I finally got back in the saddle, on the local dirt roads today. It’s been over three months since the last ride, which must be a record; at least I can’t remember going that long since I retired a decade ago. Weather and circumstances have sidelined me for far too long, but that’s about to change. Summer is arriving in all her splendor!
In the spring, the jet stream is directly over us as it migrates toward Canada with the geese. It’s the meeting place of tropical air from the Gulf and Arctic air from the north. Their mighty tussle creates violent spring winds on the “High Planes.” When the jet stream finally moves north with the coming of Summer, the ferocious winds follow along, leaving only the diurnal breezes to deal with.
The extreme climate contrasts in the jet stream also fuel dramatic temperature swings. A few weeks ago, we went from the mid-nineties to the mid-twenties overnight as an intense low-pressure system moved through. By summer, though, the mornings are generally calm and peaceful, perfect for some dirt road exploration. Afternoon thunderstorms are the issue in summer, and the occasional tornado.
It took a little longer than normal to get underway this morning. I had to charge the Garmin’s batteries, clean and disinfect the water bottles, and do a bit of maintenance on “Trucker” before heading out. There was a gentle single-digit breeze from the west that was forecast to increase into the teens and move around to the north.
The temperature was in the 60s and heading for the 90s, but I was planning to be back before it reached the mid-70s. The roads were in good shape, and I had to keep reminding myself to take it easy. Besides the weather, a recent surgery has kept me out of my regular routine, but I’m on the mend and getting back to normal.
It was a beautiful morning and warm enough by mile five to take off my shirt and enjoy the sun’s warmth on my bare skin. The breeze was picking up, though, and I dropped down to the small front chainring and pushed the cadence higher. After I crossed the highway at the halfway point, I noticed a beautiful white hawk gliding over a wheat field looking for breakfast.
I gave him my best hawk call, and it actually worked for a change. The hawk came closer and hovered for a while right over the top of me. I was stunned by its pale plumage, and by the time it occurred to me to grab the phone from the handlebar bag for a picture, the hawk was moving fast up the road.
I think it was probably a Krider’s Hawk, a subspecies or color morph of the red-tailed hawk. It’s the only hawk I know that hangs out around here with such strikingly white wings. I expect he’s passing through like the jet stream. Their breeding grounds are on the northern Great Plains, in Montana, North Dakota, and Canada.
As I turned the corner and got onto the wind for the homeward leg, I shifted to a big gear. It got really quiet. It’s always weird at first after riding with the wind whipping around my ears, making a lot of noise, and then getting on the wind; all the noise stops. I was sailing along in an amazing vortex, harvesting energy instead of expending it. It felt like the electrons inside me were celebrating, dancing to the sweet song of the Meadowlark as I increased my speed towards Emerald City.
I stopped several times on the ride to explore a muddy puddle and some handsome purple bull thistles. I collected a few images, and it took me two hours to complete a one-hour ride, but it was so much fun to be out there on “Trucker.” My body, mind, and spirit remembered the pleasure and pain of the bike, the breeze, and the raw beauty of nature. I am looking forward to Summer.
