Winter Clothes

Tom W called early in the a.m. and wanted to go on a bike ride – 44 miles or so, Clifty Hollow or the Porter Pike route. Tom and I are about the only members of our bike club that like these two routes. They are intense, but with intensity of effort there are scenic rewards that aren't available elsewhere.

I suppose that's true across life in general.

We decided on the latter route with easier and fewer climbs. I’m not much on intensity these days. I'll ramp it back up in December so I'll be able to kick some serious ass by the end of March, but November is my chill out, slow down, get a bit fatter month. Tom, however, is all about intensity. Ah well, off we go.

The last time I was out that way it was drop dead gorgeous with fall foliage at its peak. Now, however, the landscape was sporting its winter attire and there was a frigid northwest wind blowing through the bones. We stopped on Iron Bridge – the halfway point with a view that never disappoints no matter the season, but we didn’t stay long because it was CHILLY.

This was a ride I probably shouldn’t have gone on. I'm in a reflective mood these days, trying to sort shit out and giving the endorphin addiction a rest, but I’m glad I went. We rode quietly, not much conversation since you typically need breath to speak and for me breath seemed in short supply. But there were moments - side by side, intense focus, the breath dialed in, cadence synchronized, simultaneous shifting of gears, leaning into curves, the whir of tires, all of these things speaking volumes to the world passing by and to each of us. People who don’t bike won’t get that last bit. Tom’s a good friend.