The Crawford Century TMD Ride: 2022

"Action may not always bring

happiness, but there is no happiness

without action."

William James

 

I am looking forward to this century though wary of the heat.  It takes awhile for the body to adjust to  heat, but the only way I know to make that adjustment is to ride in it and be outside. At least I don't puke normally like some people.  As with most things in life, you have to pay your dues.  The cost for some appears to be higher than for others, but I suppose in the end it all equals out.  I am looking forward to seeing everyone.  I am looking forward to  a new century route.  And I am looking forward to riding my bicycle.  

 

  When asked, I tell Bob Grable that I will be riding more slowly than the last century, a century where I surprised myself with my speed.  No, not a blazing fast pace, but faster than I expected and faster than I should probably go today.  

 

 

It is a good group that shows.  All strong and seasoned riders as best I can ascertain though there are two or three I am unfamiliar with.  They look fit.  And I do start the century at a reasonable pace, only to find my speed increasing as I warm up.  I have found that it takes me longer for muscles to warm up than it used to....they need a bit of coaxing and convincing before they concede that they still can do what is being asked of them. And today is no different. 

 

Still, I feel stronger than expected today. Can a vitamin B12 shot be responsible for how I feel?  At a recent doctor visit, Sara took blood and told me my levels were low and advised that  I needed a shot after questioning if I had gone vegetarian.  (I have not though I have significantly lowered my meat consumption over the past few years, particularly red meat).  The day after I felt as if I were twelve years younger.  Such a relief as I believed my fatigue was age related.  

We ride on roads that I have not ridden for awhile, many from past brevet courses and occasionally memories of past rides tease me.  I push them away.  Today is not a day for dawdling and reminiscing. I think of Dave King and Steve Meredith, both doing the Kentucky 400 K today and I wish them strength and a successful finish.

 

 

 Everything is green and lush:  summer creeping in and taking over.  There are still a few spring flowers scattered here and there, but they are obviously on the decline.  Daisies are starting and the honeysuckle is in full bloom, perfuming the air whenever we pass. If I were by myself and/or going at a slower pace, I would notice more, instead I find myself pushing, monitoring my breathing, monitoring my legs, thinking how best to put 100 miles behind me without ending the ride wishing I had been left in a roadside ditch somewhere.  And I find myself singing.  I am happy here in the heat and sunshine rolling along on a bicycle with friends.

As usually happens with larger groups, and there are  probably 19 riding, not large by normal TMD standards but large for this calendar year, we split into groups.  Bob and I are together at the first store step.  Ned is close behind us, but for some reason does not stop at the store with us.  I worry a bit but assure myself that I am not responsible for him or any of the others.  Steve Rice and Mark Rougeux, another group, are already there.  They head out shortly before we do though both Bob and I gulp our drinks quickly and head out. 

 

The lunch stop offers two possibilities, a gas station and a restaurant.  The majority opt for the gas station.  I am surprised at the number of people eating inside, not merely due to COVID but because the temperature outside is pleasant and there is a covered area with picnic tables.  I take my chicken salad sandwich outside and eat giggling again at the thought of another year of the finest in curbside dining.  At least there are picnic tables here.  

 

After a quick lunch we take off.  No lingering after this meal.  And our average speed continues to climb until the third store stop.  But the pace is beginning to tell and Bob and I, still together, decide to slow it down a bit, particularly knowing there is a huge climb that lies between us and the finish.   And huge it is.  Halfway up a man working in his yard grins at us and says something about the climb.  I tell him we have this in the bag.  And we do.  We end together, pleasantly tired but not completely spent.  And I am happy.  Happy for the day, for the ride, for friends, and for bicycles.  James is right.  I find I am rarely happy without action of some type, mental or physical, and today I have had my fill.  The day is completed when some of the men in the front group comment on how strong I am this year.  Their words are music to my tired ears.  And for today I am sated.  And as always, I am thankful....thankful for bicycles, thankful health, thankful for friends, and yes, even thankful for hills that serve to humble and strengthen us. 

