For no particular reason, I was thinking about the things that I do poorly the other day. (You may be reading this and thinking about the same thing.) Last night I got on my bike and everything got a whole lot better. I’ve missed bicycling. I’ve never tried meditation, but I wonder if my bike has a similar effect (on me).

I hop on my bike, start peddling, and for long stretches I lose track of time. The sounds of cycling can be as soothing to me as a mother’s heartbeat to her child: the greased whir of the chain following it’s serpentine path, the low pitched hiss of the tires speeding along smooth asphalt – surging a little with each revolution of the pedals, the sound of the air’s gentle resistance as you push it out of the way. My mind is freed by these sounds. On my bike, my mind is free to sort through the all the junk that’s hastily collected during the day.

I suppose it’s not exactly like meditation, not that I have any idea what I’m talking about. My pop-culture knowledge of meditation suggests it’s more of a mind clearing exercise; whereas when I get on my bike it doesn’t empty, it kind of free associates. I don’t actively think about my day, it just kind of falls together. You may be reading this and saying to yourself that a lot of the parts must be fitting together poorly, and I’ll grant you that. But to me, everything seems to fit better after I’ve abused my pedals for a while. Hell, even my typing seems better afterwards.

On an intellectual level, I knew that going ten months without exercise (of any kind) would have an effect on my body. Yesterday I did twenty minutes on the rollers* in a low gear (with both resistance units removed), and I just about died. I was dizzy, my legs were reduced to two pillars of Jell-o, and my heart wanted out in a big way.

I thought I was starting out slow, but maybe I need to ratchet down my expectations. That and maybe get a heart rate monitor. That way I can make sure I’m not overdoing it, rather than just being unaccustomed to exercise and how it feels afterward.

Welcome to my latest attempt to reintroduce my body to activity. There have been other attempts, but I’m hoping this one sticks. I think my last doctor’s appointment may have scared me straight (a little). Not only has my weight been creeping back up, but my blood pressure has been creeping along with it. That ain’t good. With all the benefits that come with exercise (less stress, less depression, less fat, lower blood pressure), I really should have started sooner. It could just be in my head (there’s lots of crap up there to keep it company), but I feel a little better today already.

Long time readers may know my “rollers” are like a treadmill for my bike. It consists of three parallel “rollers” in a metal frame, which look like long rolling pins (about twenty-four inches long). My bike sits on top of the rollers; the back wheel cradled by two of them, and the third just in front of center on the front wheel. A long belt attaches the front roller to the middle roller, which spins the front wheel when the rear wheel spins. The bike sits free, allowing you to “ride” indoors, much like you would outdoors.

I could just ride outdoors, but I don’t trust myself enough yet. Riding outdoors gives me a bit of a rush, and I’m liable to ride out further than I should… leaving me exhausted, and miles from home. (A sure recipe for overdoing it.)

Riding the rollers can be just as exciting as riding outdoors. Some of my worst bike wrecks have happened indoors… even worse than at least one involving a car (well, a parked car).

Yesterday I was presented with a choice. I was given an opportunity to react to some offensive behavior. I was given the opportunity to act like an adult, to place myself above the fray, and be an example of responsible behavior.

And of course, once again I went the other way with it.

Once again this choice presented itself on the road. Once again I was on my bike. Once again I was startled into a medium grade rage by a driver with a set of keys and a self appointed license to operate it like a jackass. These kids today! Apparently when the Xbox gets old, leaning out of car windows and screaming obscenities at bicyclists serves as a “good time.” Well, since this happens about once a week I’m usually prepared for it. My usual response? Ignore it. So why didn’t I ignore it this time? Opportunity. Apparently this new breed of jackass does this sort of thing within 100 feet of the turn off for his or her neighborhood. Opportunity knocks. In a flash I’m following them into the neighborhood and riding by as a kid is getting out of the car, in front of his house. I slowed down. The kid looked back like a deer staring down the headlights. I gave him the tried and true “you’re number one” sign, reassured him that my vocabulary has a few four letter words in it too, and continued on my way home.

Why does it always seem that the rightness of a course of action is inversely proportional to its ease of execution? I don’t feel any better knowing that I’ve probably just guaranteed myself an encore performance this afternoon. In light of the whole “man v. car” thing, do you suppose Darwin is up there somewhere (or down there somewhere, depending on where you went to school) shaking his head?

This is a story of a man whose adventures will one day be remembered in song. This is the story of John, of the suburban warrior clan Kauffman.

“Yeah, though he walks through the shadows of the valley of Beth, he shall fear no tantrum.”

“Neither early hour, lack of sleep, looming holiday, nor foul taste of breath, shall keep him from his appointed rounds.”

“Sick to his stomach and he’s still riding that damn bike to work?”

“Doesn’t have much sense as to what is lyrical, does he?”

—

It is that rarest of workplace occasions, the Friday before a holiday. They only come two or three to a year – tops. When they do, there’s a dearth of warm bodies in the office. Me? I’m usually right here in my office, toiling away the minutes with remarkable dedication. Although, I am taking a time out to write… maybe I’m not so dedicated after all.

Maestro, cue up the band. It’s time to pick things up a notch. (Or just turn on the radio, which ever is more convenient.)