Today I was moping around the shop, wondering if my life had reached its apogee somewhere in the past, that this high point, being not of note and hidden within the mausoleum of my poor memory would, at some point, present itself. I could be riding along in a taxi, listening to Slanted and Enchanted, or just simply sitting alone in a room quietly watching paint dry and bam, there it is. The fear being that this memory would be less than superlative, that this being the highpoint, this being the moment that if pressed, God would use to define the essence of what I am to him and to all of you would not, could not be considered a highpoint at all, at most God would describe the arc of my life as being like a ground swell on the prairie.
I am not one to be a bummer, we all have these days don’t we, when self-doubt creeps in like a greasy haired man in stained sweat pants and just bums out your whole day? Of course it happened to be Monday and that white castle on the hill, the lovely weekend was yet again perversely far off, this could have accounted for part of the loathing but I can’t imagine it was just the day of the week. I missed the whole rave scene so I am not able to point the finger at a mind rendered diaphanous by obscene amounts of MDMA. Rather, I lay today’s case of the Lows on a missed morning ride.
I would love to be a morning person, a no coffee thank you I am made of motivation kind of person. Many times I have imagined my self as a classic morning go-getter, you know that guy in the lettermen’s jacket home from school for the holidays, up early to make the Folgers for his parents; because not only is he the best Ivy league quarterback the east coast has seen in years but he is taking his senior year off from throwing the pigskin to be a Rhodes Scholar? This of course is fantasy, I can barely throw a spiral or read, let alone wake up in the morning, and the only time I drink Folgers is when I am on camping trips and it’s cowboy coffee or nothin’. My alarm is set and like clockwork, of course, it goes off. Usually I am reaching around my wife or one of our cats while the Temptations belt out one of there high energy numbers, but neither the adventure of the reach nor the syncopated vocal harmonies are enough of an advertisement for the sunrise. In my defense I have to say that the post alarm REM dreams are an addiction of which one is not easily cured.
The above being said I still manage to sign up for early morning rides and when I am able to pull myself out of hibernation and those amazing Conan the Barbarian meets F1 racing meets Oscar night meets spring break dreams and actually get on my bike for a ride I enjoy it. I really f*#king enjoy it. Your senses coming to life while your legs warm up, that wonderful light you have in the morning clean and bright like a fresh sheet of paper, the subtle silence as you climb into the ether and of course the early thrill of a fast descent. Damn I love those morning descents. To use a phrase that’s going around these days, “So Good.”
