Wherever You Go - There You Are.

 

I am just not used to wearing all these clothes. Off again, on again, the sweater routine is getting old after three days. It’s good to see family, but bad to be a house guest with the flu or food poisoning or whatever it was. Yuck. For all concerned.

Just got back from SYR.  In 4 days, that one paragraph is all I managed to write.

First 2 days - good.  

Big Sister #1 has a new house to see. Visiting.  Eating.  My neice Lori, is an excellent cook.  Then, a rare day of sunshine for sightseeing with Big Brother and his Best Betty.  No time for writing!

I get a chuckle out of chubby Chole in her favorite box.
Obviously offended, a second later she was off like a shot.

Tug Hill Plateau - On the way to Big Brother's
I want a windmill!

The leaves are mostly gone, but the rare day of sunshine makes up for it. 

Old Forge Hardware, the Adirondack version of a tourist trap.

Mickey, eat your heart out!

But the last 2 days?  Less than good. 

Writing is way down the list.  My poor brain is completely immersed in the questions of minute to minute survival.  If I try to stand up, will I fall down?  Do I dare sip some water?  When is this going to be over?

SYR is a good place to fly in to, though.  Centrally located for visiting family.  And, upstate New York, on the autumnal verge of it's yearly free-fall into winter is, of course, a very good place to be from.  But, there's no place like home.  Especially when home is Florida.

We heard on the news Monday morning that Delta Airlines is hiring 1000 flight attendants.

For about twelve seconds, I consider going back to flying.  Probably would have been less than twelve seconds, but I hadn't had my coffee yet. My brain was still at half power.

The brief hours aloft between MCO and SYR this week did remind me though, that I do love flying.  Not the expense, the delays, or all the bag check baloney, but the actual flight; that precious 2 or 3 hours of release from all the tedious little details of life that I find so difficult to keep track of.

When I walk down that jetway, the barricade of routine is far removed.  No sinkful of dishes, no laundry, no unmade bed, stands between me and where I need to be.  

I am barely aware of the courteous fat guy shifting around carefully so as not to spill over into my seat, or the girl with the sniffles between me and the aisle.  

There is just me and my e-book.  "Leviathan" ends, and with a tap or two, the unexplainably believable, “Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter” begins. 


Decadence!  Luxury!

These are truly precious moments.

When I think about it, those few hours in the air, out of the three or four days it usually took to complete a trip, were the only hours I actually liked about flying for a living.

Time in the air was an extraction straight out of the temporal continuum (uh-oh, Trek-speak).  Encased by tin, hurtling through very thin air, completely ensures there is nothing ahead but those guaranteed hours for being exactly where you are, and doing exactly what you need to be doing.

(Besides, it was kinda cool to get up and walk around on a bucking aircraft when everyone else had to stay buckled up.)

I suddenly realize that's what I like about cycling too.  Once the bar of getting out the door is hurdled, Time belongs to you.

And you belong to the Ride.

Pedal.  Make your own breeze.  Live in the moment. 

In the words of Buckeroo Bonzai, “Wherever you go, there you are.”

October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. The two local rides for Breast Cancer are back to back, or maybe I should say, side by side. One Saturday. One Sunday.

                                     

Speed Guys to Beach Cruiser Ladies, all are welcome.

I love charity rides!

(check out the pink flowered fenders)



On Saturday, we ride down to Bob's Bicycle Shop, the start of the Trek Women Breast Cancer Awareness Ride.  Sign in, write the check, no tee shirt necessary, thank you.  (Although the guy's shirts, "Save Second Base", are fun, and a dignified black instead of pink.

I steal a private chunk of the temporal continuum by letting the group go and riding solo straight to the far end of the route turn-around at 520.  

At the light, a German couple with panniers rolled up behind.  They were the only other riders I’d seen since my wild hair urged me to turn at Crooked Mile, bypassing at least a short chunk of the treacherous Courtney Parkway, along with the SAG. 

These gentle folk weren't part of the ride, but the three of us had ample time (the world’s longest red lights are on 520) to bond over the sketchy conditions of riding on Merritt Island compared to Wisconsin where they had ridden all summer.

Wow, all summer? Wouldn't that be a luxurious chunk of the temporal continuum!

State Road 520 was the official turn around point for the ride. But with the dangerous part of the route behind me, the beauty of the day was just too enticing.

So I stole a little extra piece of the continuum and kept going.

Across 520 and up North Tropical Trail.

The ride could well have lasted a couple extra hours, if it hadn’t been for the rednecks who passed me, then slammed their truck to a stop in the middle of the curve ahead. 

Suddenly, the spot seemed as good as any for a turnaround - just in case they were waiting there to hassle a lone cyclist.  

After a few moments heading back the way I had come, I heard the trunk roaring away.  Turning to look, I realized that they had only stopped to check out a washing machine someone had left out for the trash.

But sometimes Rednecks in a rusty truck are the perfect turnaround reminder.  Heading back south, I realize how much the wind has picked up.  It is good to have aerobars, a solo rider's best friends, along for the ride! 

For Sunday’s ride, I feel privileged to have a "job".  

Our friend Cheri, asks if I want to be a Bosom Buddy (a ride guide) for the 12 mile ride group.

The Ride 4 aBreast follows our too-familiar weekend route, and since pacelining is no longer my passion, especially on quirky River Road, I am practically giddy to be asked to help out.

To add to the euphoria, the plan is to ride mountain bikes instead of road bikes (yes!), and....

Diane, another of the Buddies, brings a costume for each one of us!

Joy is dressed in a pink tutu.  Diane herself is in a pink sequined skirt, and Cheri is wearing a pink feather boa. I secretly covet the boa, but I am over it quickly when I see my pink cape!

Cheri "shines" in the coveted pink boa.

With a huge bowl of tootsie rolls at the half way, and LongDoggers flapjacks at the end, this gig just got better and better.

The only thing to top that off might be a Music Night, or another stab at Oktoberfest’ing.  Coasters – 20 German biers on tap – special German menu – there all month.

Good thing.

There are plenty more rides to go.  Kinda makes a person thirsty just thinking about it!

Oct 17 - TKD's Oktoberfest Hash
Oct 23 - Tour de KSC
Oct 24 - Horsefarm Hundred
Oct 31 - Intracoastal Waterway Century

So Delta, you're just going to have to do without me.

I've got way too much riding to do.

Thank goodness.