 

 

Charlestown to Scottsburg: A Spring Ride

“It was such a spring day as breathes into a man

 an ineffable yearning, a painful sweetness,

 a longing that makes him stand motionless, 

looking at the leaves or grass, 

and fling out his arms to embrace

 he knows not what.” 

John Galsworthy

 

It is always a delight to me to find that God has granted me another spring, and even better, another spring with the health to ride a bicycle.   I cannot remember  a spring since I was an adult where I did not have this thought. 

 

Spring is so lovely here, the tentative green of new leaves as they wonder if it is safe yet to emerge and court the sun and rain, the wildflowers tossing blobs of color everywhere, the daffodils sassing the cold mornings and frosts, the sound of peepers, birds beginning to defend their nesting territories and their families as the winter flock disbands.  All seasons are, indeed, lovely in their own way, but spring, following on the heels of winter, seems the loveliest of all. Perhaps it is because I tire of winter and her stark, coldness and pine for warm days made for riding in shorts and short sleeves.  Perhaps it is this that gives spring its sweetness.  So brief she always leaves me aching for more, for what was, for what wasn't, and what is to be.  Spring brings a feeling of hope, as if it reminds me that it is not too late.

I suppose that one of the things I love about spring is being able to ride again with friends who I have not ridden with since the fall.  Yes, I have ridden some through the winter, but not like I used to and many of the ones I miss do not ride in winter at all.  And I do miss them.  I miss the sounds of their voices, and particularly the sounds of their laughter.  I miss the joking and camaraderie.  And I miss the shared love of cycling, for we all DO love cycling despite the cursing on climbs, the complaints about weather conditions.  And as we age, of course, I always appreciate that they are back because so many of my friends in the past have quit cycling either due to lack of interest or health issues, and despite our fondness for each other those friendships lapse without the shared miles.  

Highway construction has taken four of my ride starts....indeed, all of my ride starts for the moment, so I have designed a course from Charlestown to Scottsburg.  Originally I was going to put on a different route that I put together that goes to Lexington, but the wild flowers on Hebron Church Road and the red bud trees along Hebron Church and Werewolf Lane have changed my mind.  I didn't have time to ride the entire ride prior to posting it, but I put it on the schedule anyway with the admonition that those who decide to ride realize there could be issues.  Most people seem okay with this.  It is only the occasional person who grouses if a road is closed for construction and they have to cross a creek, bicycle carried high on their shoulder. 

As it turns out, there are not other than Steve Rice not being able to load the route on his GPS for some reason.  It is a small group that shows but I am grateful to each of them for coming to share this sunny, spring day with me.  Phlox and Virginia Bluebells line Hebron Road near the creek as they seem to do most years.  I never seem to become immune to their beauty.  Red buds are at their peak, teasing the Dogwood who have yet to begin blooming in earnest.  

There is talking and laughter and catching up.  There is the sound of bicycle wheels turning.  And there seems to be a smile on everyone's face, at least those in the back group or the group that finishes the ride together.  Again and again Mike tells me he likes the course, and while I believe he does, I think that what he really likes is for a group to be together again on a sunny spring day where the wind, while there, is not torturous, and on bicycles.  But regardless, it makes me smile and gives me a warm feeling inside.  

The miles pass quickly, but I can't say that I am/was sated.  I crave more.  More of their companionship, more of the aching of spring tender legs on tough climbs, more of their laughter, more of the road stretching out, and more of the sunshine which seems to brighten my soul even as it reddens my skin a bit despite the sunscreen.  Spring.....comes and goes so quickly, as if she were a dream.  And I am not sated. 

Orleans: Spring 2022

"Spring drew on...and a greenness

grew over those brown beds, which,

freshening daily, suggested the thought

that Hope traversed them at night,

and left each morning brighter traces

of her steps."

