The weather these past few days has been schizophrenicly (is that a real word?) unreliable. Cold and windy, then warm and sunny, then back to cold and windy, then another about face to warm and sunny yet again. I'm still down one ebike as the LaFree is still in pieces at the bike shop awaiting a new wiring harness, so the Class 3 Vado is doing the yeoman's job for every ride now, gravel or not, schizophrenic weather or not, long miles or short rides. On the cold days I tend to ride alone, pushing my speed. On the warm days G usually texts and asks about a ride together. We commiserate as we pedal side by side, decrying the current virus pandemic's abysmal dehuminizarion of socializing in our lives while discussing plans for upcoming holidays and house renovations. Our conversations are all over the map, just like the weather and our miles through our rural countryside.
My rides don't produce photos of fancy city landmarks, of stunning coastal highways overlooking vast blue oceans on the rise. No lofty buildings compete in crowding the frame, no civilized pathways and elegant restaurants and tourist attractions fill the scenery. My photos are of endless gravel roads, hibernating trees, and cold skies. A calming sameness fills my camera lens, and sometimes a bit of artistic whimsy such as yours truly trying to capture a warm masked face in a chilly bike mirror on a cold stretch of undulating road. I'm afraid I got more of the cell phone than my face, but I did like the background so the shot got the nod from me.
The sun has been uninspired lately, a bit morose, dragging itself through the sky more as a sullen duty than actually wanting to be up there as a positive influence. At times it has simply wrapped itself in clouds, like a winter blanket, throughout the day, anxious to hurry to bed long before any of us are ready. Several times I have gone for a late afternoon ride only to be astonished, still miles from home, by a sudden dusk overruling a sunset that barely had time to register a bit of color before it was hustled out the door in a quick departure. I am finding myself hurrying more and more on my ride, yet still arriving home in the gathering darkness, still facing the evening barn chores and feeding that are now having to be done under the pale light of a rising moon and twinking stars.
I don't mind too much. The changing tempo of life as the year, one already destined for the record books in so many ways other than one, is slipping into one of waiting. Waiting for winter, if it choses to come at all. Waiting for the long shadows to start to subside. Waiting for the suble shades of the aged gray landscape to turn into white as the world contemplates another turn around the sun, another tilt in the spin, another year come and gone. I'm happy to wait. I will miss the colorful dancing leaves as they turn brown and wet, too heavy to be blown by the winds anymore, but I will enjoy them when they decorate themselves for the coming winter as a static display in sparkling frost or soft snow.
I wonder if we will have snow for the December holidays. I hope so. The last time I rode a bike in the snow was as a kid. Time to relive those memories again...and this time get a picture.