Well, we have a real winter here in WNC ... only it just doesn't last as long. And the trails recover faster. And the roads are more-often ridable, and in better condition with fewer freeze-thaw cycles to destroy the pavement. Regardless of its length, though, the cold weather, black ice, snow, and sand on the roads do limit our choices for a bit.
And so it is that I'm in a period of rediscovery. And not just about riding -- it's extending itself throughout my life right now. This weekend was huge:
It started on Friday night, when I finished Umberto Eco's The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana. Without giving too much away, this wonderful novel dealt with rediscovery in an interesting way ... but I'll be the first to admit that it may not have been the best choice for me right now. Or maybe it was.
Saturday I had an awesome road ride with Mike from Greenville -- I soloed on some roads I'd not been on in a year, heading down the Watershed to meet up, only to climb back up toward Saluda, halfway down, and then back up. Mike completely shattered my legs, my will, and my desire to ever race a bike again ... but yeah, it was a great ride.
Saturday night was fun hanging out with friends, not much to "re" discover there, other than my love of a good bean dip ...
Sunday was more rediscovery, with a fantastic trip through Pisgah on some old favorites, with some really good company in the form of Mike, Dave and Meghan. Mullinax was a blast, and Squirrel dished out its requisite amount of roadkill in the form of what remained of my humanity, before I was able to turn it around, make that frown upside-down, and begin to almost -- almost -- feel like a mountain biker again. Only to slip on the last bit of ice we were walking and crash-land on my hip. Dang it.
Today was more of the same, hitting an old standby for an easy-climb recovery loop at lunch. It's nice to see the same roads again for the first time.
The biggie, though, was last night. I've always sort of wondered how I turned out the way I did, so different than my parents, my brother, the kids I grew up with. Last night, I found the answer.
See, when I was about 8 years old, Terry Gilliam co-wrote and directed a little film called Time Bandits. It wasn't Monty Python, but it might has well have been -- it was a completely warped, totally wigged out take on Creation, God, the Devil, world history and toaster ovens, and I loved it. At least, I remembered loving it, and now, thanks to technology, nearly 30 years later, I got to see it again.
Talk about a rediscovery. But then again, we all need the clowns to make us smile, right?