Charlotte Bronte

Finally, a day that offers a healthy dose of sunshine as well as warmer temperatures and a lighter wind.  As I age, I find myself less and less able to convince myself that I want to do a hard ride on gray, cold, gloomy, damp days.  It is not so much that I can't do them anymore, I can albeit slower than in the past, but that I have no desire or need to do them. I would rather paint or read or go hiking on those days knowing that more comfortable bicycling days will arrive.  And spring, of course, offers many of those days.  This year, perhaps, more than  normal with lower than normal temperatures and extremely few peeks of sunshine.  

When I saw the forecast, I immediately put the century on the schedule, not just because of the forecast, but because they are starting major road construction on the expressway between Louisville and many of my ride starts next week.  I fear that it will cause such traffic congestion, that few will want to head this way for bicycle rides and run the risk of a long sit in the car on the way home.  

As it turns out, it is one of those rides that I definitely favor.  There is a small group, only four of us, and nobody seems to be in a rush.  Everyone seems content just to enjoy our time on the bikes, the lovely spring weather, and the company.  I believe we are all glad that the self-imposed isolation of winter is drawing to a close and understand that spring is, indeed, a time to build strength in the legs and lungs. It also is also a time to renew friendships and rejoice.  The pace can slow a bit because you don't have to push so hard to keep warm.  While the start is cold, in the thirties, it is sunny with little wind.  And it is to warm to the 60's later in the day.  Steve Meredith, Dave King, Jon Wineland, and I head out toward Medora, the first stop on this journey.  

I am comfortable during this first leg other than my fingers which are cold.  I try to protect them a bit by holding onto the handlebar in such a way that my fingers are sheltered a bit from the wind by my handlebar bag.  I know the discomfort is short lived, and I am glad for that.  The discomfort is overridden by the joy of being on a bicycle in the spring with the sun shining and the joy of being with people that I have not seen in for what seems like ages.  At some point, and I can't exactly pinpoint when,  I realize that I have warmed and my fingers are no longer little popsickles.

The miles pass quickly with everyone catching up.  Steve and Dave are both doing the Kentucky brevet series and we talk quit a bit about PBP, a ride Steve has not yet done and has expressed an interest in.  As I do with everyone that is capable, I encourage this interest because, at least for me, PBP was such a unique experience:  both times I completed it.  Each was different but each was special in its own way.  Yes, I remember those hard moments, but mostly I remember the highs or the things that surprised me, like one woman at the start saying she brought her makeup because she thought it might make her feel better. Those who know me well know it is only on very rare occasions that I don makeup, and it never in a million years or a million miles would have occurred to me to bring some along on PBP  or any other long brevet.  How different we all are. Vive la difference!

 

But back to Orleans.  The first store stop is in Medora.  While in town, I seek out and we find the new cafe that Lynn Luking was kind enough to tell me had opened there, because everything had gone out of business other than the new Dollar Store. I think how I will be happy to ride back here one sunny afternoon for lunch to check out the selection and quality of the food they offer.

 

 One of my favorite sections is immediately leaving Medora and riding alongside the railroad track all the way up the Devil's Backbone and then down Tunnelton past the magnificent mansion that originally was built for Masonic widows and under the railroad tracks and across the bridge.  And today it does not disappoint.  There are many wildflowers that grow there that have not yet bloomed, but the daffodils, while some are a tad faded, seem so beautiful and cheery.  I think how I adore it in the spring when the Earth wakes up, stretches her arms, and drops blobs of color everywhere.   Purple grape hyacinths at times accent the brilliance of the daffodils yellow.  Redbuds are blossoming. And everything is growing so green, so very green.  

Interestingly, on the climb up the backbone, Steve notes that a white truck went over the edge at some time or another and down the steep embankment toward the valley and creek.  I worry that someone might be hurt in there as you would not be likely to spot it in a car, but they assure me that it has been there awhile and we ride on.

Dave stops on the bridge, and those of us who have ridden with Dave often know why, but still I ask to ensure he is okay.  He is and I ride on knowing Dave will catch me.   Jon gets a chuckle when learning of Dave's habit, initially thinking he is joking.  I assure him such is not the case and we enjoy a shared grin. We all regroup after the long climb that is challenging only due to length as there is not much steepness to contend with.  At this point, people begin shedding layers, but I decide I will be fine until we reach Orleans, and I truly am. I often seem to run a bit colder than others though I suspect my house is kept at a colder temperature than most.

