That’s the theme for today’s ride. Actually, it was the theme for yesterday’s ride, too—my third ride on the new road bike. Somewhere during yesterday’s ride, my tires singing on the asphalt, a wind of my own making swooshing through the vents on my helmet, it occurred to me: it’s all good. I suppose I was approaching a Zen-like state that even the jerk driver who swerved right to intentionally buzz me could not disturb. That, of course, did not prevent me from following him onto a parking lot half a block later and giving him a piece of my mind. After all, it’s all good.
Right after I got home from that ride my wife called for me to pick her up. She had been in southeastern Missouri doing lawyer stuff. The other attorney with her had dropped her off at a Crazy Bowls and Wraps nearby where she was picking up dinner for the family. Since I was wearing my new Primal Wear Grateful Tread jersey that had just come in the mail—the one with the skeleton flashing a peace sign—and since I wanted to show it off to her, I grabbed my keys and wallet and headed out. I certainly got her attention when I walked into the place. It’s all good.
The other attorney was still in her car as we were leaving, so Jan introduced us and commented on my attire. The other attorney complimented me on the jersey; it turns out her partner is a cyclist.
This afternoon my son was at a friend’s house and my daughter was at a friend’s house. By five o’clock I has time to myself, so I got dressed for a ride. Right before I left my wife called. She told me that the cyclist attorney had called her and told her what a wonderful thing it was that I was cycling and what a great price I got on my rode bike. My wife, whose patience with me about cycling stuff operates on geologic time but who has been a little put off at the amount of money I have been spending, bought his explanations. It’s all good.
My ride, which I had intended to be about twenty miles, became a thirty-mile ride. At about the ten-mile mark my son called to tell me he was home. Since I had not yet decided on the longer ride, I told him I’d be home in a little while, but the tires were singing on the asphalt and a wind of my own making was swooshing through the vents on my helmet—it was all good, so at the twenty mile mark, on Conway Road, I pulled off to call him back and tell him I’d be longer. As I slowed, I heard braking behind me. Another cyclist had been on my wheel without me knowing it. I don’t know whether he had been there awhile or had just caught up with me, but since he avoided running into me, it was all good.
While I was talking with my son, three cyclists pushing hard flew by. The face on the woman leading the group was flushed. Another woman and a man about my size—big—followed. Though they had a good minute lead on me, I just about caught up with them about a mile later. They hammered through a stoplight before it turned, and I stopped. A mile and a half past that light I caught up with them again at an intersection where they turned left and I turned right. We exchanged greetings; it’s all good.
Hundreds of cyclists must have been on the roads this afternoon, and no wonder. The temperature was in the low 70s after a week of unusually chilly weather. A group of about twenty rode by in the opposite direction on Clayton Road. Everyone waved. Days like yesterday and today, out on a bike, the tires singing, a wind swooshing through the helmet vents, it can be nothing else but all good.