Biking season is here. In the short time before sunset, I picked a lung burner close to home and took off. The temperature was in the mid 40's, and the air was calm.
The first two miles was a relatively easy uphill. There were a handful of runners and walkers on the trail, most of them with dogs. Some of the people ambled along, almost wandering -- they were in no rush as their destination was fresh air and doggie exercise. Others ran intently, with a well-practiced and efficient gait. There was a young couple probably in their mid-30's that stepped way off the trail with their dogs as I huffed a friendly hello and thank you in passing. There was a man walking his cool-down from a what I would guess was a strenuous workout in the foothills.
My shadow grew long and darted in and out across the bushes as I rode. The sunlight took on the golden hue that is a favorite of landscape photographers, making the hills glow in the cool air.
I stopped briefly to shed a layer of jacket, drink some water, and catch my breath before the climb to the ridge line. There's a trail on the ridge line about a quarter mile from where I've stopped, but that quarter mile includes a section of something close to 10% grade. I stow my jacket, click into my clips and engage the hill.
About halfway up, as I am huffing and puffing, pedaling in my lowest gear and traveling about the speed of a glacier I heard the sandy crunch of footsteps overtaking me. Startled and due to my slow uphill pace, I did a swerve-and-recover to maintain my balance. I was quite happy that it was a runner passing me, and not someone just walking their dog. In spite of all rational understanding of my physical condition, and the fact that I'm lugging an extra 30-40 pounds of bike and associated gear up the hill, I still have a hard time mentally dealing with getting passed by someone who is walking.
After reaching the ridge line trail, I decided I hadn't had enough climbing, so nosed my bike up the trail toward another short steep rise nearby. I was quite determined not to stop in the middle of it. It took me quite some time to get my breathing calmed down at the top. After I had recovered a little air, I noted the runner who passed me was disappearing over a little rise ahead of me, her yellow jacket glowing in bright contrast to the brown hillside. A small part of me wanted to continue following the uphill trail, not content to stop where I was, but I had chores still waiting at home.
I paused and watched as the sun started melting slowly into the western horizon. There I stood with my bike in the quiet cool air, watching the shadows blanket the hills, my heart still beating quickly from the climb, and thinking to myself, "this is definitely the golden hour".
May you find your own golden hour,
rootie
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