|Riding after the rain, overcast and cool(er)|
Often, riding the bike quiets that down. I think it's because I feel like I'm in the zone, the Csikszentmihalyi zone, where doing something with effort which is also good, meet.
|Sheep on the butte. He was all like, "No worries, mate!" (he's a zoo resident, but you can't tell from this side)|
|Hunt's Tomb, a ready symbol of the anxiety of fate and death|
Next, there's the meaning of essentially free to ride wherever I wanted to go. I set out, and thinking about the rains last night, decided to strike a route which would take me near, but hopefully not through, any mud or water aftermath. It worked well, but I went wherever I felt like, at whatever speed I wanted, stopping where I desired, and taking photos or watching birds, sheep, and lizards splashing in the mud puddles.
|Desert version of a tide pool, just teeming with life when I stopped to study it up close|
Also, essentially free of physical pain. This is an important one, too, as it hasn't always been that way, and I expect will not stay that way indefinitely. But on this ride, this day, I owned the zone of spinning my feet round in round in circles on the pedals and felt only the pleasure of muscles turning food into miles.
Finally, to bring some kind of balance to this post, essentially free from worry. The world did not change during my two hours on the bike, but perhaps I altered slightly. Something in the sight adjusts itself to midnight, and life steps almost straight, according to Emily Dickinson. The ride brings on the best sort of courage, the spinning, human-powered kind, wherein the self is affirmed, perspective is gained, any and all worries are gathered up and brought inside, shelved neatly where they belong, in priority order in the to-do case, ready to check off when time, opportunity, and the chance routing and timing of a freely chosen bike ride permit.