the beautiful secret

it's on one of those days that everything hits you all at once. not just the heavy issues - but everything. i typically find myself hidden away on my bike, cleaning a turn or tucking in for a head-wind stretch. the fuzzy mind slowly peels away like tissues in a slight breeze, revealing an underworking that has screamed for light since i-don't-know-when. it all just spills out in a stop-frame style, like the animation in the frosty the snowman tv specials - you want to believe it's real, but it is so jerky and wide-eyed to be anything else but the afterthoughts and slight dreams of a creative force left to sleep for too long. most folks can attest to a sensation of meditative existence during which we forgot we turned left then right and then hammered a straightaway for 20 minutes only to show up at home, sweaty, tired, and amazed that we cannot recall the operations necessary to get from where we were to where we are at the minute we arrive. the fact that the path we took to get home cannot be recalled but the rusted out mailbox or the broken vacuum with a sign that reads "will take best offer" rarely bothers us - often times we revel in it. that escape of the 'everyday' is a winter window left open. it is crisp and vital, and rare.

that, to me, is the beautiful secret.

it is now a new season, when an early saturday ride no longers means 630am at the local diner parking lot. I can hear soft cheers of families and kids at their soccer games. i can hear the distant call of geese, lofted above the road ahead. i can hear the snows of winter, slowly coming up behind me.

but most of all i can feel the awkward excitement of chilled mornings. i hear the clang of bells and the taunting words of fellow racers, lovingly belittling my every effort with the utmost concern.