The new, red helmet came in the mail yesterday. This morning I put it on.
Nice snug fit. A visor to keep that wind from slapping my face around. All good.
But I know, too, that I’m entering the tough season. Not cold enough to give up riding Rosie, but cold nonetheless. And I’m stepping into a palate of grays and browns.
On a blustery day like today, the ride is starting to be a real challenge. And, since the tumble last week, I’ve been riding as if I had ten precious babies in the basket behind me. Or at least egg cartons. By the time I arrive at work (or at the café after work), I feel like I’ve jogged the seven miles, even as I’ve moved hardly a muscle.
And still, I have to say, the rugged start to the day (and, too, the rugged ending) feels right. It can’t all be easy out in the country. It’s part of the deal: I have this ride, when the wind feels rough and the hills and skies look gray.
And here’s a small new pleasure that I’ve discovered with my new helmet: when the face shield is down, I can sing and hear myself inside the capsule. The noise of the world is muted. Whatever tune I hum fills my small world. It's oddly satisfying.