 

At this point age comes up.  I am the oldest and Dave the youngest.  I find it amusing to find that we are all 5 year increments apart starting with Dave who is 50 and leading to 65. 

People are also beginning to get hungry, and Dave's face is priceless when he learns lunch is not until 63 miles, but the lunch stop more than makes up for his dismay at having to wait.  Personally, I prefer lunch a bit later on a century.  But I knew it was going to be late.  It is different, I suppose when it is a surprise. The wind has cranked up and I am glad we are going into it knowing that after lunch we should have, at least for awhile, a sweet tail wind. By the time we reach Orleans, everyone is ready for a break. 

 

  We stop at "Speak Easy Pizza" and their pizza has been delicious each and every time I have stopped there.  Today, however, it seems even better than usual and I remember, as I always do, how much riding distances improves the taste of food.  So often I eat without truly being hungry because my body has not been challenged.  Steve gets a salad and says that it is as good as it looks.  I realize he is not just saying this to be polite when he makes a comment about having to bring his wife here sometime.  Dave is impressed with their selections of beer and whiskey though none of us indulge.  The owner comes out to inquire about our riding and, along with a few customers that question us, seem to be impressed that we are riding 104 miles today.  I remember how glad I was during a ride to find this place as most of the eating places in the town had closed.  I have entire routes that are difficult to ride anymore due to store closures, but this, fortunately, is not one of them.  

 

We leave and see another cyclist on our way out of town.  Despite the sweet tail wind, we don't quite catch up to him before our turn.  Orleans used to have a paid ride in the spring, The Dogwood Pedal.  Despite that, I have never seen another cyclist during my trips to and through Orleans on rides.  

 

By now, all of us have shed layers and are feeling the blessed warmth of the day.  The miles to the last store stop in Salem seem to roll by quickly and despite all the moaning and groaning over the hills on Bee Line and full bellies from lunch, we all relax unhurriedly on the curb in the sunshine.

 

As always seems to happen on my centuries, one road is closed.  This time it is 56, but it is an easy workaround.  We roll through the town square and then cut over.  I grin to myself because Steve mentioned the detour when he arrived today, but it just didn't click until we actually neared the detour.  Oh, well, nobody seemed overly put out over the extra half mile or so it adds to our journey.

 

When we pull on Quaker Road, we pass someone on a recumbent going the other way.  I don't recall ever seeing a recumbent in this area before unless it was someone on a ride with me, so this sticks in my mind.  It becomes even more of a puzzlement about 10 miles later when we pass another who is dressed in the same bright green and greatly resembles the first cyclist.  In my mind I go through all the roads in my mind and know that there is no possible way it is the first cyclist.  The others confirm this.  

 

And then we are finished.  It is pleasant to end a century feeling sated but not spent.  It is pleasant to have spent an entire day on a bicycle in sunshine that is bright but not searing with people who also love riding and don't get mad or upset when there is an obstruction on the course.  It is pleasant to share an unhurried lunch with those same people.  It is pleasant to have friends.  And it is pleasant and more to see the annual spring greening and to think that I am still healthy enough to ride centuries and to have hopes of riding many, many more.  How blessed to have hope. 

Spring 2022

"Blossom by blossom

the spring begins."

Algernon Charles  Swinburne

It is not truly spring yet, that happens on the calendar this week-end, but the weather we are having is spring weather.  More like May than March actually.  And it is with delight that I decide to ride my Hardinsburg Century.  This is one of my favorite routes.  It is demanding, but not overwhelming and traditionally I like to ride it at least once in the spring and once in the fall.  The lunch stops have changed as stores have  opened and closed since first I passed that way, but I check on Facebook and Thursday is Little Twirl's opening day.  

