I’m not sure where our personal character traits evolve from but over the course of my life I’ve grown to learn that somehow I got wired with a very focused and often times exclusionary field of vision. For the past nineteen days my life has revolved around work. It’s felt like one long unremitting moment where the calendar continues to change but the day never ceases. I’ve simply been ‘there’ and somehow all the other pieces of my life have been pushed to the margins. Groceries, laundry, phone calls, emails, you name it, they’ve all been put on hold. Especially riding.

So this morning when I turned the bike over for the first time in three weeks it almost felt shocking. As if it weren’t real. Then I was hit by this odd sensation of guilt. Should I even be on the bike? Do I have the time? Is there something else that needs to get done? Can I get a ride in and still hit my deadline? It was a wave of ‘responsible questions’ rolling over me and yet the none-pragmatic side of my brain said, ‘screw it, you need a break’. So once the bike warmed up, I hit the road and headed up the coast and finally found myself breathing.

A few miles later I headed up into the canyons and suddenly felt oddly peaceful even though I felt incredibly vulnerable. Rust doesn’t even begin to describe how awkward I felt on the bike at times. I simply did not have that suspension of disbelief that one needs in the middle of the corner while leaning over. And even though I kept trying corner after corner to will myself into having faith I just couldn’t get there. It was almost as if the bike and I were speaking to very different languages and I desperately needed a google translator.

Yet standing back my inability to lock into the bike didn’t really matter to me today. Three weeks from now perhaps it would, but not today. One of the great joys of the California canyon experience is that even when you’re having a bad day you’re still having a good one. Somewhere between the curves and the vistas and the magnificent sensation of life it’s hard not to lose yourself. It’s an amazingly peaceful and secluded environment that feels so contrary to the state of permanent exhaustion that I’ve been working with over the past several weeks. There’s a glory up there that is just simply magical. A feeling that’s easy for me to dismiss or forget when I’m focused on work, but one that somehow intrinsically linked to my soul. When I’m up there everything is worthwhile and when I’m down here it’s just ordinary.