as if we were young and days were ours

Know when and how to be cool

This weekend seemed to offer no time for riding. Full up with work, what can only be called chores, and necessary tasks put off until they can be delayed no longer: full of, just stick your tongue out, shake your head from side to side, and make the sound of a cat coughing up a hair ball. Packed with that.

But even so, I decided to pretend that I would find time for a good, hard ride on a perfect warm spring day. I quick-checked the bike, filled up a water bottle and stuck it in the fridge. As I did the chores, I slowly put on some bicycle clothing, set the shoes by the bike, and kept on working. Phone calls, emails, all that, but acting like there would be time. Make more coffee, power through the conference calls, put the helmet and cycling gloves on the table. A window for riding will open up before the day is through, I kept pretending. I imagined it happening while doing other things and feeling the hours ticking away.

They came for the swim

 
It was as-if thinking at its best. 

As if there would be time, 
as if I would soon be out in the sunshine spinning across the miles, 
as if I would be able to feel that chain direct-connected to the freewheel-less gear again, 
as if we were young and days were ours:

• the endless possible and anything-goes
• the sky is wide and what's over there
• the earth is unknown and some place to see
• the corner will turn and newness there
• we'll talk for hours until the sun glows the sky-hammock purple

Then I levered the time-window open a crack and was ready to roll, an hour and a half of my own to ride. Go go go kid and the road is yours. Fixed gear operations have resumed. The dogs swim in the canals to cool down sometimes, and I presume that in their canine hearts when they hit the cold water and feel the current's flow that the moment is theirs and it's a puppy who shakes the water free from nose to tail. Get up. Go ride.

A glimpse of the infinite now in a dog's watery moment