The sound of a lawn mower echoes through my remote neighborhood. Fresh cut grass, fragrant. A nod to summer’s approach. May in Vermont.
Cycling down my rural road late afternoon on an aqua Gravel bike. My little Cannondale may be my favorite bike except for the first. An end of day release. An ambitious surge of energy as I started. Soon I would settle into a strolling yet steady RPM. Freedom with every rotation. A childlike euphoria was carried on a warm breeze. Just weeks before this springtime ride, I would have felt the sting and chill of a headwind but today, not.
Pedaling while remembering to look around. The greening of Vermont was in spectacular fashion. The rambling streams ran hard alongside the road. I often hear the tumult of water during the evening when the world is quiet, and the windows cracked open. The water was crystal clear and forcefully determined. Spilling and tripping over rocks with riverbeds rich and saturated after days of rainfall.
The bike gears clicked into place at my request. Shifting for comfort and optimum cycling. I remembered a childhood friend from my neighborhood who had a Raleigh 3 speed bike. Mine was single gear with a heavy frame and tires that resembled those on a Fat Bike. Sturdy, yes. Easily navigated, not. The effort was real. The Raleigh was sophisticated. White with an elegant frame. My blue bike functional but brought me everywhere I wanted to go. Down the street to a friend’s house or just riding circles after supper. Funny what we remember and even funnier what sticks.
I continued past the trailhead for the Appalachian Trail, Saskadena Six Ski area and through our small-town village. I let the world fall behind with each pedal forward. The landscape occupied my every thought. The many studio hours I had spent understanding the numerous shades of green. My tutorial was the surround of nature courtesy of the Green Mountain State.
The ride brought me past a home with two white Adirondack chairs sitting idly and unoccupied. No table just the chairs placed a bit from the house and far from the busy. The velvet grass dotted with dandelions by the many. Daffodils on occasion. A place to contemplate? To sit under the stars? Maybe a weekend respite? I could only imagine the reasons for their why, but the solitary image stayed with me as I made my way home…
“I’m going to a commune in Vermont and will deal with no unit of time shorter than a season.” – Tracy Kidder (writer)
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