I picked more or less the last of the flowers. To say that the achingly beautiful stretch of weather we’ve enjoyed for a solid month now makes up for our sodden June and July is to miss the mark. Invoking a dubious fairness or balance in such things discounts the grace we’ve received. In the dry air, a sunny bank of black-eyed susans has persisted among the butterflies and grasshoppers at the bottom of our garden, seemingly unfading, week after week, against the always-blue sky and always-green grass. The mornings and evenings have gotten cooler, but in the diminishing center of every day summer still returns. Only when I went down with a pair of scissors tonight did I realize that in fact there were only a few really fresh-looking blooms left. I have not wanted to let go.
As summer progressed, the twelve-hour race at Bradbury became more and more the emotional focus of my riding life. I wanted to be in shape and ride well, but I didn’t let that desire take over totally. Maybe I should have. I didn’t ride every day, or even close to it. I never want to get to the point where a bike ride is a chore like taking out the trash or washing the dishes, but within those parameters I trained steadily. I didn’t have to take a week off riding for illness or bad weather. I did a good mix of road (for endurance and pace) and trail (for cornering reflexes, power, and braking practice). When the race came I was healthy except for two sore fingers, and I had spent as much time on the bike as I am ever going to be able to do with my philosophy, as long as I have a full-time job and a busy family. Trail conditions were excellent. I rode well. I had no crashes and no mechanical incidents. I pushed it, but stayed within myself. I don’t think I disappointed my team. I still ended up in the middle of the pack.
Now it’s a couple days later and I have cut the last of the flowers. There is a slightly let down feeling. With the rapidly increasing darkness and the inevitable deterioration of the weather, it’s all downhill from here in terms of ride frequency and fitness level. Bottom of the pack, here I come. On the other hand, I am thinking about what possibly was the most perfect day of this perfect late summer, on a road ride with Larry, Dave, and Dan, when we stopped for a swim in a crystalline lake. It was a Sunday afternoon, but no one was there except a woman walking her dog along the shore. The water was utterly still. I hesitated before wading in. I didn’t want to break the picture. It was as though everyone else had already given up on summer, but we hadn't.
I’m glad I got past the nagging selfish and small-minded feeling that stopping to swim was going to compromise the training benefit I got from that ride. I will remember that swim with my friends far better and longer and with more warmth than I would remember finishing in the lower upper middle of the pack.
