this might turn into an ode to Showers Pass- you have been warned.So last weekend I bought some high quality bike clothing gear to make my rides more enjoyable. Rides like the one tonight, in 25 degree weather and a light fall freezing rain. Rides that are more about surviving the ride than enjoying it, although truth- there is some enjoyment in struggling to get somewhere. I'm convinced cars have completely removed the element of the struggle to get to a destination from our lives. Is this a bad thing? Sometimes. You miss a lot in a car.
For instance, let me describe to you my bike commute in Lake Bluff. I (usually ungracefully) lug my bike down the steep train car stairs and stand on the platform as out of the way as possible with all the other commuters (mostly med students and professors and some Navy), freezing in the cold Lake Bluff air, less than a mile from Lake Michigan. I wait for everyone to cross the tracks so I don't accidentally run anyone over with my bike, and then I cross, and go the opposite direction of everyone else, to the trail.
I hop on my bike, adjust my helmet, strap on some gloves, and take off down the trail. Immediately there is a steep switchback and I pick up a lot of speed going down a blind corner that is getting less and less blind as the trees lose their leaves. While careening down this hill I always pause mentally and look at these beautiful tiny purple flowers that grow in stark contrast to the dark trees around them. Then with a rush I zoom under the train tracks, where a freight train is usually parked making clicking and sighing noises as it awaits repairs or a free track, and drips wet (oil?) on the trail beneath.
The first 3 minutes of the ride are the hardest, as they are slightly uphill and in dark, compact woods with tall trees lining both sides. In the summer this was the coolest part of the trail and I looked forward to it; in the winter, now, it is the coldest part of the trail and the cold nearly knocks me off my bike. My face immediately freezes and I imagine I can feel my lungs recoil as I force cold air through them at suddenly rapid rates. (did you know you don't sweat in winter bc that energy is spent trying to warm the air you inhale?) Out of the woods, I go under a bridge and through a cement tunnel that closes it's gates from dusk to dawn, and I read that sign every day, and think in my mind what if they one day got it wrong and it was closed from dawn to dusk and that if I were homeless or needed shelter in a storm I would try to get here as fast as possible, and then I wonder if the gates are automated or if someone comes and closes them at dusk and opens them at dawn, and if so, if that is their only job, and they have a huge giant key on one huge giant key ring that unlocks and locks the gates.... and I think these thoughts nearly every morning and then lastly, as I begin to exit the tunnel, I admire the cool colors of the tunnel contrasted with the early morning sun outside the tunnel turning the cold earth warm yellow-green colors and the sky a warmer, lighter blue, and think for a moment about cool and warm colors and when they are contrasted in nature I almost fall down in worship every time at the beauty, kind of like this photographer and his gorgeous photos and sculptures:
http://www.runeguneriussen.no/wallno04/04_10.htmlBut I digress.
After the tunnel (where those thoughts tumble through my frozen brain at record speed and I nearly die from the beauty of the colors) I go through some weeds that in the late summer were all sorts of reds and golds and purples and always made me turn my head to stare at their beauty for as long as possible. After this I come into more civilized land and pass the water refinery plant with its gated drive and its fountain in the front, that in the summer would spray cool water on me. Then I pass the nature reserve center where dark men in green uniforms are usually trimming some hedge, raking some leaves, or mowing some grass. They are all the same stature and build and I often think of them as though they are oompahloompahs and wonder if they are all related and then I envy them for their job as they get to work outside year-round. They do all the landscaping in the area. They always notice me on my bike and are willing to wait for me to pass lest they are working over the trail. I appreciate this and usually nod or smile to them as I whiz by at 15mph.
Then I cross a bridge over a creek and I take a moment to turn my head and admire the water flowing past. After that there is a marsh on the other side of the road and I like to watch the mist rise slowly some mornings and hang over the pond on the edge of the marsh. Sometimes this is the most eeriebeautiful thing one can witness, and only occurs when the sun has first arisen.
Then I pass the fourth drive that crosses the trail, the one to the landscaping business, the one where I T-boned an SUV. Here I always slow way down and look both ways repeatedly, but the drivers, since my accident, are always watching for me too, and will stop and wait for me to bike by, after I make and hold eye contact with them. (There is nothing more annoying than a driver that will not make eye contact with you.) Then I pass the tall electric power lines, all grouped and lined up like soldiers and listen for the high whine of electricity buzzing overhead. After that I cross some more railroad tracks and lift myself out of my seat, as these tracks are very bumpy and the trail on both sides doesn't quite meet the tracks. (biking to the train station over these tracks makes me feel like a mountain biker, as it takes some dexterity to stay on top of my bike, and there is a steep hill on the other side that makes you pick up speed immediately.) Then I pass the car dealership and a road where people never watch for bikes, and then the bridge over a highway where I pause and watch the speeding cars below, and feel sorry that they have to be in cars and aren't biking and have witnessed all that I have just witnessed on the trail. There is construction on this bridge, and I also usually pause to figure out what they are working on that morning.
