What's Next -- Part Deux

Who would ever have thought I would fall in love with cycling? Certainly not I. Think back to that little voice telling me "We aren't athletes." Maybe one problem is what my definition of an athlete is. After all, I have been riding a bike since I was 5 (at a guess). I remember so clearly the day I took the training wheels off my two-wheeler and rode down the slight decline that was Edgehill Road. The wind in my hair and the sense of mastery are sensations that are with me almost as strongly as when they happened most of my lifetime ago.

Summer 2008 was definitely a time of resetting my compass. So many years of sitting at a desk, working on a computer, going to meetings and doing all that thinking. I had not ever established a good way to offset the sluggishness that accumulated. So in addition to sleeping late and making very few specific plans, I got outdoors on my bike most days.

The view of the island from the saddle of a bike is different from the one you get from a car. In most cases, I didn't actually have a destination when I was on a bike, which I pretty much always do when I get into a car. Who just rides around in a car any more? If nothing else, what a waste of gas! When you don't have a destination, when your riding is a goal in its own right, you really do have time to notice more details.

Like what?

Well, the variety of landscaping choices is impressive. Among other things, there are some really cool topiaries on the island. I especially love those little twisty ones that look like the business end of a corkscrew. I am in awe of the wonderful 4-color (5-color?) paint scheme on the "castle" on Parke Lane. And there are all the construction projects under way to monitor. Seeing a house take shape from their wood or steel skeletons to their final form is fascinating to me.

The variety of mail box posts is interesting to me. Some look like armored bunkers. I wonder if these were houses where youthful pranksters (a.k.a. vandals, from the homeowners point of view) had bashed their conventional mailboxes into oblivion. BTW, as residents of West River Road, we had that happen to us three times. Finally, we said "The heck with that!" and got a PO box. I can see that other people have been more defiant of the damage and built brick or stone block housings for their fragile metal mail boxes. Some have gone the molded plastic route. Some have customized their boxes to reflect their interests, like the fish with an open mouth and another with a little car on it. I thought I had seen one with wings and a propeller, but can't locate it. Perhaps these are just too cute to trash.

When you are on a bike, the island isn't quite as flat as it seems in a car. In our early days of riding around on our bikes, we often went through Hawthorn Glen on our way to the bike path or back home. The curve and dip by the pond seemed like a something of a challenge, as did the longer, slower grade from Lowrie up to Macomb Street on the bike path. I am actually a bit embarrassed to admit that. Now, two years later, those same "hills" have been relegated to ho-hum, and we are accustomed to riding 10 or 15 miles without it being remarkable or even tiring. The island is once again flat (and small).

And then I started running...