That’s all a memory but still fresh in my mind, those frustrations are behind me, and I can relax on my country road, riding my bike in a peaceful third gear canter. In only twenty miles, life has slowed down a thousand times; the muscles in my neck are relaxing, the aching conflicts have withdrawn. It’s just me, my bike and the Palouse.
It’s all about to happen. The annual flood of wheatgrass, blanketing countless rolling hills and valleys in a mantle of green; by the end of June, these fields will be waist high with ripening wheat.
Dismounting the bike on the side of a hill, I follow a game trail that leads to a cliff, facing west; looking out, far across the valley, I spot the barn that I took a photo of on Christmas Eve.
There is a sympathetic and cool breeze on my face, climbing up from the valley floor below, carrying with it, the clean scent of fresh soil recently turned over by a farmers plow.
I have returned to my bike to write down these thoughts and decide to stay awhile and decompress a bit more on the side of this hill.
This has been therapeutic; living life in third gear for a spell, the greening fields, and the scent of turned earth carried on the wind.
I believe that I will ride the rest of the way home in third gear as well.
Whatever gear you choose to ride in.