When I awaken this morning, I am unsure whether to ride on my own or go to the club ride. I decide to go to the club ride as I know it will quite likely be the last time I see many of my riding buddies until after the holidays and until spring shyly but determinedly emerges leaching color back into what has been a gray world. But, as I know from my deliciously leisurely solo ride yesterday, there is nothing gray about the world right now. The maple leaves are a riot of color: orange, red, and yellow. I had begun to think it was going to be one of those muted, inglorious falls where the leaves change more solemnly, but that is not the case. A few trees are bare. Others are clothed in russets and browns and spots of green still remain. But the maples and others are gloriously clad, demanding applause and attention.
Experience has taught me that by next weekend, there will be much less color. By then, the wind and predicted rain will seduce the maples causing them and many of the others to undress, skirts swirling to the ground. The sycamores, as always once unclothed, will be phenomenal. Already the roads are covered with dry leaves that crackle when I ride over them. All seasons end, and as a friend, Don Snow, as we age we begin to wonder if we will be granted another spring.
I am tempted to stay home and ride alone because I always have a greater appreciation of scenery when I am on my own, but it will be nice to see friends. Autumn always seems to cloak me with a touch of melancholy, a feeling that something has been lost or forgotten never to be regained. Friends will help to keep this pensiveness at bay for a bit, at least during the ride. Afterward, perhaps, it magnifies it, because I will so rarely see many of my friends for the next few months. There is no shame in saying that since Lloyd died, winter can be a very lonely season at times. Plus there is always the possibility I will talk myself out of riding if I stay home, for today does not promise the sunshine and warm temperatures of yesterday. Fall chill is claiming her due.
It is a large group that turns out, probably about 25 or more. Some I know and some I don't. Despite the unaccustomed nip in the air, everyone seems in a good mood and there is chatter and laughter laced in with more serious conversations. I think I see my friend Lynn pull in, but I walk by his car and fail to see him. I later learn from Paula that it was him, and I think that I will wait at the store stop and finish the ride with him, but I do not. Dave arrives and we hug. I have not seen him since his retirement and he looks well. At the stop we will talk briefly of where we would like to go to ride next year, but first I have to know the dates of my son's plans for me for he is in charge of the family vacation this year.
I head out much faster than I intend to ride as I normally slow way down in autumn. Soon I am riding with Paula and Tony, two fast riders. I have not seen Paula for a bit and we do some catching up, but we keep the pace lively, at least for me. Mark Rougeux is also with us on and off as we head for the store. The road along the river is punishing, with hill after hill, but also amazing, ablaze with color. All of us say we have not been riding much lately, but all of us seem to be strong though of course not as strong as the front group which passed as if we were standing still. We stop only to strip off a layer as the first store stop is not until mile 36 or so and despite the cloudy skies and the kiss of wind we are sweating. "At least", I think, "the wind is not slapping us around as it often does in the fall of the year."
When we reach the store, we get a snack. My legs are shot with the effort and I just want to finish. So after some milk and cookies, I head out. Mark follows me. The others do not. At each hill my legs beg me to stop torturing them and I know I will pay the price tonight and that I will probably wake up with leg cramps. But tonight is, or is supposed to be, an extra hour of sleep. Of course, with cats, that really never happens despite my pleas to them for mercy. I also know there is an additional price. I have not got to spend times with some of the people that I wanted to spend time with though it was nice to talk to Mark and the others for a bit. Also, while I have admired the gorgeous scenery, I have not prized as I did on yesterdays meandering solo ride, soaking it in to steel me for the coming neutral shades of winter when my soul begins to starve for color.
I suppose it was a ride that is like many things in life, you sacrifice one goal or pleasure for another because sometimes you can't have both. Despite the strain of the effort, I relished it, the heaving of lungs, the gasping for air, the ache in my thighs during climbs, the feeling of needing to quit but persevering anyway. Still I also sabotaged myself in that I didn't spend more time appreciating the company and the scenery. The scenery will soon be naught but a memory. I will miss seeing these people who love the bike as much as I do regularly, though this year I had much less of being with friends than normal due to dealing with household repairs after my water leak, something that really sucked. But spring will come, and with luck I will weather well and we will meet again in the spring with weaker legs but renewed determination to conquer the hills that rise before us. We are blessed.
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