Riding off, into the sunset. No, really.
I was caught out by the time change, today. I had hoped to get in a solid ride to add miles to my Movember campaign, but setting the clocks back means that the sun is setting even earlier than I’ve become used to.
Twenty miles has become my minimum distance on the road bike. If I can’t get 20 miles, then I feel like there’s no point in me going out. Part of that is because my very first ride, back on a frigid February afternoon, was a bit over 20 miles. If I could endure that biting misery, then surely every ride after that should be easier, right? But today, circumstances at work conspired with the early sunset (and my lack of planning… I have lights, but failed to bring them) to leave me only 45 minutes of light, once my wheels started turning.
I headed out towards Jackson Road, where there are a couple little hills that are fun to attack, and hoped I could substitute intensity for duration. The air was already crisp, and I worked a little harder on the way to the hills, just to stay warm. I had forgotten my glasses, so I had to keep my head down a little, to keep the dive-bombing bugs from finding their way into my eyes.
I got to the hills and charged the first one with everything that I had, venting my frustration at the abbreviated ride through the pedals and onto the pavement, sailing over the top at 20 mph before tucking in to coast down the other side. The temperature continued to fall, and made the down hill coast a little less enjoyable than usual.
I spun up the small rise to the end of the road and stopped, regarding the rolling rural landscape, awash in the golden hues of an autumn sunset. I wish I was as comfortable with the seasons’ change as nature appears to be. While I struggle and huff and grunt my way through the chill of early November, trying desperately to extend the season as long as I can, she takes on the change with an easy grace, retiring her lush summer greens in favor of brilliant reds and yellows and rich browns. I fight against the wind, chase the setting sun, and brace against the cold. She relaxes, rests from the efforts of a long year, and lets the cold and the wind renew her. There is a lesson to be taken here, but perhaps I am too stubborn a pupil.
I ease up a little on my return trip, waving to the farmers in their comically large machines as they bring in the last of the harvest. Turning north again, back towards work, I glance over my shoulder and am awestruck at the painting the sun has left in the sky. A perfect, whimsical layer of clouds reflects a prismatic explosion of color back to me, and for a moment I forget my tired legs and the clammy cold of a fall bike ride, and just stop and stare. If this is fall’s final glory, then it has lived up to its billing.
Soon these will all be bare and depressing.
If this is to be the season’s finale, it ain’t bad!