Those Are the Days
It seems like ages have past, eons squandered in the blink of an eye as life-times come and go. Just when was the last time I experienced that greatest of cycling glories; being way out there, alone, tirelessly turning the pedals one after another, for hours upon hours, oblivious to the passage of time. It seems like a dream; certainly I can close my eyes and drift away to rides past. Days spent just turning and turning the pedals. Where you enter that funny head-space of thinking but not thinking. Of looking around but seeing nothing and everything. Of heightened sensory awareness but feeling nothing at all. If you ride those long days, you know what I mean. It’s not real, it’s plastic, fake, impossible. No, wait; it is real, it is life, truth….being.
Isabelle has been gone for weeks now, sent to Moots for repairs. But it’s not just the absence of my most trusted companion that has kept me from that place. I’ve been sick for the past week or so, bumping around the world in a state of sloth-like lethargy, coughing all the night long. Then there’s been the weather down here in the desert; wet, cold, damp, windy, bleh. Taken together I feel like my life has been on pause, like I’ve just been floating above the ground, held aloft by helium-filled balloons while tethered to a steel stake hammered into the earth. I’m not moving, I’m not staying still, I’m just kinda there.
Still sick and with the weather looking fierce, there is nothing I can do about the fact my frame arrived a couple days ago. I want to rebuild my girl, but I don’t want to get any more sick. And with the temperature about to drop again, what’s the point of trying. In the stead, I find other things to occupy my time, like sleeping, reading and painting. But, it’s just not the same.
What I look forward to are multi-day solo bike-packing trips through the desert. Days spent by myself, disconnected from the world and even my own being. Where I’m not sure if I’ve been on the bike 5 minutes or 5 years. Where you ride towards a feature on the horizon all day, just to make camp, and work at it again the next morning. Where reality is thick like wax, melted by the sun’s burning heat. Yes, those are the days I dream of. Those are the days I crave, the days I am planning for. Those are the days, the hardest, the worst, the ones that tell me this is to be alive.
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