Well, there'll be no cycling in my neck of the woods for the next few days. The smoke from the Canadian wildfires have blanketed the eastern seaboard and Midwest US once again.
My neighbor G and I had plans for a ride yesterday morning. The prior day had been an artist's dream: clear, bright, and sunny. I had ridden 21 paved road miles in sheer bliss of the astounding colors surrounding me - the vibrant green of the trees and grass, the breathcatching blue of the mountains themselves, and the eye popping colors of flowers everywhere, both wild sown or garden cultivated. Passing motorists all waved a cheerful hello back to my friendly waves, my contented and happy smile never leaving my face the entire ride. It was one of those rides where you simply take a deep breath and feel your heart swell with happiness. A perfectly perfect day to be out on a bike, enjoying everything that was right with the world.
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Along the way I passed a polo field, a vast lawn of several exquisitely groomed acres that generally sits quietly awaiting the once a week thunder of horses hooves and the cracking of fist sized wooden polo balls being whacked by teams of mallot wielding riders, all governed by an complexity of strict game rules, as they urge their polo ponies in bustling races up and down the field chasing that very important white polo ball. Today that field was in play, hosting in one corner a variety of large horse trailers, all with teams of beautifully groomed polo ponies tied and waiting patiently for their turn to race up and down the vast lawn of impeciably groomed grass in persuit of a little white ball.
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I paused in my ride to check out the herd of horse trailers to see if I spotted the one belonging to another neighbor of mine just two farms down the road. He's an avid polo player, and just a delightful person who is always happy to stop what he's doing to shoot the breeze with me. I didn't see his trailer, so called out to an official looking person standing at the edge of the playing field, intently scrutinizing his phone, asking who was playing and when the game was supposed to start. (You can just make him out in the picture above - he looks a bit like a post on the left) He looked up at me and called back that it was just local players, just as a polo player trotted past him onto the field. "It's starting now", he said, then added cheerfully, "You're welcome to stay and watch!" I smiled at the invitation and very seriously considered it for a few minutes. I love the game, and the spectators are always very social and engaging. But....I lacked the proper dress to spectate, and would have had to sit on the grass in lieu of not having packed a lawn chair with me on my bike, as well as any yummy tailgate, although I'm sure the other spectators would have been happy to allow me to take part in their delicious tables.
No, I might as well defer to next time, when I'm properly outfitted with an elegant hat, not a helmet, smart attire and not biking shirt and shorts, and employing my own table of smoked salmon and brie, and a comfy chair.
I watched for a few more minutes as the first chukker began and the little white ball got a good solid whack by one player to send it rolling down the field with a group of players jostling their horses into one another in their pursuit of the ball to be the next one to give it a whack with their swinging mallot. I finally sighed, still smiling, and continued on with my ride.
(I did mention the polo game to G later, and her eyes widened in delight. She enjoys the game every bit as much as I do. "Let's go next week", she gushed, in her mind already planning a yummy tailgate menu and what fancy hat to wear. I agreed. Next Tuesday we do polo and fancy hats and smoked salmon on crackers. Cycling the following day)
It was a beyond perfect day.
Then....
Yesterday came.
Overnight the wind shifted, and like the opening paragraph from a dystopian novel, wildfires a thousand miles away north commenced a death march of thick smoke towards us, blocking out the night sky and filling the lungs of every air breathing creature alive as it advanced south. By morning it had reached our mountain range, hovering over the summit in a fog of deathly white, eyeing the innocent, and totally unaware, blue sky over our countryside below. It was biding time for the assault, waiting until the sun peeked over the horizon to move in and leach every bit of color from our surroundings.
Not really taking into account the Code Orange ("unhealthy air") was rapidly developing into a Code Red ("really bad air, and we're not kidding that everyone needs to stay indoors with windows shut, folks!"). I had grabbed a mask to ride over to G's house ( a little over a mile down the road). In the few minutes it took to do so, the Blue Ridge Mountains just a few miles to our west dissolved into nothingness and the white smoke haze slithered into the valley, leaving just a trace of a faint outline of colorless trees against a matching white sky. My neighbor stepped outside to her bike waiting in her driveway, and we had a very brief conversation, through masks, that went like this:
G: "This air is really bad, and I can't cycle with a mask on. Let's not ride today".
Me: "Fine by me."
G: "Let's go sit by your pool instead." She turned at looked at the noisy renovation construction taking place on her house, workmen walking to and from carrying tools, hammers banging, and skill saws buzzing. "I need to get away from this noise."
Me: "Fine by me. See you in a few?"
G: "Rodger that."
My mask still in place I rode home, put the bike away, filled the ice bucket with frozen cubes, and set out the tea glasses and China plates on the wrought iron table in the screened-in canopy on the pool deck. A few minutes later G arrived carrying a basket packed with goat cheese, smoked salmon, Pierrier, assorted crackers, and spicy chutney.
And we spent the next two hours lounging in our chairs, poolside, in the Code Red breeze (which was delightfully cool, by the way, with not a fly or bug to be seen), enjoying some delicious food and several lively rounds of gossip as my collie stretched out at our feet, snoozing away.
All the while the world around us continued to dissolve into a white film of nothingness.
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And today: (We are the blue dot)
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I understand New York City was really, really bad. And Lexington Kentucky was the pits of hell, virtually unbreathable.
Cleveland yesterday, and what it looked like before the smoke apocalypse:
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From the looks of it, based on the smoke forecast, I may have to wait until next week before I can ride. Or breathe without a mask.