I am fat, bloated, consumed by the skin that holds me together. Lifeless, thoughtless, I drift through the evening a walking, living zombie.
Then I see it hanging on the wall. Asking me politely, then suddenly commanding me. I take the bike down and grab those bike things - the ones you feel you need to ride, but really you just need to ride - the mp3 player, earbuds, etc.
My mind is still cluttered, I am barely incommunicable. My wife after years of this understands my grumbles. Understands that I need to get out, to get away from the grip of a dead stale inside and venture outside to expose myself to being alive.
Walking down the hallway, Caution Bicycle in tow all I care about is the song on the ipod and a rare chance to see other cyclists around the city that I might know or might care to know. Exiting the building I walk to the street, it too a lifeless void seeking out something anything. We both have energy somewhere. I get on my bicycle and pedal not yet absorbing the energy of the streets, but aimlessly wandering to find it.
Like a moth to flame I turn on second south and aim my bike towards the Gateway. I assume in this quiet night that perhaps something, anything, if it so existed, would be going on there. Quiet. Still. A few aimless wanders and one mindless driver that swings their door wide open, making a gun shot go off into my sleepy cadence. I swing wide, dodging the metal doom and still find it hard to be alive even in the face of becoming a door prize.
North. It seemed logical. A place of adventure and mystery. While Salt Lake was familiar, North Salt Lake still held a bit of that, "Am I going to ride into a giant pothole on this road?" surprise. Something to make you feel alive. Then hills. Capitol hills. I rode up. I kept riding up. I was starting to feel alive. Sweat dripped. Gears lowered. My front tire wobbled as gravity acted against me and I promised to thoroughly kick its ass in order to feel alive.
Breathing hard, I descended down behind the Capitol. I decided to try gravity hill and all the scenic of the area surrounding it while perhaps catching my breath. I tried descending down it, but as many locals know gravity hill promises to really mess with your head and perceptions of gravity, in that when you go down it you are going up it and when you go up it you are going down it.
At some point, crickets, the quiet, the peace of the ride surrounded me. I flipped the switch on my mp3 player to off letting my earbud dangle freely on my chest. While it felt appropriate to drown out a city - a chorus of crickets, of quiet, of wheels spinning, of stillness being drowned out by Grandmaster Flash seemed almost sacrilegious. (though I may need to consult the Church of the Big Ring on this one.)
I peaked. It wasn't a hard push, or a finish line that did it. It was being alone in the vast world, alone with my bicycle that did it. Nothing too complex.
There was that wall. The point where you don't think you could go no more. But my wall wasn't on the '50th mile' or even that hill climb but rather at home. When I had to pull myself from laziness into riding my bicycle. It helps to realize how alive you feel when you ride. It also helps to realize that the rush isn't always just from the speed, but from simply riding.
I got home and I told my wife more mumbling, more lifeless words. I felt myself sinking into my old self again. Then I looked at my bicycle... and the journey began all over again.
, then:
