Last night, with a stellar three-day warm up in the forecast, I geared up and made preparations like a kid heading off to summer camp. I packed my clothes for work. I laid out my clothes for riding. I made lunches. I replaced the batteries in my tail light. I checked the bike and topped off the tires. Nothing was going to put the kibosh on my plans to start chalking up miles.
Then this morning, I pushed off for my first morning commute by bike since sometime in late November or early December. The ride was positively divine, and I’m counting the minutes until I embark on the return trip. I have missed my bike terribly, and it felt so unbelievably good to be back in the saddle.
Yes, the hills seemed steeper and longer than I remembered. Yes, my tires flattened a bit more under the added weight brought on by winter inertia. Yes, the crank turned more slowly and the ride took a bit longer than usual. And yes, my legs exhibited a Gumby-esque quality. And yet none of that seemed to detract in any way whatsoever from the ride. Go figure.
It turns out that the only drawback and disappointment — and it was a big one, mind you — were that I eventually arrived at my destination and had to get off the bike.
Alas, it is still February, and I know full well that this warm spell is nothing but a tease. So it goes. I’ll take what I can get.