 

Jon has said he will join me and we head off into the chill of the morning knowing that by the end of the day we will have performed a slow strip tease, shedding layers as the day progresses and warms.  Sunshine is everywhere.  The first of the daffodils are blooming.  Peepers are singing their raucous voices filling the air with sound.  Jon sees a caterpillar.  I see the first of the butterflies.  And eventually, yes, I get a bug who flies into my face, welcome only because it means the world awakens.  I am glad that I remembered to attach my sunscreen to the bike.  I caution myself to remember to use it when we stop for lunch.  

It is the first time in awhile that I actually want to take a drink while riding.  I rarely drink enough when I ride, but in winter and cold it is even harder.  Ironically, the water seems much too cold in winter, and in the summer it becomes much to warm to be tasty and I would prefer it to be ice cold.  In my mind I laugh at myself as being just like Goldilocks.  It is never just quite right.  

The miles roll by quickly but I can't say that I don't notice the climbs that other than Leota Hill largely start after the first store stop beginning with Short's Corner.  I think of how I have suffered on these climbs, but yet I still wonder how people can prefer the flat urban rides.  There is such beauty here.  I am grateful to Jon for his patience on the climbs because it is not a day where I want to have to push my pace.  I want to savor the weather and the coming of spring, to  notice earth as she yawns and begins to adorn herself in life and color. And I want to build strength in a reasonable way that leaves me wanting more, not less, riding.  I want to prepare my knees for a long summer of hills and rides, not zap them out by overly taxing them before they are ready.  And I get my wish.

So many memories, disjointed and from different rides, assault me throughout the day.  I have shared this route with so many over the years.  This was the route where Paul said how much he loved the view after on particularly steep descent that is wooded but ends in a valley where you can see for along way.  I remember the amazement in his voice as he asks, "You don't ride here alone, do you?"  I remember how one December ride, Steve Sexton and I walked our bikes down that descent, Cox Ferry,  due to the gravel laid down for the snow that was making our tires slide while a few others were brave enough to ride.  I remember the first time I climbed the hill and the men working on the road bet whether I could do it and the time I was descending and a deer ran alongside next to me for quite awhile as I prayed it would not veer into the road.

 

 I remember Mike Kammenish twirling like a ballerina outside Little Twirl and the smiles on everyone's faces. And I remember and remember and remember, short memories, certain turns in the road, bits and pieces flitting through my mind in the midst of silences as memories tend to do. And now I am making new memories, Jon and I riding comfortable talking or comfortable in silence because we have somehow, through all the miles traveled on bike and on trail, developed that kind of friendship.  

 

Swinborne is right.  Blossoms confirm that spring has begun.  How glad I am that I have been blessed with another spring and the health to ride a bicycle and welcome it.   It is one story I never tire of seeing unfold. 

 

 

The Use of Time

"Time is free, but it's priceless.

You can't own it, but you can use it.

You can't keep it, but you can 

spend it.  Once you've lost it, you

can never get it back."

Harvey Mackay

It has been a busy week and I feel tired, but not spent.  I have not wasted these unusually gentle and mild days recently and I delight in that.  I have hiked, ridden a century, and hiked some more.  Some activities have been with company.  Others solo.  All delightful.  One of those weeks that you really don't want to end because you feel happy and healthy despite the years that tug incessantly reminding you with a pain here and a stiffness there that you are not truly young anymore.  More than one of those days that happen occasionally when it is not yet spring but you can almost smell spring in the air and you long for its embrace, for the color and warmth and sound and raucous delights that it bestows upon the world.  As if being released from a strict headmaster for break to run wild and do as you please.

 

 

Yes, there are signs that spring is on the way, the occasional shy, pale green leaf testing the air, the spirited sound of peepers longing for company after a long winter of hibernation, tree buds starting to form, swelling outward and blurring the sharp definition of branches in winter,  birds beginning to sing and talk of nesting territory, daffodils slowly but steadily pushing their green stems upward promising to lighten the world soon with their brilliant yellow flowers, joyfully dancing with each gust of wind.  

