On Ya Toes

“All you have to do is write one true sentence.” Earnest Hemmingway

I was born with a tailwind, albeit slight and cross, and I’m loath to waste it. Even when life is haggard, a breeze flings me out the door like a slinky. And once outside, past that first step, I’m looped into a beautiful chain-reaction. Strength to strength. Good to good. 

And so it begins this morning. I don’t often get free weekdays to ride around in the sun, but today is an exception. Sitting around can be homemade sweater itchy.

Under a bluebird sky, two hours turns to three and it all feels like fifteen minutes. It’s mid-December and the roads are clear and this is Greenfield, not Watopia. Where did all these trucks come from? ‘‘On ya toes.’ I think. I haven’t been on my road bike in a minute and it feels narrow, sturdy and slippery fast. 

Where did the leaves go? The Quaking Aspens on Spier Falls used to be a shock of green. Now they’re totally bare. Only the oak leaves hold on for dear life now. On the climb, a bright sun blasts over the ridge into a sea of brown at the Moreau State Park boundary line. The climb turns into the inevitable descent, down to the bank of the Hudson River, the border of  the Adirondacks on the far side of the water. As the road drops, the light turns into shadows. Down here on the cold side of the Palmertown range, it’s icy and the air is thick enough to gulp. The roads remain beautiful, the hydroelectric insulators grand and so the ride goes back into town. 

During slow, solo outdoor days like this, I can sometimes muster an awareness of my good fortune mid-ride. Sometimes, it’s only in the afterglow that something is fun. Through nostalgia-tinted goggles, difficult things seem great. Wanting to go both fast and to slow down is the ultimate paradox that I live. Rolling hills roll by. Tires get flat and then inflate. Fingers get cold then warm, then cold again. Home.

Will walks down the stairs and asks. “How ya feeling?”
“Good ‘n you?” I say.
“Perfect!” He says.
I smile and quickly believe him.

Things remain imperfect in the world around us, but there are undoubtedly perfect moments interspersed everywhere. Probably more than I could ever imagine. In the nooks and crannies, hidden among the rocks, these seemingly mundane moments can fill us up. Undeserved tailwind, keep me moving. Itchy sweater, keep me awake and on my toes.

木漏れ日,
Andy