stevenpiziks | The First Ride

The weather got into the high forties today. In Michigan, this is practically summer weather. So I went for a bike ride, the first of . . . pre-spring.

I ride my bike three seasons out of four, which makes winter difficult, since I'm so used to riding all the time and then abruptly I can't. (Well, I probably =could=, but I wouldn't get any enjoyment out of it.) As a result, it felt very good to get out and ride.

I rode the back roads, which were not nearly as bumpy as I expected. Snow was melting in the fields and rushing into the ditches, creating new runoffs and creeks and streams everywhere. The sound of running water followed me everywhere, and I wondered if this is what the earth sounded like before the rivers formed. An enormous flock of geese was setting up camp for the evening in an old cornfield, and they honked and called to each other, their bodies hidden by the earth, their voices carried on the air. A pair of white swans flapped heavily overhead.

I rode and rode and rode, and my leg muscles didn't protest nearly as much as I thought they might. A winter of karate training kept everything in fair shape. Go me!

It was splendid being out in bright, clear air, clad a jacket and scarf, skimming in a breeze that didn't hurt or howl.