Zeal

An unseasonably warm and sunny Saturday afternoon – what better time to get out for a spin on the bike? Actually, as I was about to find out, there are plenty of better times. I zipped right out into a headwind, with a fairly definitive route in mind, thinking I'd make it a workout ride. What I hadn't accounted for was the weakness of my winterrubberwhite legs and the crowded trail conditions. Yes, everybody and his/her mother was out walking on the trails. Some walked on the bike trail, not knowing or not caring about the parallel designated walking trail but a few yards away. Lots and lots of walkers. Some had sticks, some didn't. Some were oblivious, others less so. Some seemed terrified upon discovering that a man riding a bike was calling out to them, attempting to pass them on the left. It was as if they'd never seen a man on a bike before, as if a chimpanzee mounted on a camel were galloping up on their rear– such was the registration of shock and misapprehension on their faces. Others couldn't care less, and made little attempt at accommodation. Surprisingly, the ones with sticks were relatively sensitive regarding these matters, even apologetic.

I changed routes almost immediately, deciding on a whim to check out one of my old favorites, the bottomland area just south of the Franklin bridge on the east bank of the Mississippi. The flood waters had well receded, leaving some patches of brackish backwater that only a single brave mallard dared to ply.



The trail was dusty, it was windy, and I was weak. I kept going though, up past the U of M ...



... down the dirt pathway along the rail corridor, and up to the Stone Arch Bridge (predictably crowded) and stopped to see if my old friends, the annual cormorants, were in their tree below St. Anthony Falls yet. They were not.




By this time I was already acknowledging my own lack of zeal. I'd planned to go up around the Boom Island loop, maybe even reconstitute another old favorite (Nicollet Mall - Loring Greenway - Loring Park - Cedar Lake - Midtown Greenway). But somewhere downtown along the west bank of the river I lost interest and motivation in any structured route and found myself just poking around, looking at tourists and people with dogs and funny haircuts.



Truth to tell, I was more interested in taking pictures. The zeal for photography was still there, and I mean in a back-to-the-basics way, like when I very first started back in college. I didn't care about representation or information; my interests were pure: form, line, texture, color, and the like.



It was only after having given up on the ride and heading back home that the magic of biking surprisingly took hold. I suppose that's because I chose to head back south on the Light Rail Trail. Because is isn't "scenic" (unless, like me, you find semi-industrial urban rail corridors seductive) it was pleasantly free of other folks. There were a few bikers, and almost no walkers. I hit my stride, found the magic and joy of biking after all, and even put some shape into those rubberwhite legs ... I got a workout in and had a great time after all.