Riding is for pondering. Especially now, it’s for pondering. Before, it was for other things. Among them, especially among them, it was for finding ways to turn myself inside out so I could do the same to those next to me on race weekends. I’m done with that.
I’m a devout ponder-er off the bicycle. I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about things. I’m consumed mostly with my own self. What’s the reason for me? Why am I here? What should I do after breakfast? Shit. Like. This. Has always consumed me
I’ve spent most of my life (so far) wondering. I’ve wondered a metric shit ton more about things than I’ve acted on them. And while it may seem smug to admit it aloud, I’ve acted on a lot (so far.) Maybe more would get done if I examined things less. There ya’ go.
Most of my riding time is devoted to thinking about what’s next, if there’s even such a thing as next. I remember a NYT article about my hero Larry Bird. The headline was, “At The Top of the Game, Bird Plots a Way To Leave It.” The print date is 1988.
For me, the pondering became intense, almost a varsity sport level pursuit, when I turned 60. That was seven years ago. When I crossed the decade, I thought it was time to get serious about what’s next. Larry Bird thought about it. Maybe I should.
I have a hard time committing. Or being serious. I’m anything but deliberate. I can be deliberate. But mostly I’m content to sit, look inward and wonder. I can watch time and not see it pass. And before the sun sets, I’ll be thinking about tomorrow.
All This By Hand
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