I set out at 7:15 to a beautiful summer morning on the Palouse. The sky was still and clear; the air was cool and clean. It will be a late harvest this year, so the combines are not yet churning up dust. I biked first through the Junior High parking lot which is beginning to fill as teachers and staff prepare for the new school year. The girls soccer team was running laps in the field. Behind them I could see the spray of sprinklers glistening in the morning sun. I continued along the road to the elementary school, passing a young woman walking her springer spaniel. The dog's head was high as it walked proudly next to its master.
My journey to the Chipman Trail takes me through downtown Moscow where I turn onto the bike lane through the University of Idaho. At this time of year, the campus is still pretty quiet, and in any event, it's always easy going if I bike early enough.
I take about 15 minutes to bike from home through Moscow to the Chipman Trail. I go at a fairly easy pace through town. However, once I hit the trail, I drop down on my handlebars (I use aerobars), and turn up the speed. After six years of commuting by bike, I still don't have a trip computer to tell me how far or fast I am traveling. I reckon today I was doing about 20-25 mph. The trail is seven miles long.
I also turn up the volume on my ipod to counter the wind whistling in my ears. Today's music was Eric Clapton's Pilgrim album. This is one my favorite biking albums. I look forward to the song "Broken Hearted." My pace picks up and my mind wanders. I quickly lose myself to the music, the exercise and the trail itself. I'm surrounded by the golds, greens and browns of the fields. The hawks float overhead, and an occasional rabbit or quail dashes out of the tall grass.
Thirty minutes later I arrive in my office. Today, I had just one brief, harmless encounter with a motorist. She was moving toward the crosswalk while another pedestrian and I were on it. I stared her down, and she stopped abruptly. This is in contrast to an experience yesterday morning while walking the dog. I came to the pedestrian crosswalk and stopped. A mini-van was coming down the hill on my right, heading east into the morning sun. I stepped onto the crosswalk with the dog on my left and walked to the middle of the lane. The driver on my right was approaching the crosswalk but showed no signs of slowing or stopping. She raced passed in front of the dog and me with just a foot or two margin. I waved the dog's bright orange chuck-it and yelled "Hey, crosswalk!" The car slowed and turned around to come back to me. I was ready for battle, chuck-it in hand and a feisty yellow Labrador at my side. The driver was mortified and simply wanted to stop in order to apologize. She hadn't seen me through the glare of the low morning sun and shade of the overhanging trees. The only movement she saw on the crosswalk was the florescent orange of the chuck-it waving through her side window.
Bright colors are vital to safe riding. I wear a day-glow yellow jersey for warm weather commutes, and a jacket with a reflective strip sewn in the back for cold weather and night rides (in addition to bike lights and reflectors, of course). After six years of biking to work, my colleagues have become accustomed to my attire, and I in turn feel slightly less embarrassed by it. Nevertheless, I tend to make a bee-line to my office where I stash the bike and my change of clothes. I close the door, draw the curtains, then emerge 5 minutes later looking more professional and less self-conscious. Though I move quickly, students or colleagues sometimes stop by my office right in the middle of the clothes-changing routine. "Just a minute. I'm changing," I yell to the door. International students in particular don't know what to make of this response; my colleagues just grin when I emerge. "Caught ya!" and we laugh. Only once has a colleague walked in on me changing. This was not a laughing matter, and since then I keep the door locked!
On the ride home today I had a tail wind. When the wind is at my back, I feel like I am flying. The National Weather Service says that the wind is about 10 mph. I bike faster than that; nevertheless, a tail wind creates a sense of equilibrium. The stronger the wind, the faster I can go until I simple can't peddle any faster - bikers call this "spinning out." In a very strong tail wind, I move at the same speed as the air, creating a peaceful quiet in my ears and around my body. My eyes see the wheat bent over along my trajectory, and I sense my rapid progress on the pavement. But there is no whistling in my ears or wind against my body to accompany this movement. I hear the birds sing and my wheels hum; the sensation is of perfect balance.
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