Standing at the Trailhead of Winter

Three years ago, I completed my first century ride, the Swedish Days ride that's a couple hours drive north of us. Hubby and I drove up the evening before and spent the night so I could get some decent sleep before having to get up early the next morning. We planned to ride together for the first 25 miles or so, at which time Hubby would return to the start and wait on me to finish the 100 miles. After Hubby turned back, I rode on alone, being sure to follow the cue sheet and arrows on the roads, as well as making sure to stop at the rest areas to eat and drink. The final rest area was about 15 or 20 miles from the finish, and after eating some fruit and a cookie, I started off to complete the ride. Nine miles out, I turned to go east, the final leg of the 100 miles, and found myself facing a nasty headwind. I slogged on, determined I was going to finish. I finally reached the parking lot where Hubby was waiting, and as I neared the truck, I was overcome with emotion, something tha...

Two years ago, Hubby and I traveled to Cape Girardeau to participate in the Tour de Shawnee. The Tour being in southern Illinois, I knew there were going to be hills since this area of Illinois is tucked very nicely in between Kentucky and Missouri. The first hill we came to slammed home the fact that the Tour wasn't going to be easy. I looked at Hubby, saying, "See you at the top" and put my head down, intent on making it without having to get off my bike like so many other cyclists were doing. I did make it to the top that day without having to get off my bike, which was the hybrid I'd bought to compete in my first sprint triathlon, and I felt pretty darn good about my accomplishment. That day, Hubby and I finished the metric century together, battling a southerly headwind for 15 miles. I had wanted to ride the 100 miles, but Hubby asked me to stay with him since he was beginning to get tired and bonking at the 50 mile mark. I vowed then and there I would return to ...

During my 100 mile ride today, the coolest thing happened. I was pedaling along, thinking about how I need to get to work on my manuscript and get it finished up once and for all. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow on the road. Initially the shape of it brought to mind the orange flags that cyclists used to use years ago. I turned to look, thinking I would see a cyclist passing me. Instead of a cyclist, I saw a large bird flying alongside, right at shoulder level. For nearly 20 yards or so, the bird glided, its wings spread so I could see the white and black pattern on the underside of its feathers, and the black stripes on its body. It then looked at me, flew ahead and across my path, and up to sit on a utility pole. Initially I thought the bird was a hawk, but after returning home and looking up the different types of birds of prey, I found what I think the bird truly was: an American kestrel. As I pedaled on, I marveled over the bird flying alongside. I see it as a very ...