Lately it seems that my life has consisted of work, relationship, eating, sleeping, and cycling. While I don't ride as much as I have in past phases of life, like when I lived in Santa Cruz, putting time in on the saddle is something that I can't live without. It provides me the opportunity to just be. The rhythm and whirring of the cranks and the delirious moments of exertion are more than just addictive, its a meditation. Spending 3,4, or even 6 hours on solo rides gives me quite a bit of time think and explore - both parts of myself and the environments that lie within pedaling range of the Oakland hills, where I live.
Jory often comments that my cycling habits are borderline insanity. I'm not sure if it's the quiver of pedal-powered works of art that I've managed to collect, or the deep bins of spare parts and gear that give her this impression. It might also be that I'm somewhat notorious for bringing friends and loved ones on rides that often involve lush trails overgrown with poison oak, hills so steep they make you cry, wicked downhills long enough to make your body ache, and times of being uncertain of relative location (aka "lost"). There are also long, exhilarating stages of fun and fulfillment.
