Monday, August 23, 2010

Today I rode to work

This morning I rode to work. It is easy to forget the daily commute, to accept that travel as wasted time. But not on a bicycle. On a bicycle, time passes wisely, with purpose. As I delivered myself through the city streets and into the Presidio, my ride became a dream. Into the cypress. Into the smoothness of the early morning. My bike was wildly quiet, as if it knew not how to emit a sound. Old steel on auto pilot. A good bike knows what to do. All around mist danced softly through the trees, whispering its way slowly east. Old cypress are not phased. They are tall and straight and the mist is their blanket. For centuries on end it has covered them. Their interweaved canopy has conspired to limit vertical airflow, trapping calm, changing light, creating space. Grassy meadows below beg for a wanderer. But there is no one. Only the lone commuter, passing briefly. To the left the Pacific reaches out but fades fast into the recruiting fog. Its texture and color are smooth, grey, uninspired. Further north, just outside the bridge, a single sunray beacon falls hard on the ocean, revealing a deep green blue that knows no boundaries. As I ride onto the bridge the sky opens to reveal the texture and majesty of the headlands. I've seen it a hundred times but it still feels new. For some reason, its always new on a bicycle. I want more newness. I want more road.

...I was feeling inspired by my bike ride to work, so I thought I'd share...

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