One

I have sucked down nothing less than 3 glasses of lemonade through dinner and now am working on a Diet Rootbeer. Even after a soaking hot bath, scrubbing with textured exfoliating soaps, I can still feel some remnants of layers of sunscreen, sweat, bike grease, and a solid dusting of pollen.

The bike ride was a good one, 41 miles round trip out to the Crane Prairie Reservoir with the backdrop of a snow covered three Sisters mountain range (of which you could only fully see the South Sister mountain, with the other two Sisters hiding shyly behind Mount Bachelor. ) The ride up took nearly twice the amount of time as the ride down, winding through open meadows with incredible vistas of the whole area, then diving deep into red Ponderosa pine forests that are in full bloom at the moment. The roads are awkwardly quiet this time of year; the winter tourists packed their snowmobiles and downhill skis weeks ago to go home, the summer tourists have not arrived yet with their campers, RVs, bikes, and fishing gear. And yet the weather is perfect … high dessert, full sun, with cool breezes drifting out of the mountains.

I have enjoyed many of these days since my arrival into Central Oregon but this one seemed especially spectacular. There is a oneness, a comfort level that I have achieved with cycling. The next level …. where the bike has become automatic. I shift gears without shifting thoughts. My feet snap into the peddles without glancing down. And eating, drinking, and maneuvering on the bike all feels like I am driving a car. (Well until I get off the bike and realize my thighs are exhausted!) I know the lingo (CAR BACK, STOPPING), the gestures (sweeping for rocks, pointing for pot holes) and I can ride next to someone and chatter away as if we are having a lemon drop martini at the local martini bar.

And while I can pride myself in all of these accomplishments, I still have many levels yet to go in my cycling career. At the next level, I will indeed know how to fix a flat given only the tools contained in my bike pouch and with minimal swear words. I will be able to tuck in behind the top cyclists, sucking off their wheel for hours. And I will finally learn to shut my mouth on fast downhills so I don’t inhale the bugs. (I hate the bees especially, the taste of fuzzy legs and the thought of being stung in the back of my throat.)

But for now, I will enjoy my small victory … a simple feeling of oneness with the bike.