Hope Springs Eternal

I’m in a funk, and not the good George Clinton kinda funk. I’ve been having trouble focusing on riding, which is my primary release; my primary escape. Yes, you guessed it – my escape from the dreary confines.

I’ve got some things going on in my life and in my head, but I won’t bore you with all that. It’s enough of a distraction though that I am sitting here writing this as some of my best buds in the whole world have by now arrived in the vicinity of Douthat State Park with plans to ride the entire day tomorrow.

Why am I not with them? What could possibly have prevented me from participating in the execution of said plan? A plan that I would normally not only jump all over, but one that I would have come up with in the first place? I don’t know. I could throw out reasons, excuses, justifications — whatever you want to call it — but I don’t know. I am in a funk. I am lacking focus.

But hey, Spring is upon us. It is a time of rebirth. Resurrection is a powerful metaphor this time of year. I believe tomorrow begins the renaissance. The rebirth. The resurrection. It’s funny how it turned out too. I had decided late last night that it was imperative that I go for a ride tomorrow night after work (since when do I have to convince myself?). It’s been nearly two weeks since I rode the bike. It’s calling for rain this weekend. If I don’t go tomorrow, who knows when I will go, or when I will get the motivation to go.

This morning an old friend invited me out for a beer. I counter offered and invited him along for a ride. This particular old friend is the guy with whom I rode my first singletrack. He’s been gone for years and hasn’t ridden since he left. He is back in town and accepted the offer. This seems meaningful to me for some reason.

Rebirth.

Resurrection.

I went out tonight to get my bike ready. Last time I rode, I was having trouble with my front derailleur toward the end of the ride. I inspected the cables and then gently pressed the trigger shifter. A small piece of a twig fell out on the floor. Apparently, it was the culprit, and it was done interfering.

Tires checked. Shocks checked. Gear checked. I’m ready to go. I even washed out my hydration pack bladder and hose, which hadn’t been emptied or dried since I rode nearly two weeks ago and was growing some fungus. It’s clean as a whistle now.

Rebirth.

Resurrection.

I know my buds are thinking of me and wish I was there. I have the texts to prove it. I appreciate hearing from them, and at this moment wish I was with them. I expect to get much grief and have a lot of good riding rubbed in my face. It’s mandatory, actually, but maybe this is happening for a reason.

Regardless, I do look forward to my ride after work tomorrow with an old friend. I have no expectations, which is exactly when miracles happen.

Rebirth.

Resurrection.

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One Response to Hope Springs Eternal

  1. joel says:

    I know what you mean….I think I’m also in a rut, and not the good kinda rut that male deers participate in. My bike is my gateway drug. Lets meet for a ride/beer someday soon.

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