 

The arrival of spring sometimes feels to me as if the earth herself were rejoicing.   Like a wooing lover, she lays gifts at my feet daily that are no less delightful despite the fact that the years have taught me to expect them.  And it is priceless.  I know that despite my best attempts, spring will slip once again through my fingertips dancing away, yielding to summer.  And so I must not waste these precious days.  Age hammers into me the reality that these days are numbered, not to make me sad or morose, merely to make me more appreciative.  Yes, with age I take many things less for granted.  Rather odd because it seems that it would work the other way.  But it doesn't.  At least for me.  

I wish I could say that I always make good use of my time, that I don't waste the time that has been given me, but being human I can't.  But I did not waste this week.  This week is gone, and I certainly can't get it back, but I can remember it and be glad.  Glad for the glimpse of warmer, spring weather, glad for my health, glad for companionship, glad for alone time in the midst of beauty.  Glad for my blessings.  

My lunch spot and a few other photos from solo hikes on the Knobstone. 

 

A Windy Ride

"Feeling discouraged does not

mean you quit.  Feeling sad 

does not mean joy is nonexistant.

Feeling lonely does not mean you

are alone. Feeling anxious does not

mean you are in danger.  Feeling

loss does not mean you have nothing.

Feeling angry does not mean you lose 

control. Feeling sorry does not mean

you are at fault.  What  you feel is

not necessarily what is."

Richelle  Goodrich

 

It has been a busy week exercise wise.  I am trying to recover from the fitness lost to a stress fracture as spring is coming. Sunday Jon and I hiked the Millennium Trail at Bernheim which probably came out to about 14 miles with getting lost.  Tuesday we hiked the creek bed at Clifty Falls  climbing borders and crossing the creek repeatedly.  Then yesterday a 60 mile bike ride when winds were pretty steady at 16 to 17 with gusts up to 40.  It was not until yesterday that the strain began to show on me, particularly upon getting dropped so quickly and so soundly by the other riders:  Jon Wineland and Paul Lapham.  It is my first time riding with Paul and he is obviously strong, particularly on the climbs.  

 

Windy rides are like that, they can take all the stuffing out of you quite quickly. You normally can't hear well enough to talk due to the noise of the wind, and so they are normally solitary rides even if you are riding with others.   We know it is predicted to be windy and so the planned course is into the wind for the first half, but this long stretch of being buffeted and slapped begins to show on me.  "Why," I ask myself, "do I do this to myself?  How could riding in this wind be fun?"

 

 

I already am a bit down from learning that morning that a good friend is in the hospital following a stroke:  her second though the other was a few years ago and she never completely recovered.  She is one of those friends that I can always call on the phone if I am lonely or need advice or just need to talk and one of the few people that I like to call because I truly am not much for talking on the phone.  We share history and end up laughing almost always when we talk.  I grin to myself thinking of the last time we talked.  It had been and was icing outside:  a thick coating that the experts warned could rob us of power.  When she answered the phone, I brightly exclaimed as if surprised, "You're home!"  It was good to hear the brief pause followed by a burst of laughter as she asked me, "Where else would I be in this weather?"   I think how friends and friendship burnish our lives and give them shine they might otherwise lack.   Lucky is she or he who has a close and true friend, the kind that loves you warts and all.  

The wind begins to get to me, discouraging me, urging me to quit. The ride makes me think of past windy rides:  PBP 2007 with the wind and rain, Mike Kamenish and I riding a century to Frankfort when Hurricane  Ike was blowing through, the Kentucky brevet where a small group stayed together unable to hear each other even if shouting and how we lost one member to a flat without knowing it and how I wondered if I would reach the end before dying of exhaustion and cold somewhere along the roadside.  Windy rides are, doubtlessly, character building and make a stronger rider, but I also realize that they can leach the joy out of riding and so should be used and completed only occasionally and cautiously.  Maybe only if there is a purpose.  My old mantra while preparing for brevets in the past comes to mind:  "Weep in the dojo, laugh in the battlefield."  The problem today, I suppose, is that I really have no goal that I am aiming to achieve other than riding with my friends this summer. This makes it hard to justify beating myself up.

