Happy Just Being Alive

I have biked the twelve or so blocks from the Montlake bridge to my home many many times; certainly hundreds, possible thousands. Recently I have come to think of it as completely dead time. Not always of course. Occasionally there is some curiosity or good looking dog, or cute child or a new idea to take note of. But mostly it is just a matter of turning the pedals until I get home. I now often day dream of an instantaneous bodily transportation that eliminates the dead time and drops me at my door. I don’t want to change anything in the universe. I just want to skip the mindless minutes and be home. If I could just become unconscious for the few moments needed to make the ride, I suppose that would work.

Yesterday I rode to town. It was raining and because the ride starts with a climb I chose to wear only a bike shirt with arm warmers under a rain coat. It doesn’t take much climbing to be warm even in cold wet weather. When I had done my chore downtown I rode to Ballard on another task. That ride is basically flat and the rain had increased. I soon realized that it was quite cold. After passing some 20 minutes standing in conversation in a bike shop I faced about 4 miles of flat ride through the cold rain to get to the warmth of my house. I have often affirmed that there is no such thing as a bad bike ride. Riding is always good. Etc. etc. That is of course pure bull. There are unpleasant bike rides and I had one yesterday. But we come now to point. That ride led to a new state of mind. One not previously explicitly recognized, but once so noted, found in my memory.

On arriving home I shed my wet clothes, built a fire, and sat. No thinking. No reading. No eating. Not really warming especially at the fire. Simply, as near as I could tell, just being alive. And it was a pleasure. Just to be alive was enough.