I don’t ask for much: only everything!
There’s got to be exuberance, collective motion, and surprise, all wrapped in an enigma inside a riddle around a conundrum.
Or, a short bike ride will suffice.
One good thing about steep hills is you can pack a lot more riding into a much shorter space. When you go up and up, time, rather than distance, becomes the salient variable.
The yoga sages contend that a person only gets so many breaths in a life; that’s why there are techniques to slow the breathing; doing so makes you live longer. Maybe the analogue is that there are only so many breaths you get on a Thursday night ramble; if you use them all up climbing, you’re done.
I don’t ask for much: only everything!
So when life offers less than I imagine, I need to see more of what’s there.
And then, I’ll notice, for instance, a classic rendezvous, an authentic hors categorie, and a bar that sells Rolling Rocks for just two dollars a piece.
That alone would suffice, and apparently did for those who went south.
For the north-facing group, though, there was more: a mechanical without incident, a route across the high bridge now made safer for riding and more difficult for suicide, and then, the crème de la crème, Fancy Fred’s best impression of Joeball’s wayfaring as we skirted the zoo along the so-called, and perhaps aptly-named “Elephant Path,” to much lower on Phinney Ridge than beforehand, but still worth it.
I don’t ask for much: just everything!
Adventure. Self-inquiry. Downhills that bring life to your senses.
And then, there was a long solo ride home, connecting up, ultimately, to just about exactly the spot I’d detoured on my ride from school to connect up.
Going in circles, sure, but they’re big enough ones that rather than repeating, you’re just never ending.
I don’t ask for much: just everything.
Life. Eternal recurrence. And eventually sleep.
There’s got to be exuberance, collective motion, and surprise, all wrapped in an enigma inside a riddle around a conundrum.
Or, a short bike ride will suffice.
One good thing about steep hills is you can pack a lot more riding into a much shorter space. When you go up and up, time, rather than distance, becomes the salient variable.
The yoga sages contend that a person only gets so many breaths in a life; that’s why there are techniques to slow the breathing; doing so makes you live longer. Maybe the analogue is that there are only so many breaths you get on a Thursday night ramble; if you use them all up climbing, you’re done.
I don’t ask for much: only everything!
So when life offers less than I imagine, I need to see more of what’s there.
And then, I’ll notice, for instance, a classic rendezvous, an authentic hors categorie, and a bar that sells Rolling Rocks for just two dollars a piece.
That alone would suffice, and apparently did for those who went south.
For the north-facing group, though, there was more: a mechanical without incident, a route across the high bridge now made safer for riding and more difficult for suicide, and then, the crème de la crème, Fancy Fred’s best impression of Joeball’s wayfaring as we skirted the zoo along the so-called, and perhaps aptly-named “Elephant Path,” to much lower on Phinney Ridge than beforehand, but still worth it.
I don’t ask for much: just everything!
Adventure. Self-inquiry. Downhills that bring life to your senses.
And then, there was a long solo ride home, connecting up, ultimately, to just about exactly the spot I’d detoured on my ride from school to connect up.
Going in circles, sure, but they’re big enough ones that rather than repeating, you’re just never ending.
I don’t ask for much: just everything.
Life. Eternal recurrence. And eventually sleep.
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