When we reach the lunch stop, I make the bad decision not to get a sandwich to fortify me for the remaining 11 to 12 miles into the wind.  I toy with and voice the idea of letting the other two rides go on and turning around using my GPS return to start feature, but I suck it up and head on.  Discouragement is like that.  It can mess with your head.  And those that ride distance or challenging rides  know that over fifty percent of completing the ride is done mentally. By the time we reach the  point where we will have a tail wind, I have realized that I could complete a century or more if I had to, even with the wind, but I have no desire to do so.  I am glad when the wind hits my back instead of slapping me in the face.

The tail wind is sweet and it seems no time when we are back in Madison.  And I am tired.  I am glad I did not turn around, but I want something to eat and to go home.  And so, this is what I do while the other two riders go to savor coffee and talk of the ride for a bit.  And as usual, I am glad I finished.  Ms. Goodrich is right: "Being discouraged does not mean you have to quit."  And there is satisfaction in that. 

Aging

"The afternoon knows 

what the morning never suspected."

Robert Frost

 

As I walk today, rain delicately splattering me the entire five to six miles, I think mostly of aging.  Perhaps because of yesterday's ride.  Perhaps because most of the miles I now must walk were once my week-end nine mile run course.  Perhaps because I received news this morning that a health problem I suspected I might have was something else entirely.  But for whatever reason, I think of aging along with other things.

 

Yesterday was an exceptionally warm day for early February, warm and breezy.  It was the kind of day that reminds you of how spring will feel when it finally arrives.  I rush into her open arms for an embrace, her warm breath caressing my cheek,  making me happy to be alive, to see the greening, the birthing.  But not yet.  Yesterday was just a reminder of what will come despite the fact that some of my daffodil leaves are beginning to nudge the earth aside, tips of green emerging, yearning for spring and her embrace.  "Not yet," I counsel them.  "Not yet."  "Soon," they answer.  "Just hold on. She will arrive soon. And we will dance with the wind in our yellow gowns."

 

Winter is not yet ready to relinquish her grasp.  Snow and ice, possible power outages, are predicted.  And so despite being a tad tired from yesterday's almost 60 miles, I walk.  It is not so warm as yesterday, but it is a heck of a lot warmer than what is to come.

 

Yesterday  Jon agreed to ride with me and agreed to a course that babies my injured foot which is almost healed but still plagues me if I overdo.  So there will be hills, including the climb out of Madison, but no really steep hills or demanding hills.  Merely climbs. And we will be slow.

 

I am so slow anymore and I don't know whether to attribute it to a lack of fitness or age or a combination of the two.  I don't know how much is mental (as my friend, Lynn Roberts told me, as you get older it is harder to be mean to yourself), and how much is physical.  It bothers me, this slowness, more than I thought it would, but I try to remind myself to be happy that I am healthy enough to swing my leg over a bicycle and ride 60 miles.  I try to remind myself that I am truly blessed having little pain.  When I try to talk to others about it, they  normally try to assure me that I am strong, but I don't FEEL strong very often anymore.  And I do miss it.  I worry that the ride will not be enjoyable for Jon at this slow pace, but it is the best I can manage right now.

 

I think about the saying that age brings wisdom, but I don't feel very wise.    I suppose I thought I would be smarter about things by now.  Instead I find myself using the wrong words, having to pause to grasp the right word, using the wrong spelling or the wrong punctuation.  I have heard them described by others as "brain farts," so I know I am not alone, but I don't like it.  It is scary sometimes. And I don't feel wise.  Maybe because there is no solution to aging.  When you stop, you die.  Maybe wisdom is accepting that life is a gift, no matter your age, so long as you are not in pain and can still do most, if not all, of the things you once did. And so I will try to send my mind in that direction.  And I suspect there will be more things that the afternoon shows me that I never suspected.  Hopefully I will learn my lessons gracefully and gratefully for all I have been given.