I’ve been thinking about climbing the locks and dam access road hill near our house again and incorporating it into my bike rides. I rode it a few times decades ago, thinking then that it could become a regular thing. It didn’t. I wasn’t committed, or even that interested, plus it requires hard and uncomfortable effort. It was an attempt over the course of a couple weeks, to burn off anger and sadness, and shift things out of the darkness. It was an emergency stress reliever, and sometimes a punishment on self-loathing days. Then years after that and even now when I climb unexpected hills, I usually embrace them and note my fitness over the course of the riding season— how my knees, thighs, feet, and lungs feel. Regardless of why I’m riding up a hill, it’s always about discomfort and the relief.
The steep access road to the locks and dam feels secluded, especially when it’s in the shade. It’s one of three in the metropolitan area and flanked by an enormous limestone bluff on one side, and the Army Corps of Engineers' building, machinery of the locks themselves, and the Mississippi River which flows south towards the gulf on the other side. There are usually a few people milling about or standing on the observation platform hoping for a loaded barge to pass through. After I couldn’t do any more reps up the hill many years ago, I looked down to the bottom of it, relieved it was over and happy that I’d taken some sort of action. I was out of shape, so it crushed me. Once I returned home, stored my bike, and recovered on our deck for awhile, endorphins slowly flooded me for the first time in a long time.
Songs :: Indian Summer by Joe Walsh, Burnin’ Streets by Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros, and October Road by James Taylor
© C. Davidson