Saturday afternoon in Salt Lake City and as the temperature climbs I sit cross legged on the deck of our condo, a delightful five roomed number near Utah's finest ski resorts (so I am told). Still vibrating from the feel-good vibes of a wicked ride up Emigration Canyon, I cannot help but to dawn my philosophical hat and wonder how much different this world would be if everyone rode a bike.
For three hours and a bit this morning, the only thing on my mind was the road and wheels in front of me. The Desert sun gleamed warm and drew sweat that pooled on my temples, my neck and rolled from my forehead into my eyes. There was a smorgasbord of bikes on display, as the Canyon ride draw multiple teams, pros and recreational riders. I drooled over Pinarello, Specialized and Orbea numbers, people's neat kits. The ride ebbed up and up, we continued to climb out of the Canyon en route to Morgan.
I do my very best thinking on the saddle. I had a yoga teacher once that cite yoga as "Moving Meditation"- a way to clear your mind to the present moment while moving your body in ancient rhythm. Although I let my mind flip flop between work (training new leaders the impending project, a busy summer in the Canadian Rockies followed by an Italian schedule in the fall), cycling, sport, wine school, and other people, in between the swings of thoughts there are just blissful silence of my mind, the full stroke below and the hum of my beautiful ride.
As we paused half way up the climb a fellow along with us, Fletch, starts to laugh.
"Don't look now," (cue for everyone to turn towards his line of vision),
"But there is a dead horse beating us up the Canyon road." I turn to look and a rusty pick up that has its flat bed open, dead horse inside. I feel a little sorry for the horse, but happy for me. I clip back in and continue the climb.
One view point of Emigration Canyon.
Happy 80th Birthday TODAY, Grandma! So happy to share your surprise party last week!
Another great climb recently, from Golden to Lake Louise on the Golden Triangle.