The Solitary Cyclist…….

Each and everyday on the bike this week has given me time to ponder what it is to commute between the two cities, Minneapolis and St. Paul; the bridges that take me over Hiawatha and the Mississippi, the River Road and the Greenway with the wind out of the north and I remember in wintertime how different it is to be all bundled up bracing the cold, but today was like the other four mornings with sixty degree temperatures and an open road ahead for my final long commute to St. Paul since, I will be heading downtown next week for another assignment that takes me on a much shorter route compared to the twenty-eight mile round trip I’ve been making which, turns out to be one-hundred and forty miles and ten hours of bike riding that gives me a whole lot of time to see what is going on while experiencing the soul of motion; Kodo, as I am apt to call this thing,  is going on in my mind and my moving body that does not easily translate,  in a sense my mind is at ease,  as I’m stoking along the trail on Lake Calhoun, my attention is drawn to watching the morning runners silhouetted near the shimmering  shoreline, then onto the Greenway where the amorphous air whip speeds straight ahead over the miles of uninterrupted asphalt to later tuck in behind a faster rider, drafting to catch my breath to make up time for having left the house five minutes late, then striking up a conversation at speed with a fellow who says he saw me earlier in the week going over the Ford St. bridge when I was taking an alternative route home because everyday presents a gut feeling or whim, softer, a whim that comes from knowing one needs peace not traffic today and taking Summit Ave to the Mississippi which, eventually hooks up with Minnehaha trail for a winding bike ride through south Minneapolis where I have a long familiarity during which I have been rained on when the fall air was biting on my solo jaunts that follow Minnehaha creek to Lake Harriet and there I am within sight of the Band Shell knowing home is close no matter that I may be drenched, a shower, not a bath awaits, afterwards nothing is felt like maybe there should be a sense of accomplishment, nothing, but a desire to do it again and again.


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