From Lake to Shining Lake

Yesterday was a shining, sunny, breezy day and I had the good fortune of a couple hours to ride. I sayed mostly on the internal bike trails, like the one pictured above. I started out in high spirits, but was quickly reminded of what I like to call the "illusion of achievement." In light of my successful 30-mile ride of Sunday last, I had assumed the mindset of having arrived at cycling perfection. My legs quickly reminded me not to confuse good cycling with effortless cycling -- the roads are not all downhill. But as I warmed up I felt good. Nearer downtown the trail began to acquire other riders, and the chatter of children soon joined the whir of tires on pavement and the birdsongs. One tyke blew past me on a small single-speed bike -- it was downhill, in my defense, and I was not in any hurry. Occasional pedestrians, bikers in all sorts of gear, a few hardcores whizzed past, others in suits on their way to work. Whenever I passed anyone, I tried to courteously announce myself -- but more times than not, the other person was insulated in a world of earbuds.
Amazing, I thought, how quickly the grass has greened and trees have sprouted leaves again -- the trail toward downtown is an old rail-line, so it's arched over with tall old trees.
Once downtown I worked my way over to Lake Monona, and past the Terrace, where I stopped a while, ate a Clif bar, and watched a pair of squabbling Mallard drakes. I thought, briefly, how funny and self-important they seemed in their little world; then I looked over to the street and watched the stream of cars filled with serious-looking faces, and realized we're all relevant primarly to ourselves, and probably a bit ridiculous to any consciousness outside our immediate concerns. From Monona I worked around the Capitol hill, over to the University and Lake Mendota, following that lakeside trail into the insular litle burg of Shorewood Hills. The day was summerlike, and I cruised easily. This, I thought, is what it's about. I whizzed past a pair of geese who stood next to the trail, mostly involved in their own thoughts, having, it appeared, accepted cyclists as an incomprehensible but mostly harmless aberration.
Then it was time to turn for home, which meant back to the big hill on Old Sauk Road, which, from now on, I shall deem Mt. Nemesis. Again, not an especially long hill, but steep, and coming as it does just before the final run to home, it haunts my ride, looming larger the nearer I get. Always, there is the temptation to turn away earlier, take some of the longer but less daunting alternate routes. But I didn't, and soon charged up it, having convinced myself I was ready now. Before long I had slipped back into granny gear, but continued grinding upward, bluejays seeming to jeer at me as I trundled past those mocking signs, "Slow down for our children." But I made it -- again -- took a celebratory toke of water, and headed home. 17 miles more on my chart, and now more than 100 miles of training this spring.
Maybe I can actually do it.