my mind into a state of reluctance at donning some riding gear for a handsome journey to work?
The rain was fell lightly during the ride as the clouds thinned across the valley. An hour earlier the only reasonable choice for commuting was the van and it’s steel and glass encasement isolating me from the world.
In 10 months I’ll commence my sixth decade on earth and the event gives rise to questions of age and waning strength and perseverance in the face of resistance. I take comfort in the example set by a neighborhood bicyclist who pedals into town daily throughout the year — and he must be in his 90s.
So I managed another ride to work with a few detours and diversions and the inevitable whispering of “take the day off and ride…”.
Instead a last picture of a round bale in the lane and onward towards Penn State’s Beaver Stadium and the office.
It was a good day to ride.
