Panting, sweating, recovering, I just finished a short bike ride that about finished me. On the last hill, my heart pounding, legs resisting my will, I looked up and assessed the distance, and told myself to push it. I could make it. Then I looked down and watched as the road slipped under my wheel.
It occurred to me that I could keep my head down and the climb would seem to go faster, but I felt myself gripping hard, noticing every bump, and missing out on the pretty countryside.
When I looked to the top, I just reminded myself that I still had a ways to go.
I thought to myself, “somewhere ahead my eyes can find the happy medium between the horizon and the moment. I can loosen my grip a bit, focus on a steady pace, and perhaps dare to look around.”
Know what I mean?
As I was considering all of this well-worn-road imagery, I was startled by a fellow rider on my tail. He said, “when I began to catch you, I figured the head wind must be pretty tough.”
If only he knew.
He added, “I’m not looking forward to climbing the other side of that hill.”
(Seriously? Apparently this hill presents little challenge to him.)
Roused from the metaphysical segment of my ride, I replied, “this is where I get off.”
(My neighborhood was approaching.)
Coming alongside me now, we regarded each other. I’m not sure who he saw, though I assume, perhaps self-disparagingly, not a cyclist. But then with a surging pedal stroke, he left me with “have a great 4th.”
“You too….” (…pilgrim).
Have a great fourth everyone. Hugs from the Weatherlys.