Burn

The great tree greeted me shortly after I took the left turn to parts unknown, away from the other riders. To her trunk was nailed a no tresspassing sign. She will be a great tree to climb another day.

You quickly ascend away from the road and society and cars, except as you reach the top of this first climb, there is another parking lot, and a mile after that, another parking lot. The distance and the climbing is too great for many of the people who park in these upper lots.

Indeed someone runs a farm up above the road. At first, I feel envy of where this family lives, then, the realization that they too are trapped by their circumstance, or at a minimum, believe that they are trapped by their circumstance. Skills are required to raise cattle or goats and to maintain a windmill, but are these skills adequate for the man to survive elsewhere? I do not know the answer. But the envy passed as quickly as I passed this location. For I, too, live there, and I too own that land.

Beauty is relative. When much of the flora is brown, the yellow or green seem spectacular. When much of the flora lie low near the earth, those that rise up and stand straight seem special.

Other riders are hilarious. Other cyclists, I hope they achieve what they came for. My goal is to ride faster, harder, and longer, and to pause for photos and to ride with more skill and style than the others. Other riders are simply trying to survive the ride. They have better odds of surviving if they do not go out in the first place.

I ride with music and the music inspires. I embrace this temporary chaos, self-inflicted pain and the perscribed burn. The challenge in which a successful outcome is assured. It is the methadone, it is enough for today. My mind doesn't go as far as it will or would or could. But it helps me connect again with and and beauty and struggle and the unknown.