Lasterday

“There was the ocean, effectively infinite, falling away forever to the horizon.”
― William Finnegan

I’m just glad I like bikes instead of snowmobiles. It must be a dreadful winter for Skidoo folk. Ice fisherpeople too with no virtual ice trainer to get your fix. I was out for a ride over holiday break, heading south along the Hudson, chipping away at the Rapha Festive 500 which is 500k of riding across 8 days. I slowly cruised past the cockeyed, drenched birds nests in the riverbank trees and the three men huddled, smoking cigarettes, staring across the water. Then I came upon a solitary fisherman sitting alone in his boat. As I happily rode past him, I wondered if he was having fun trying to catch a fish. He looked at me in a similar manner. Both of us reveled in welcomed fresh air, deep in our own strange avocation. We waved at each other and the moment passed. Pandemic fatigue and an alphabet soup of variants has things feeling like unplugged, flattened holiday inflatables these days. They litter the front yards on my way to work, pancaked in a dusting of old snow. Mae and I just keep driving along, past where Snoopy once proudly stood with guy wires for support. Mae says, “Here’s a pretzel. Be careful not to bite your finger.” On cue, a moving man with a ponytail tosses a garbage bag full of clothes into a packed UHaul truck. Gravity intervenes and the soft bag comes back to hit him in the face. Mae goes back to talking about lasterdays and packpack culture. Lasterdays are a staple of our commute.

Lasterday, after 10 years of serial overloading, our Samsung clothes dryer finally gave up on pushing watts. My freshly washed cycling kit now hangs around the house like a gallery. Bibs and bits everywhere, air drying. A damp jersey draped over a chair here, some winter gloves hanging from a curtain rod there. All on a slow track to being dried and used again. Clothes stare at me from the breakfast table, working their way into my plans. What adventures are in store today? 

Seneca said, “We suffer more in imagination than in reality.” When Justin and I decided to take a dip in the freezing St. Lawrence, I imagined it would be hard physically. The cold and ice and all that comes with that. We set a time for the next day and walked down the crusty, icy steps to the tiny beach to take our swim. As we strode into the dark water, it was a welcomed discomfort. I let my legs relax and surrendered to a inky winter hug. A long beat passed under the surface. Probably just a bit longer than would seem prudent. In the cold, all the warmth in my life came into view. I believe in the truest sense that I’m fortunate. I know it because I’ve lived it. I’ve seen it. I’m enamored with the lessons baked into wading into challenging waters. It’s hard to show up, but it feels good. Our brains may not like discomfort but we’re more than our brains. And that’s how I want to continue in 2022. I want to keep jumping in. I want to sit in situations a beat longer because I can. I want to keep being a good teammate. I want to keep up. Not because it feels good, because it usually feels important later.

木漏れ日,
Andy