Ordinary

We are now a few days into April. During any normal year the southern California cycling scene would be moving along full-bore; I look at the weekend spaces on my wall calendar, going back to the beginning of February and note that only one spot was not filled with a race reminder - criteriums, road races, mountain bike races. Heck, if there had been room I could also have written in a couple trips to the velodrome at the Velo Sports Center. That pattern, as I flip forward through the pages, continues through the next few months, or would do so if this were a normal year. But, so far, it has not been a normal year and most of those races have been either postponed or cancelled outright.

The local group rides have been suspended indefinitely - the weekly WNGR (Wednesday Night Gravel Ride), Two Wheel Tuesday, Thirsty Thursday, the Bud's Ride, the Ladies & Gents Ride, etc for all the others of which I am aware, are all on hold. Whatever groups that might still gather have (rightfully) found themselves constrained by the ideas of physical distancing (I prefer that term to the more common social distancing), and safer at home, and have found their numbers halved, quartered, eighthed, or even more greatly reduced in number. Most likely, as you read this, the same applies to what ever area of the world you find yourself in. This is not a normal year. 

The other day, with our heads low in our work cubicles, voices rose above the walls, speculation about how we have probably already had it (COVID-19) and just never knew. Only one voice was adamant that he had never had it. I saw the conversation as a microcosm of the larger society - some people, while still taking precautions, grasp for hope, the hope that they have already passed the test, survived, and will (hopefully) continue to do so. Meanwhile others hope too, but their's is a hope that they have not had the virus and never will. At the beginning of March there was one day when I had a mild sore throat, some sore muscles, and felt a bit warmer than normal. Those "symptoms" lasted one day and then were gone. Was that it? I could only hope. As the month of April drew near I awoke one morning with a constriction to my chest, a weight pressing on it. Oh man, I thought, is that my lungs, or did I just sleep funny? Though never growing worse, the sensation persisted through the day. The next morning the constriction was still there, though noticeably diminished. That sensation lingered through day three, and now day four suggesting, perhaps, that it is not due to a sleepless night. I hope that the steady improvement, the lessening of the symptom (if in fact that is what I have been experiencing - whatever it is has not been accompanied by any lethargy; I can point to a new woodworking project, clean bikes, swept patio, organized garage, etc, as healthy evidence), is a hopeful sign.

Hope exists for a reason. It allows us to see beyond what ever troubled times we might be experiencing at the moment. With a mask over our faces, or a buff, or a bandana, or a balaclava, or what ever we may have at hand, hope allows us to persist in the knowledge that this too shall pass, and that all those things we have missed out on during the beginning of this not-normal year will return.

Stay safe everyone, look after your health, the health of your loved ones, your friends, and I will see you on the road and trail when this not-normal year turns around.

The immortal words of Monty Python seem appropriate: 

"Some things in life are bad
They can really make you mad
Other things just make you swear and curse
When you're chewing on life's gristle
Don't grumble, give a whistle
And this'll help things turn out for the best
And

Always look on the bright side of life
Always look on the light side of life..."

a little "ordinary" sounds pretty good to me