I started a novel the other day, and in the first paragraph, came upon a line that fundamentally resonated with me and within me. “I fear absurdity” was the line, Rushdie’s Midnight's Children being the novel. Now, what struck me to the core was not my own similar fear of the absurd; no, and nor was it my apathy to absurdity, indifference if you will. Rather, I stand directly opposite this statement, across the river, a wall between us, diametrically opposed in the concrete and abstract. Now to be fair, I certainly don’t loath normalcy either; nor do I abhor the sanity of mundanity. No, that would be absurd in and of itself. But as it turns out, I do vehemently dislike the unwillingness to relent to the inane from time to time. And so last Sunday, almost exactly 7 days from here and now, we the people yet again sojourned to the Soquel Demonstration Forrest, where I starred down absurdity under that most Tuscan of suns, and declared it unfashionable in the most figurative of senses. Indeed, I fondly recall previously responding to enquiries of my motivations to ride questionable sections of Soquel trail, with resounding negatives, stating that “no I wouldn’t be riding them” and that it would be “absurd to think otherwise.” And yet there I found myself, riding a panoply of previously unrideable portions of trail, and doing so with a style and grace reminiscent of red-dressed, pack-a-day lounge singers sprawled across black pianos with champagne glasses in hand.
And so while riding these superlative sections of trail that I would have otherwise declared absurd only seven days earlier, my subconscious must have set a flag (subconciously) such that later that evening as I began said novel, I realized that I fear absurdity no longer.
And so as it turned out, I shamefully avoided riding this past weekend (aforementioned Soquel sojourn being 2 weekends ago.) Rather, I went hiking near Tahoe with friends; and I will admit that I possibly bordered on the intolerable after my seventh or fifteenth declaration that the trail we were hiking on would be, “really rather incredible to bike; much better in fact.” But self-loath and unconditional regret over missing my teammates “two loops” notwithstanding, I quite enjoyed my hike and time spent with friends in the Sierras.
Enjoyed the time, yes, but never again. I’m full of regret over missed opportunities, missed connections; and am left with a sadness, a despondent melancholia, that prevails deep within me, greener grass be damned.
And so how did I address this melancholic condition I found myself in Sunday evening after arriving home and reading my teammates blog post about their 28-mile epic ride? I made several well-informed purchases, I did. Yes indeed, I acquired new mtb shoes, riding shorts, and most excitedly, some new pedals.
In that order:
Babies don’t sleep this well.
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