Chicago's bike season is officially in hibernation with the occasional wayward soul seeking warmth or a balaclava. Days are spent moving merchandise from here to there, the quick chat with brown santa, and wading through bicycle blogs and velo news. The same stories and photos exist now that were present in summer. But it's harder now, you have to use more imagination. Effort to forget that the one thing that lies outside the door is a frozen tundra; flat, tundra.
Hills work both ways. It's an amazing ride down, but you have to get to the top. 'Earn the downs'. Yeah the work to the top is a bitch, but what a bitch it can be. You get to the top and realize the effort that got you this far. Maybe stop enjoy the scenery, catch your breath. Maybe keep going, over the next ridge. Or maybe it's just another sharp climb after another false flat. Whatever, the other side waits.
I'm not one to pass up the joy from a shuttled run. Reserved energy ready to spring on the mountain. But maybe the climb is there to tame us, the mountain beating respect into us with every crank. Keeping us honest on the way down.
However it works, the joy is ever present. The wheels turning forward, up or down. The heart, in and out. The corners of the mouth, turned up.
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