Sunday morning

I had forgotten how peaceful Sunday morning rides can be.  Lifeless flags hanging.  Empty streets.  So quiet.  So serene.  I used to ride early in the morning when my daughter was young.  Now, my sleep requirements seems to have superseded my need to get out early.  Or maybe I just like sleeping in now that I finally can?  Sundays are almost always ride days, but I have usually only been getting out right before noon.  This Sunday, awake around 7 am, feeling rested, I decide to head out early as the rest of the house slept.  The snap of my cleats clicking into my pedals cuts through the early morning silence.  Pedalling through the morning fog, the cold humidity makes my eyes water.  Or maybe it’s tears of joy and appreciation being out there on my bike in that moment?  About 20 minutes in, the sun dissolves the airborne smoky mist.  My arm and leg warmers come off.  In and out of the valley.  The covered bridge.  Rivers and wide open roads.  Up to the empty church on the other side.  The thinning cloud unwrapping the view around me.  I used to ride to forget.  Now I ride to remember.  For some weird, unexplainable reason, remembering seems to help me forget.  Purgative.  Cathartic.  The wind picks up after a few hours.  Riding through clouds of expired dandelions, it already looks and feels like summer.  It smells like summer too.  100k in before lunch.  No wonder Sundays are my favorite day of the week.  Happy World Bicycle Day !