Another Great Sunday Ride

WE road until the payment wore out and the signs of spring turn to snow. The batteries in the GPS went out and the cycle computer turned off at around mile 21.0023695. Events couldn't have aligned themselves any better. The ride was not anything more than just that.... a wonderful ride.

The peaks circled the dirty city below in a brilliantly white halo and what we thought was a "bad day" was just the inability to realize we had been riding uphill since breakfast. While I knew I was having to stand up to get to that last vista, I didn't remember the effort that it took to get me to that last hill.

Minds. The fickle trickster of the body...every one's own inner coyote. No other organ plays such cruel jokes. Eagles turned to Red Tail hawks and quite rides in the mountainous halo of the city turned in to a 200+ rmp spin. Sandhill Cranes dances above while gravity took it's second toll of the day. The feet spun as wind rocketed into my ears and the noise of the past week became instantly quiet. Nothing but the descent mattered and all was good - the ride just was.

Robert only grinned, he seemed to lose the cold that had been pestering him over the past weeks. I gasped for air feeling like a top losing its momentum; losing its spin; starting to wobble. The cranes still danced and looking up at them made me feel motionless. Another gasp, I looked at the fields around me. Time progressed again and the fields rushed past the hubs and spokes. I was lost somewhere in between.

Conversations began again yet even after all the wind stop its constant barrage on my ears, I faded in and out of the discussions.

Don Henley still echoing around in the grey matter today [Monday; not Sunday]much like "Yellow Submarine" that can be passed from field crew to field crew throughout a season in the back country. Infectious. Insidious. "Robert, may your cold linger!"..... but alas, I never passed my voodoo classes.