Finding my way

Not Magellan, perhaps, but this morning I did circumnavigate Lake Monona, and a wonderful ride it was. Temp was about 70, and the air was redolent with the smells of lake, trees, and wild grasses. As I stood in the parking lot, unloading Rocinante, I felt it was right to be there, that this is what a bike ride ought to be. And as I rode beside the lake, the Capitol and the Terrace gleaming white in the distance, the sun reflecting off the lake, the gulls and ducks making their respective rackets, the whir of my tires on concrete, I knew it was right. So many times I'd driven past this part of the bike trail and watched the cyclists, and wanted to be there. This, I thought, is Madison biking, and this is the day to do it. And on I rolled, midst the cyclists, around the walkers and joggers, past the fishermen, all but oblivious to the workday world represented by the cars that hurried past.

The distance was not so much, about 13 miles, and mostly flat, but I kept the bike in higher gears all the way. The bike trails were nice, and so was the stretch along Willy Street, through Madison's little Haight-Ashbury. I saw several cyclists, including a couple gray-haired denizens, one of whom dashed out of a side trail right in front of me, never looking in my direction and, so far as I know, never saw me. Certainly never acknowledged me. I followed him for quite a distance, hoping to have a bit of conversation, but never caught up, and then he topped a hill and vanished into the side streets of Monona. Maybe poised to dash out in front of another unwitting cyclist. Or maybe he was just an illusion, a manifestation of an idea.

I'd bought a cyclist's map of Madison, water- and tear-proof, with the routes laid out, and had pored over it the day before, carefully plotting my course. But the map did me little ultimate good, except for general assurance. That's one thing I've learned about Madison and maps -- the city is always smaller than it seems on the map, and streets are never where they are supposed to be. The same was true with the bike trails, which started and stopped between winding streets and bike routes. The best I could do was stop once in awhile, check the map, and figure out where I was and I'd gone wrong, then plunge onward through the cartographical fog. I generally and simply kept the Lake on my right, and got back in fine fettle. Which, now that I think about it, is better than Magellan did on his circumnavigation.

I barely broke a sweat, and felt myself working steadily but not hard. Just right for my recovering heart. I had visited my cardiologist the day before, expecting to please him with my 5 pound weight loss, but his scale showed only a single pound gone. But he was very impressed with the fact that my cholesterol measurements were all well into the ideal range, when three months ago they were all high. "You," he told me, "are my role model." Well. He needs to get out more. He also encouraged me to go on with the Century -- "no reason why you shouldn't" -- but cautioned that I ought to be careful about overdoing it if the weather is hot and I am struggling. Thanks a lot, doc, as though I needed an excuse. and as for my heart, it felt good and strong and complete.