Total Eclipse (of my brain)

Just shy of a couple of weeks ago, I set out to do a short, 5-10 mile ride. I was preparing for a race and in the days prior, I wanted to keep my legs loose, but not get into any distance or speed. I had a mental plan of the week before the event, so even though this particular day was a rest day, I didn't want to sit around doing nothing.

At any rate, I decided I wanted to go out and check on a portion of our greenway that has been closed since the flooding almost four years ago. The city website stated that a connection to the east side won't be open until the end of next year, but I assumed that the other side of the path would be open and rideable. A nice, relaxing, short ride on the paved path sounded perfect.

When I arrived to the area, it became quickly evident that the path on the east side was also still not available for use. The choices in front of me had barricades and orange accoutrements placed all around, so it was obvious that work is still in progress. I was disappointed, but figured I could cut through a shopping center on the opposite side and ride the path to the southwest side of town and then head home.

At the end of the paved greenway headed in a south-western direction is the start of the LoBo trail, which connects the cities of Longmont and Boulder via a (mostly) packed gravel path. The LoBo is a fairly quiet, removed path that allows for travel through the small communities of Niwot and Gunbarrel in route to either of the aforementioned cities. It's been quite awhile since I've ridden the trail. In fact, I'm fairly certain it's been about 10 months since I've set foot or wheel on the path.

The LoBo is not the most efficient way to get to Boulder or Longmont, but it does remove riders, walkers and runners from the speed of motorized highway traffic, making it far more pleasant. The lack of efficiency though often causes me to avoid it because, as is the case for most humans in today's world, I seem to often have some sort of time crunch and need to get where I'm going. Instead, I travel along the shoulder of the highway next to the very loud cars and trucks, which is a much more direct route of about 15 mi/24 km (one way, give or take, depending on start and end point).

When I arrived at the start of the trail on this day, my intention was to make a turn north and head back home, but instead I decided to pedal a little farther out onto the gravel. There are plenty of ways out of the trail along the way if needed, so I figured it would give me an opportunity to check things out.

The weather and atmosphere were feeling a little strange; nearly a similar sensation to what I have experienced during tornado weather. Not that there was excessive wind, but there's something about the sky that changes when tornadoes are possible. 

As I pedaled along, I realized just how much I was enjoying this ride. I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was that was so enjoyable, but I was actually having fun -- something I later realized I haven't felt in quite awhile.

I continued on and soon found myself approaching two individuals sitting in folding beach chairs in the middle of the path. One of them noticed I was approaching and got up to move her chair over. As I went by, I wondered why they were sitting in the middle of the trail and what they were watching up in the sky. While passing, I looked over my shoulder and saw their eyes covered with different-looking glasses and realized they were out waiting for the solar eclipse.

D'oh!  ::Face palm::

The trees provided a nice filter for sun-gazing.

I had completely forgotten about the eclipse, which seems impossible given the amount of attention it had been receiving during the weeks prior. I wasn't particularly interested in the event, but was fascinated that so many people were taking time off of work and traveling to locations to see it.

As I kept pedaling, I came upon more and more people who were out staring at the sun with large, rectangular-shaped glasses covering their eyes. For some reason, it amused me. We did not have 100% eclipse locally, but it was pretty close (somewhere in the mid-90% range), so it made sense that people were out trying to see what they could.

Coming up around a bend, I approached a small group of men who shuffled to get out of the path as I got closer. Slowing slightly, I asked if they had seen anything good yet, and they (very enthusiastically) responded in the affirmative and offered to let me borrow a pair of their glasses. I declined because I didn't really want to stop this ride I was so thoroughly enjoying, but appreciated the sentiment and thanked them for their generosity as I continued on.

As I rode, I could not stop smiling. I was not pushing myself in the least, but was just enjoying what and where I was riding. There was this joy that felt ready to burst from within. I could not remember the last time I'd been so happy on a bicycle. I wish I could explain it fully, but there was simply something about this ride that was providing immense happiness.

I am on a bicycle at some point nearly every day, and I never hate being on a bike, but it had been such a long time since I felt so utterly and purely joyous about pedaling. Up and down I went over short, slightly steeper stretches and back to the flat areas. I spotted a field of sunflowers and couldn't help but grin ear to ear. I was enjoying every single second.

Before I realized it, I had pedaled my way to north Boulder. How did that happen? I knew that I had to head home, but I was shocked to see how far I'd traveled without even a thought of discomfort or awareness of the distance I'd need to travel to get home again.

The highway seemed like the reasonable choice to get back home, but even it was strangely quiet. During the miles traveled the traffic was nearly non-existent. It was as though aliens had taken most everyone, or a biblical rapture had taken place and left only a few of us behind. If I was one of those left behind, I could not have been happier. I really didn't want the ride to end.

Arriving home, I uploaded the trip (I'd decided to record it, even though I believed it would be short and slow) and discovered that I'd obtained several personal records on trail and road segments, which just made me laugh. I felt as though I'd been taking my time and yet somehow bested myself.

As I went about the day, I kept thinking about that feeling -- that happiness that lingered throughout the ride. Trying to determine what it was that had made me so ridiculously delighted was puzzling. Was it the fact that I had taken a path not traveled in many months? Was it the lack of pressure to perform in any particular way or at a certain pace? Still, that didn't entirely explain the complete euphoria throughout the ride.

