Rockport

Eyes open.  Quiet.  The first day in a very long while that the wind cannot be heard.  A faint bird chitter chatter.  Dust dancing in the beam of sunlight peaking through bedroom blinds.  Refreshed after the restless darkness.  A new day.  A great day.  Laying there, I can just feel it.  I used to have a hard time sleeping the night before races because of nervousness.  Now, with my solo ride adventures, pure excitement makes me toss and turn.  The forecast is sun and 17 degrees but we aren’t there yet.  The first layer shed at the top of the climb.  The tattered pavement replaced by well worn gravel.  My stoke growing as I approach Johnson’s Mills.  Glancing out towards Hopewell and Shepody across the bay, I feel so very small.  Not in a bad way.  Simply insignificant and at the same time part of something infinitely greater, highlighted by the carefully painted vast landscape surrounding me.  Nova Scotia, clearly visible across the water from Rockport.  So very close.  Yet, still, so very far.  Literally another world during these pandemic times.  The dirt road endlessly narrowing, I finally reach Slack’s Cove.  Such a picturesque spot.  No words.  Just panoramic seascape.  My bike resting against this monument, I sit there for a bit.  Sublime.  Majestic.  Alone.  In silence.  Taking in the energy of the scene I am immersed in.  Contemplating how the explorers had felt when they landed here over 250 years ago.  I wondered if they appreciated their surroundings as much as I did in this moment.  Legs rekindled, I made my way towards Sackville.  Chai tea and a cupcake at Cackling Goose to top it all off.  How was your weekend?