The Pandemic Continues: May 2020

"It's hard when you miss people.

But you know that if you miss them, 

that means you are lucky. It means you

had someone special in your life,

someone worth missing."

Nikki Schiefelbein

Memorial Day Week-end.   Traditionally on this week-end, I pack up a picnic and my daughter and I rent a kayak and go on a 9 mile kayaking journey.  Sometimes we use the paddle, sometimes we drift.  We inevitably have fun.  This year, with COVID, it is not to be, but then the weather  may have prevented it anyway.  Each day recently has been peppered by hard, pelting rain and bold streaks of lightening. Dark ominous clouds interspersed with brilliant sunshine blue skies seem to be the norm.  The storms blow up quickly and unexpectedly fueled by the afternoon heat. The forecasters change their prediction overnight and it is hard to know what to do and what not to do.

So on Monday morning, rather than kayaking, I head out on my bike into the sunshine hoping that it lasts long enough to allow me to get a good ride in and return home before the daily pummeling. I don't mind riding in a soft, warm rain, but the rain we have been getting has not been soft and would not be safe to ride in.  I have been caught out in such rains before, and I am think specifically of one time when a tree was blown over in front of me and branches as thick as my thigh blew across the road.   I was afraid, but that fear was tinged with and odd sense of exhilaration.  Still, I am not a thrill seeker and would not chase that feeling.

I decide to do a new loop I developed that goes through Pekin and Salem if I find my legs are not tired from yesterdays ride.  I have found that it takes a few miles to know how your legs will feel, and that if you must ride, they normally give in and quit complaining.  But if you aren't on a brevet or an overnight trip, sometimes it is easier to give in to their complaining and head home.  Today, however, they ease quickly, probably due to yesterday's relaxed pace and the fact that I am not pushing for speed.

I first notice how everything has leafed out climbing Leota Hill.  It is shadowed by the branches overhead. Sunlight laces through the leaves in intricate patterns on the ground.  Right outside the trail head, where the trail crosses the hill, I once again come across hikers, this time two rather than one.  It is a young couple who are doing a through hike.  I think to myself that perhaps this is something I should do again this fall depending on what happens with the virus. For being away overnight for a few days requires a cat sitter, and thus far I have not allowed anyone into my home.  It is my safe place.  Additionally, I have a responsibility to the feline members of my household who, despite their ferocious claws, cannot defend themselves.  I think of how responsibility is a good and bad thing, but on the whole helps to give meaning to life, perhaps because it gives us at least an illusion of being important and needed.  It is a pleasant feeling to be needed, to feel that we can contribute to something other than ourselves.

I think about how I have questioned if I am over-reacting to the virus and depriving myself of fun I might otherwise have.  I miss people.  I miss hugs.  In fact, I recently e-mailed someone I respect with that very question only to be reassured that it is very real and encouraged to remain vigilant for now.  I think of what another friend said earlier, about the virus being patient while people are not.  I concede to their intelligence as both are far smarter than me.  And I suppose it is best to remain safe rather than sorry.  The pleasure of breathing can't be overestimated. I watched as my husband struggled for air and remember how he told me that it was much worse than gasping for air on a tough climb on the bike.

 I also would be loathe to have on my conscience that I passed the disease to someone who became ill.  All I can do is my part, but I can do that. No safety device is one hundred percent, not seat belts, not bike helmets, etc. but I use them.  Yes, I know God forgives us if we only ask for forgiveness, but I also believe he expects us to act with consideration and thoughtfulness for others and not to just blindly blunder ahead in our bullheaded stupidity, convinced of our own wisdom, without trying due to an expectation of forgiveness. In other words, without our making an effort to do better, is it truly forgiveness we are asking or permission to do as we desire.  So I will  proceed as I would if I were diagnosed with cancer.  I will heed the experts in the field rather than others whose background is not in this area just as I would go to an oncologist and not a friend for cancer treatment. 


I crest the hill into brilliant sunshine and think how wonderful it is to have sun despite the sweat that is beginning to drench my body.  I hope that the two water bottles I have on the bike will be enough.  I can't recall passing any churches on this route that might have spigots I could use to refill and I still avoid stores as much as possible.  Now that it is getting hot, I need to reattach my carradice so that I can bring extra water since camel baks hurt my neck.  Mentally I add this to my "to do" list along with washing all my bikes.

The daisies are starting to bloom, but thus far the orange day lilies are not noticeable.  It should be soon.  I know they show themselves in early June, their cheerful faces turning to face the sun head on.  The daisies yet again remind me of the early days of my marriage when I would gather wildflowers for our home.  I think about club rides hopefully re-opening in June and wonder if it will happen, what they will look like, and if I will be comfortable attending them.  I wonder when brevets will re-start.  I doubt Kentucky will have any this year with the spring not working out, but I think I remember seeing that Indiana will still have rides this year.  All this riding alone makes me wonder if I should resume randoneurring.

It is an odd year, with things that change, like my kayaking trip and spending time with my daughter, with being able to hug my daughter in juxtaposition with daisies and orange day lilies and seasons.  I am lucky.  I have people to miss, my daughter, my son, his wife, my granddaughter. I have friends.  I have people who are special to me.  And though this separation seems interminable, this too shall pass.  And when it is finally safe to be around them and to hug them, I will remember to never take hugs for granted again, to notice their warmth, inside and out, and draw it close to my heart where it can reside forever, an eternal springtime to be drawn upon in times of cold and darkness.