I pedaled some more. I had to. The six mile “easy” ride had somehow turned into an eleven mile tour of every hill in Forsyth County and my muscles weren’t too impressed. Strava’s tally of the ride would make it worth it, but that’s later; right now, I needed a break. A few minutes to not be straining into each cycle of the pedals. Watch the violets spinning past. Count the windows on the neighbor’s house. Wave at the gardener. Watch the Vitamin D bake through my skin and into the bones. At least, that’s how it felt. That deep southern warmth temporarily erased every memory of chilly rain. My day felt like every summer day of my childhood: freshly mowed wild onions to smell, dogwoods bursting boldly with the promise of spring, a bike ride … a bike ride. Oh right. I’m still pedaling. Still propelling up the hill. Still counting the rotations of the pedals.
Oh, I do love biking. Especially today. Especially right here. Especially right now. Dogwoods blossoms to spin past. Daffodil varieties to count. Cows to stare back at the two-seated contraption whizzing by the farm. The hills? The hills I could avoid. Going up, anyway. Going down? I’ll keep that part. A few vigorous pedal strokes, a quick tuck for aerodynamic improvement, and then nothing but a blur of green, a flash of yellow as the dotted line turns solid, and a blast of air as we sail down the hill and around the corner; coasting, we make it halfway up before finding our gear and pedaling to the top.
The cobwebs are doomed. Those lousy tangles of fears, insecurities, and struggles. Plummeting down a country highway at forty-four miles per hour will ensure their demise. Lost in the rush of wind, the surge of adrenaline, and the force of endorphins, they scatter. The foggy cobwebs of a rain-soaked winter in a new country crash behind me, jostled from my mind’s crannies and released by a springtime’s meandering bike ride.
It was a glorious week in North Carolina. Visiting with my parents, meeting with old friends, taking bike rides, eating Chick-fil-A, sleeping in, photographing new friends. I rested. I worked. I porch-sat. I read. I played piano. I wrote.
On another Thankful Thursday, I’m (almost) back in my new home fresh from my old home and so thankful to have both homes — one to explore and love with each new adventure, one to enjoy for the familiarity and comfortable ease.
The humorous reality is that the adventure isn’t over yet: Delta plopped me in Minneapolis and handed me a hotel room and a travel voucher. Mall of America is impressive, but slightly overrated. 😛
Poetic justice moment of the week:
Me: “Hi Nate!”
Him: “Hi Joanna, I’m not Nick. I’m Adam. How are you?”
Me: “Ohhh. Hi Adam. I’m great! And I’m not Joanna, I’m Jennifer.”
(Did I mention I have a sister who is very obviously my sister?)
[some names changed to protect the guilty]