Standing at the Trailhead of Winter

I've become very aware of two things since I've gone carfree and have been riding my bike to get groceries, to sit outside the coffeehouse, well, everywhere. One: 99% of establishments do not have a place where I can put my bike and lock it. I've used benches, sign posts, lamp posts, a shelving unit loaded with annuals, and anything else that will deter someone from trying to take my lovely, new ride. Two: the number of people who park but don't turn off their car while they are inside the store or wherever it may be where they have to exit their car is maddening. I simply do not understand the mindset of leaving a car running while one is in the store (and no, there is no one in the car waiting for the person who went into the store). A few other cycling observations: I need to invest in good grocery panniers. I have a couple of panniers now, but they're not specifically for groceries and sag when I load them.   I need a good raincoat. So far I've n

During my walk with Ado this morning I could hear music. The sound reminded me of Don McLean, his "American Pie" album. After I returned home and had Ado all settled in, I decided to set off to find the music. I found it just off the trail to Uptown, behind the Community Cancer Center. I sat in the gazebo and listened. Monarch butterflies flittered among the daisies circling the gazebo. I have since learned the singer is Dan Hubbard, a singer-songwriter who lives right here. The butterflies were released as a symbol of freedom and happiness, especially as these are connected to those who have battled cancer and won. I followed the music. My day was all the more brightened for it. Old Faithful has found a new home. Yesterday, I said goodbye to the blue cruiser. I truly loved that bike, but I was ready to let it go and start a new chapter with a new cruiser. The kind I fell in love with, out in California during the TransAm ride 2012. We were sitting outside a bike sh

There was something about today's ride. Something I can't put my finger on that made it perfect. Maybe it was the cool breeze blowing from the north. Maybe it was the blue sky with lacy streaks of clouds. Maybe it was the quiet disrupted by the chirr of my bike tires. Maybe it was the moment I coasted along the rural road, my eyes closed. Whatever it was, the forty-five miles were perfect.

The rural roads are lined with an abundance of chicory. The dainty light purple-blue flowers offer a pretty contrast to the mid-summer green. Many believe the plant to be an invasive weed, but I beg to differ. It adds beauty to the world. I decided to learn more about the plant, and in the end, I bought some chicory "coffee" after reading about how delicious it is. My first sip made me think of molasses. Which made me think of the molasses oatmeal raisin cookies my mom used to make. Now I'm determined to make those cookies and fill my kitchen with the warmth of molasses. But, I digress. The chicory coffee is a keeper. I can't imagine ever going back to regular coffee now that I've had the pleasant experience of drinking such a flavorful coffee substitute. The flavor packed into this drink makes the coffee I was drinking pale in comparison. I probably wouldn't have learned about chicory coffee if I hadn't been riding the back roads like I have. Whil

Since posting about being stuck in a funk, I've cycled over 200 miles, written several thousands of words of new material, and practiced yoga several times. I even made orange-cranberry scones and iced coffee to last me all of last week, so each morning I had a treat after taking Ado on a walk. All of this doing what I love to do has felt so good. I have to wonder why I fall into a funk and not want to do these things. They truly do make me happy. When I pull into the drive after forty sweaty miles, nothing can keep the smile off my face. Especially when I look at the stats on my Garmin and realize I'd kept a 15 mph pace, even given having to go slower while on the trail and making my way through the city streets. The same happiness fills me when I see four or five pages filled up with words, all single-spaced. The satisfaction that comes with completing these things I love feels great. It seems like I should never want to go a day without engaging in one or more of these act