bikeabout

it was difficult to write on the road. i don’t understand the difference while on the road – it’s the coming home that completes the circle.
it was too cold to stay on. one spring shower and everything became too cold. the wind started chilling right to the bone, and the sun just couldn’t keep up with it. big mountains. big enough to keep the sun’s heat out of april. big enough to remind me what frost looks like in the early morning, when the sun still hasn’t reached the summit plateau. so big that the pine trees cannot break them and streams cannot wash them away. so big that even just going down them hurts your hands and abuses your breaks. so big that you come out of them lost.
the body reverts back to its prehistoric operating mode – high energy consumption, high output, movement, metabolism kicks into high gear, endorphins slowly creep up on you leading to a gradual high that lasts all night, and into the beginning of the next fix. it’s just too easy to be a junkie. everything you eat is spent, junk food ceases to exist; sweat expels toxins and t-shits become white with salt. the vision of the goal ahead is the only driving force, the only reason to be. existence becomes simple.
the spirit is elevated as hills are left behind and new peaks rise in the distance. traditional roads wind up through pastures, blossoming cherry trees, and pine forests, new roads soar up legbreaking gradients. the occasional car passes by, people nod, sheep scatter. and at the summit omnipotence mixes with vulnerability, the power vs. mortality of the human body. the realization of the accomplishment is equaled by the awareness of how many things can go catastrophically wrong; the actual drops of sweat on the climb behind vs. the possible drops of blood on the descent in front. life literally hangs by the threat of the break cable. the ultimate test of self-confidence – it was me that installed that cable.
staring down at the asphalt snake gives you new appreciation for travel in days of yore. merchant caravans making their way from valley to valley across mountain passes. you imagine horses making their way along these same paths, which have in the meantime been widened and paved, but still the same path. voyages that lasted weeks now last hours, even for a biker with twenty-five kilos of gear. and the villages in the valleys are as they were: farming communities, with minimal outside communication. only today there is more traffic passing through, straight through. but life is the same: fields, home, cattle, crops, evening drinks at the tavern. people still don’t go anywhere. perhaps to the city to see the doctor or relatives. and the big rigs kick up dust as they whiz past carrying goods far away. the lone bike rider pedals away.