Junio
“Dad, it must have been so hard before Mom had us. Just think about how many helpful hands were missing around the house…Six!”
—William A.
Riding remains steadfast as the most important, least important thing I do. Maybe next year it will be golf. Of course, spending big hours riding loops with others seems silly out of context. “Where exactly are you going?” some may ask. Well, back to where we started from. “So you aren’t really traveling anywhere.” “Does bike season ever end?” Not really. “When does it start?” Easy. The exact moment when the first white Dodge Ram buzzes you while yelling muffled 3rd Grade insults. It’s usually around the time the snow banks give way to expose a potpourri of double-stacked Stewarts coffee cups and muted Busch light aluminum cans. It’s equal parts “Little Rascals”, “Jaws” and “Talladega Nights”, with a side of Skoal. Only at this point does the bike season phoenix arise…but it never really turns to ashes. There are just lots of bike phoenix’s.
Today we’re back into the living, breathing world of riding outside regularly. June daylight beckons and most days, I make good use of it. It’s family days on the trails, Tuesday night rides, after work centuries and long, slow weekend rides. I continue to be amazed at how bright the summer is and I don’t like to waste it.
But it’s not all chatty group riding. When I’m solo on my gravel bike, I scan for neglected shortcuts, forgotten cart paths and other indicators of uncivilization. On cue, the southern section of John Sears Road in Cossayuna abruptly ends at a dead end. A Class IV road beckons beyond overgrown honeysuckle. After a quick check, I’m past some chunky double track and down on Kilburn Road, happy to avoid a U-turn. Sometimes, in life and on the bike, a “Dead End” is merely a suggestion. Another road that “ends” is Parqui Lane, arguably my favorite section to ride in Washington County. It seamlessly melts from a dirt road, to double track to bedrock to hay field then back to dirt road. These natural features begin to reveal themselves with patience and practice and I’m still learning.
Me: “How’d you make those paper flowers like that?”
Will: “I got teached.”
I’m perpetually getting teached. Smacked by a newly leafed branch in the middle of nowhere, dropped when I let my concentration slip, flatted out on a busy road. Despite these things (or because of these things), I continue to be enamored with the hardscrabble intersection of authenticity, originality and difficulty. I like places and environments that impose themselves, making pictures without a camera. Three geese wade across the water in a perfect line. A little league team in full uniform sprint toward a wailing ice cream truck with dollar bills a-waving on a hot day. A fisherman stands waist deep in Saratoga Lake, staring at the orange sunset. The firehall sign promotes line dancing on Wednesday nights. The wind direction changes ever so slightly and suddenly all I can smell is pine trees.
June was a good day.
木漏れ日,
Andy