I have tried without success since that day to figure out what made that ride such a pleasant experience, but I have little explanation for it. I cannot for the life of me stop thinking about it though. I can't help but want to repeat it over and over again. Perhaps it was just part of the solar eclipse experience. I may not have had much concern for the crossing of the moon between the earth and sun, but maybe it affected me more than I believed.

A bicycle ride almost always turns my mood around and makes me happy, but there was something inexplicably wonderful about this one. Have you experienced a ride like this -- one that was unusually exciting, happy, and effortless? What do you think made it so perfect? Have you been able to duplicate that feeling at will?

Sometimes, You Get What You Need

This summer was supposed to be my season of climbing. Last year, I covered more miles than I ever had and I wanted a different challenge for this particular summer. I have nothing against completing longer rides, but since climbing is such a sore spot for me, I thought it would be a good challenge. A few epic-for-me climbs did take place, but as a general rule, I haven't been great about accomplishing the goal. Now, here I am, summer drawing to a close and realizing just how non-eventful riding really was over the last several months. It's okay to me for riding to not always be glorious and wonderful, but I have struggled with the realization that I haven't pushed myself much this year. There are reasons for it - both real and imagined - but it's easy to start feeling less than accomplished or downright depressed at times.

I have found this summer that I really needed to take more slow, non-purposeful rides than ever before. I needed to allow myself to stop and literally smell the roses (or manure as was often the case). It's challenging to struggle with a side of myself that wants to always achieve something more, but at the same time realize that my body and/or equipment isn't ready to cooperate with my wants and desires. Trying to push through isn't always the answer, I've found.

On trend with what has been more typical this summer, I found myself out on a ride. I didn't know where I was going and wasn't entirely sure I even wanted to be out on a bicycle at all. I have been struggling with a lot of demons this summer and most of the time, I have to be honest, the demons have won out. There are times when my only sanity is simply to get on two wheels and let it all out on the road in front of me, but sometimes, just getting myself motivated to get out has been a struggle.

As I rounded a corner I'm all too familiar with, I knew I needed something different this particular day. I couldn't stand the idea of taking a route I've been on innumerable times and I didn't have it in me to attempt to figure out a new path either. As I continued riding, I made it to the other side of a neighborhood and rolled down a hill. I realized there was a dirt path right in front of me that I'd never traveled. No time like the present, I thought; and with that, I headed down a bumpy, unknown path.

There's something exciting to me about cycling on a road I don't know. Even when I'm familiar with all of the roads that surround or intersect it, there's something magical about the idea of traveling a specific trail I haven't experienced. This particular road was a little tough to travel because of its condition in spots, but I didn't seem to care. As I looked around, I realized there was a trailhead just off the road. How didn't I know this was here? I reminded myself it could be a great spot to return to as the weather cools and the dogs want a new adventure on foot.

The path was hot. There hadn't been any shade for some time and I grabbed a swig of water before realizing I hadn't seen another soul on this road at all. I wasn't concerned as I was surrounded by farms and homes with lots of open space. It was rather nice to be on a road that didn't have cyclists racing by or cars swerving into me, so I just enjoyed taking in the new sights and smells.

There were cows, sheep, and horses. There were small lakes I didn't even know existed. It was just a pleasant time to be out on a bike, even if I did appear to be riding a non-stop climb. As if out of nowhere, suddenly some shade appeared and I was thankful for some relief from the sun that felt far warmer than it should for late September.

I continued to climb, knowing that even if the road dead-ended, I could always turn around and come back down. I could see a stop sign warning in the distance, so I knew there would be a road crossing of some sort. When I reached the sign, I realized it was another dirt road that would force me to choose one path over the other, as my road was coming to an end. Back down the climb, or continue on? It was an easy decision because I wanted to see where the new path would connect me.

One of the things that struck me as I rode was that this place could be any number of other locations I've been or lived. The peek-a-boo shot above reminded me of a similar photo taken on the Presidio in San Francisco a decade ago and of another taken in Madison, Wisconsin. Perhaps the foliage is different and the view through the trees changes a bit, but it's amazing how similar places really can be from one coast to another, and at many places in between.

As I continued on some rolling dirt hills, I came upon a man on his horse enjoying the afternoon sun. He seemed to be struggling a bit to keep the horse on the path he wanted to travel, and I couldn't help but identify with the horse just a bit. He (or she) seemed simply to want to go off on his/her own path and not down the one they were headed. Was it a path the horse knew well? Had s/he had a bad experience there? Who could know, but in that moment I felt a connection to the beautiful four-legged animal.

The unknown portion of the ride was coming to an end as I intersected with a paved road I travel quite often. As an added bonus, I finally got to see the buffalo I've been trying to get photos of for weeks, but somehow seem to miss every time I go by.

As I rode the rest of the way home I knew that I may have missed having an epic summer on the bike, but it had its own greatness. I think I found ways to acknowledge the small victories as much as the bigger ones. I can't ever really know where life is leading or what's coming around the next bend, but I can always take the time to appreciate the present for all its grand moments, and the seemingly trivial happenings... and what better way to do so than on a bicycle.