Then I pass the used car dealership and the garage full of workers and remember if anything happened to my bike one of them could probably help me out in a pinch. They work in the garages with the doors closed in the winter. Then I cut through the used car dealership's drive and zoom off the bike trail onto the industrial park road. Here the drivers never notice me either, which means I have to notice them, which makes it slightly stressful. But for a moment, while on the trail I was biking west, on this drive through the industrial park I bike east for maybe 100 yards, and directly into the morning sun. It hits the frosted or dewy grass (depending on the temperature) and makes it sparkle with more brilliance than a well-cut diamond. I always have thought that raindrops and dew on the grass is more stunning than the most stunning diamond ring or earring or necklace that I have ever seen. I think if more people knew about raindrops and dew in the first rays of sunlight, the world, in general, might be nicer.
I round a corner and am heading south, passing the geese that sit there and stare at me, and the willows that line the drainage ditch. This past week a goose got hit by a car and it's innards were spread across the road. At first I felt very sad for the goose and could barely look at it. All the other geese didn't return for two days. After biking past it twice, I started to identify body parts and how it probably died, my inquisitive science- side taking over. I really want to take a feather from it, but am unconvinced that it wouldn't be full of germs.
Almost at work, I cut across parking lot and head directly for a row of bushes and weeds in the back of the lot. I hop off my bike for a moment to lift it over the curb and look left, to the east, to see the sun rise over a marsh full of cattails and a row of trees. Every single day, this view has been gorgeous. I can see a full expanse of sky over the marsh (so much sky is something very rare in a city) and the gray clouds or dark clouds or all blue sky and no clouds never fail to look so gorgeous hanging right over the auburn and gold cattails. Then I pass through the bushes over the dirt trail worn by me and other bikers, and take note of all the birds singing in the bushes around me, and the little moles that dart over the trail, and these three tall thistles that bloomed in the summer but are now dried stalks of such interesting texture. They are about two more bike rides away from getting named. I push through all this into the back of another parking lot, turn left, bike past the workers that are waiting in their cars (when it's cold) or outside their cars (when it's warm) and try not to notice as they watch me keenly as they wait for their warehouse to open. I imagine they say things to each other like, that girl is crazy to be biking this early in this weather, etc etc. I lift my bike over another curb into my company's parking lot, usually speed up through a puddle that is always in the middle of the lot, and splash it everywhere (I can't help myself) and then unlock the warehouse door, push my bike through, and set it up in the warehouse, in my "bike" spot.
Phew. That, my friends, is one third of my morning commute. Every day there is something different- in summer there were low- flying bugs bigger than dragonflies that would zoom and zag over the bike path with no regard to my presence. One day I saw a tiny blind vole or mole sitting smack in the middle of the yellow painted dashes dividing the path into two lanes. It seemed to like the yellow color, sniffing it, and wandering away for a bit, them coming back to the yellow. I completely understood, as I am quite enamored with yellow myself right now, and I told it that, and then hopped back on my bike and went on. (yes, I do find myself talking to animals now and again). And one morning the sun had just risen and there was mist over the entire trail, and the moon was still up. It was the most eriebeautiful thing and I would have taken a picture, but for now, these images are all mine, and I am hoarding them in my memory, and now writing about them in a most selfish manner. I hope you can forgive me. I just am not quite willing to share the images yet.
Then there is my 3 mile ride in the city which I do twice a day, which is an entirely different experience. I will write about that one day, but not now. This is a lot, and I must go get something done.
And maybe one day I will share some pictures. But they won't do it justice, and I just implore you to go out, find a trail, find some nature, and get a bike between your legs. It really is quite simply divine.
hrm, this didn't turn into an ode for Showers Pass at all. That will have to be for another entry, I guess!
My goodness I just saw how long this really is. And I could have gone into even more detail!! I don't really expect anyone to read this entire post. I'm not sure whether to apologize for it's length or not. No, I don't think I will.
Do you see that perfect swoop from top to bottom that finishes at just the right balanced distance from the rim? Do you see that swoop?
Beautiful, pure, robin's egg blue at just the right thickness to let a bit of the clay underneath come through. Perfect.
YES! those are safety pins!
