Wabi-Sabi

Mae: “What day is it?”
Me: “Tuesday.”
Mae: “Dammit! I’ve got a meeting with Eliza on Wednesday.”
Me: “Mae..please don’t say dammit. It’s rude.”
Mae: “Fine…not dammit…but I still have a meeting.”

One week until Sugarbench 2022

Ella practices the loop and swoop on her 4th grade laces while sitting in the center of the kitchen. The first few bars of ‘Haven’ play from Svaneborg Kardyb as the low-angle afternoon sun comes through the open window. Dust motes float and Will emerges from my down jacket to rattle off various yellowfin tuna facts, followed by questions. So many questions. It’s getting colder outside and I can hear Mae playing with her imaginary friend Beepa at the top of the stairs. They seem to be getting along. Probably changing into their pajamas after a long day. Sarah and I take a breath. It’s one moment. One moment in a string of moments that matter. Some are small and absurd. Some are fueled and rough. Some make you feel solid and capable and others ill-equipped. Sometimes it's just kids drinking the bath water. A deep vein of good fortune and good will courses around us and most days we seek it out. As the sands of time move, so do we. Nothing is static so we plan and dream and try. The seasons change in the woods and in our lives and I feel more fascinated, more fortunate, more amazed. Glacial pace is still movement. Sleep. The ride alarm goes off. It’s early.

Two days to go 

One last ride before the big one. It’s probably past time for a bike wash. The morning sun is still an hour away from cresting the mountains to the east. I’m buoyed by the idea of the kids being up and running around when I get back. For the moment, I’m peacefully alone on a stretch of Harper Road that once felt remote and unfriendly. Now it feels more like home. The sky turns a thousand shades of pink in an instant. In reality it probably takes a minute or two. September air and the crispy, dark riding it brings, always sneaks up on me. Where did the light go? A field mouse sprints across the rocky road, disappearing into brush and bringing my attention back to the ride at hand. The heavy tops of mature roadside grasses bow, almost touching the road. The arcing seeds make the path narrow. I look up and snap a picture with my brain and then one with my camera. The second one is too dark, just the curves of the landscape visible. Back home. Family. Work. 

Sugarbench 2022 is here!

The previous day was spent riding Uncas, Excess and Mohican with the kids, a backyard family barbecue, setting up tents and packing bikes. Now, the Hudson Crossing parking lot goes from silent to bustling energy in the morning light. It seems destined to be a beautiful day. It’s warm and clear. An adventure awaits. 6:30am hits and we make it through Harper and O’Brien and Gordon and John Sears and Dillon. Jamie calls the double track at the top of Parqui Lane a highway…for beaver pelt traders in the 1700’s. This is where the triangle was invented. He just may be right. The stuff below our tires is a loose interpretation of a road, preserved and forgotten in time and perfect for what we’re attempting. It’s an affront to modern city streets with their efficiency and perpendicular lines. They attempt to impose an order on an otherwise unruly world. Here, there’s nothing to harness it. The disorder and rubble and unruly bits reign. The Japanese call it Wabi-Sabi. An acceptance of imperfection. The cracks are part of the vessel. We settle into an acceptance of fatigue and the landscape as the ride wears on. An acceptance with laughs, missed turns and spills of our own. After a dose of what Dustin calls ‘double track, single track and zero track’ we roll back into Hudson Crossing. The dead ends, covert crossings, grass-filled derailleurs, cracked ribs, tea-colored stream crossings, security guards, flats, snacks, dogs mercifully chained, geese and cannon balls all melt like the rocks on the road. The 40 mile riders are in. The 80 mile riders are in. The pizza is warm. The drinks cold. Family abounds. We made it there and back again with a story to tell. 

Thanks to everyone who came out to ride. Thanks to the folks that helped. Onto the next adventure!

木漏れ日,
Andy