Why I Ride

 As I pedaled my way out of Oroville on my beloved [and over-burdened] bicycle, having just gambled for the first time, having stopped at the Feather River fish hatchery information center where I finally came to understand the highly unnatural human 'intervention' in ecosystems that hydroelectric dams require, and having just glanced over at the towering Buttes that had been previously hidden from view by the man's seemingly structural genius, a huge smile erupted from within my face.

I thought about the last few days' adventures, a mixed concoction of sweat, wild nature, and cars, cars, logging trucks, and more cars.

A sensible person would have driven a vehicle from the valley to the Regional Rainbow Gathering in the mountains on a hot summer weekend, because a sensible person wants to get to their destination in an hour and a half, not six and a half hours on the saddle, and six hours of badly-needed rest breaks.  A sensible person does not cycle laboriously through 111 degree mid-July heat on curving mountain roads, nor do they wear red monarch butterfly capes and zebra-print mini skirts over padded shorts.  But a sensible person has far fewer stories to tell than long-distance touring cyclists.

Without a car, everywhere I travel can become its own adventure with extreme highs and lows both geographically and emotionally.  Because I cannot speed through anyplace, I can't help but notice my surroundings.  The unexpected becomes the norm, and the unexpected is what keeps living beings from sinking into the death bed of dullness.

At Gold Country Casino, an impulsive detour, I strolled through a maze of bright flashing lights and and expressionless, empty gazes that watched them, hoping for a big win that might make today a little less dull. Almost as soon as I entered, a tiny white-haired woman touched my arm and half-whispered to me, "Dear, I just wanted to tell you how attractive I think you are.  I just love your pretty shawl and just had to come over here and tell you how nice you look!"

I thanked her and explained that the butterfly wings help me glide up hills faster.  I think I must be the first young person she'd seen in awhile.

Being a thrift queen as always, I decided to try my luck on an entire dollar, and in a flash of colored lights and repetitive jingles, it had disappeared before I understood the game I was playing.  They don't let you use coins anymore, and the pull-handle didn't work.  Nevertheless, no money wasted since I made myself an iced coffee from the Complimentary Drinks section.

I had only been away for a few days, but looking back on the ebb and flow of my experiences, from the excitement of leaving town with my friend Karen, to the frustration of infinite climbing, to the exhaustion of summer heat, to the worry of running out of water, to the relief of a fresh water spring, to the joy and danger of speeding downhill, to the beauty of sudden glimpses of vistas and blooming flowers, to the feeling of accomplishment and happy reunions, how much longer it seemed I had been gone!

There are some minutes and hours when I am touring that I question my sensibility in choosing a form of transportation that makes everything more complicated, more difficult, more physically demanding, and more dangerous...

But the rest of the time, you'll see me --cape fluttering in the wind, lips mouthing the words to my favorite singing-songs, sweat beads rolling off my cheeks, and legs pumping to the rhythm of the universe-- smiling from eyes to toes and back.

Isn't it great to be alive?