I usually wake up slow, foggy and need to ease into the morning. When riding with friends on Saturdays, I often need catch up to them because I start after they do and depending on the route, sometimes they begin a few miles ahead of where I begin. On this ride I left thirty minutes later and was four miles behind them, so I had a lot of ground to cover. After arriving at Lake Como, I got disoriented and rode in the wrong direction for almost two miles before stopping to regroup and check the navigation app. Still turned around, I asked a woman getting off a city bus which way Maryland Street was because that was the way to Lake Phalen. She pointed me north. Once there I turned west and rode another half mile before I rechecked the map. I went in the wrong direction again. Then I saw a postal worker walking from house to house and asked her how to get to Lake Phalen and she pointed east.
Miles later and back on track I crossed over interstate 35E and saw a man standing next to the off ramp. It was clear he’d been out there for a while because he had a cooler and a lawn chair. He was lean, had shoulder length hair, a dark tan, with a tank top and shorts. I stopped at the light, and we greeted each other. We asked how each other was doing and we both said fine. Then he mentioned the heat and how it must be hot riding. I agreed and said it must be even hotter for him not moving. He didn’t ask me for anything, but I regretted not helping him out with some cash. I was too wrapped up in my own frustrations and impatience to make the effort. The light turned green, and we said goodbye. I continued up a long hill into a new neighborhood where I swallowed my first bug of the day.
I eventually caught up with them near the shore of the lake, laid my bike down and collapsed onto the bench. I was cranky. Since they’d been waiting for a while, they were rested and ready to go, but I needed way more time to regroup, get water, and use the bathroom. I figured I’d catch them on the other side of the lake before the route split towards downtown Saint Paul, but I didn’t. I road through an industrial area, skirted some park land and into the center of downtown where I eventually crossed over the Mississippi. There was no sight of them and once I was on the other side, I stopped because I was turned around again. I checked their position, and they were far ahead weaving through the flood plain of cottonwoods below the river bluffs. I finally determined where I was and after a few miles I rounded a corner and found them sitting on another bench where I swallowed my second bug of the day. For the first time that afternoon I’d be riding with them, not in circles and not chasing them.
Eventually I made it home and my wife mentioned that the group she’d been dancing with that afternoon at a park outside, were a bit confused about the moves they were all very experienced at doing. Our daughter said she’d been outside all afternoon too and her head was foggy with a nagging headache. They both wondered if it was the nearly invisible wildfire smoke that was affecting us. It made sense because we all seemed off, but our lungs, noses and throats felt mostly fine, so we couldn’t be sure. I stepped out to the deck after dinner and orange sunset was electric. I looked back into the kitchen and finally felt relaxed while I watched them talking at the table like I had a thousand times before.
Songs :: Everybody Hold Still by Grace Jones, One Fine Day by David Byrne and Brian Eno, Sail On, Sailor by The Beach Boys, Alone by The Cure, and Hot Sun by Wilco
© C. Davidson