Break These Rusty Chains

So it’s 5:45 in the morning and time is running out faster than I’m getting out the door. A month of laziness and a good sinus cold and a few other lame excuses lets me know the lethargy in my legs is very well earned. The best thing about living on a hill is that quitting early in a ride means a ride back up the hill. Weird that going in is harder than going home.

It is still early, and a few hours over the weekend has the bike quiet and running smooth. The streets are waking up with increasing traffic and a few people are afoot.

But I’m out of sync.

There’s a rhythm to some sections where, if the speed is right, you can cruise green lights with out stops and catch a flow of traffic. It is a familiarity bordering on intimate. Some things have changed in the last month: construction has moved along, a few abandoned cars have gone missing – I’ve learned they don’t always go away, sometimes they reappear in other places. Some things have stayed the same: people at certain stores in the morning, walkers – although they’re further along because I’m later along.

It’s a bit of a hustle and a little denial, but it’s as clear as the sunrise; I’m gonna miss my target time. This will leave me with an hour to kill downtown. I let up on the push and drop down Imperial into downtown, bypass the short route and meander through the streets. You can tell it’s the start of a new year: there’s new people out jogging, less people out for a morning smoke and a gaggle of people with new puppies.

In a way it is a refreshing way to look at the city anew. A year to ride, experience again and become familiar with an old friend. Stop, lock the bike up, take off the helmet, turn off the blinkie lights. Drink some water – apparently stale from remaining on the bike for a few weeks between rides, and giggle at that. Take a deep breath, shoulders back and sigh. This year, this year is going to be a good year. I can feel it.

Of course, that sounds a bit cliché, corny, or even dumb the second the words escape my lips. And I giggle at myself a little. Bored, with time to waste, I get back on the bike and do aimless loops around down town.

Tony has his coffee cart near the old YMCA again. He waves as I ride by. People are rushing in and out of the grocery store on the back side of Horton Plaza. Heading over towards the College trolley stop, there’s some interesting graffiti on the wall, and direction has changed. This goes on for about 30 minutes. Aimless curving around, letting lights make the decision on whether to turn or go forward. Morning sun, shadows of buildings, an occasional breeze. The smell of washed sidewalks, breakfast and coffee. Eventually time runs out, and as much as before it was a hurry to get to a destination, now I’m disappointed at the end of sheer wandering, suddenly burdened with purpose. The soreness returns to my legs as reality sets in. I laugh out loud now. It’s like a kid at Christmas. Impatient for it to begin, lost in the moment to much to grab it, and then looking back with a bit of melancholy.