Battles

On this day in 1863, the Battle of Gettysburg began.

But I'm not going to write about that today. I am going to write about me instead.

The past week or so, I have been quite diligent in arising at dawn and going out on an 18+-mile bike ride. If that Spouse o' Mine accompanies me, we go speedy-fast. If it's just me, I maintain a fair-to-middlin' pace, one that allows me to observe the gorgeous morning skies and to listen to the songbirds flitting about. I wonder if it is my imagination, or if birds really are more vocal in the morning than other times of the day?

If I am drafting behind that Spouse o' Mine, all I am concentrating on is the 12-18" between his rear tire and my front tire. My head is down, and I listen for traffic. There is little more I can think about but keeping my pedaling in sync with his, remembering to breathe, and to peek around him regularly in search of roadkill or other junk in our path. We are like two Canada Geese flying down the human highway.

Imagine holding your hands on handlebars for an hour or two or three, shifting their positions ever so slightly so as to permit the blood circulation to continue through your wrists and fingers. Now imagine doing this, and a few hours later, attending the second cello lesson of your summer: Bow Position, or How to Hold Your Bow.

Well, I am sorry, but my wrists and thumbs and fingers were all funned out and did not want to play (the cello) anymore. My instructor is picky picky about position, and I didn't want to say, "Oh, sorry, those 18 miles I knocked off this morning prohibit any Yo Yo Ma quality today." I wonder if she thinks I have a physical disability? (Well, I sorta did...temporarily...)

Next week I will do better - both in the cycling arena and in the cello session. As for now, well, I am going to go sit out and enjoy watching the grass grow.