Three days ago, everything was coated in ice. The hoar frost looked like white fur, growing from every tree branch. It was an eerie, white wintery scene. Today, the temperature is heading towards the seventies: a glorious day, less than a week from the Winter Solstice. I took the opportunity and headed out to score some dirt time with “Trucker” at around 9:00 AM.
It was still cool when I left, bundled up in multiple layers, but it didn’t take long to warm up. At about three miles into the ride, a massive black hellhound gave chase, and the Garmin indicated my heart rate exceeded the maximum for a 67-year-old man (153 bpm). Nice, I hit zone 5 within the first 15 minutes—now all I need to do is stay in that vicinity for about an hour.
I’ve raced the big black dog before, and I don’t think he would actually bite me. He’s much faster than I am, even when I’m sprinting at maximum effort. He likes to get close and bark like a lunatic, but he never encroaches on my safe space. By the five-mile mark, I was ready to shed some clothes and decided to pedal up a mile-long dead-end field road to one of my favorite meditation spots.
Stop-Look-Listen
If someone had told me three days ago, when the entire village was coated in ice, that I would be sitting half-naked on a hilltop a few miles from town, soaking up the sunshine and listening to the meadowlarks, I wouldn’t have believed it. Yet, here I was, sitting in my nest of buffalo grass, a gentle breeze enveloping me, under a beautiful, vast sky, counting my blessings.
Like the ability to take my heart rate up to the red line and still be able to smile back at the giant hellhound and ask, “Is that all you got?” as he turned and headed back towards his tidy home on the High Plains. I counted a few more blessings sitting there in the tangled brown buffalo grass before a bittersweet observation showed up; a paradox, really.
Slowly
Wisdom, like buffalo grass, grows slowly once it blooms after decades of trial, error, reflection, and loss. Yet, by the time it fully ripens, the body is often old and tired. The ancient Greeks called it sophrosyne (sound-mindedness earned late), and Ecclesiastes laments something similar: “When I surveyed all that my hands had done… everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind.”
Peak physical health happens at around 20–30 years old, but cognitive crystallization often doesn’t solidify until 50+. By 70, when many report their clearest life perspective, frailty, disease, or dementia kicks in. It’s like getting the user’s manual after the warranty expires. It’s definitely bittersweet, but it’s also a blessing; it forces prioritization.
“Death is very likely the single best invention of life.” ~ Steve Jobs
According to U.S. statistics, I have about a dozen years remaining. In other words, there’s no time to waste. The clear difference between the 30-year-old me and the 67-year-old me is definitely perspective. Back then, I couldn’t fathom the concept of “chasing after the wind.” I get it now, prioritize what brings joy, love, and laughter.
That’s why I love riding bikes. It keeps my perspective honed to perfection. The wind chases me now, and the vast blue sky embraces me as I effortlessly soar into the present moment on the gravel pathways towards a higher plane. Nature is the whetstone that sharpens my perspective.