I have a lot on my mind this fine morning. There is a lot on the scale that needs to be reckoned with. I am trying to make my way through the world and not let the cynical prick that lives in my head, come out and talk. He is a Bastard and only remembers the things that hurt me. Sometimes he serves me well, but it is best if he stays locked down.
I don't want to hate people. People that speed to stop signs. People that eat yogurt and steer with their knees. People that kill cyclists that I know. It is hard to see the other side. It is the most human thing to do, but God help me, it is so very hard.
I don't want to be afraid on my bike. It is my church, my therapist, my one place where the internal dialogue goes quiet. The worst days on the bike are better for my soul than the good days I do not ride. It is always good to go ride, but now I ride with a ghost. Every time a car passes I feel the chill of his death. I think of sons living with no father. Every time I ease onto a road with no bike lanes, I have fear I have never had before. I have never been a victim of discrimination, this is all new. Twelve years I have been riding, but I feel the hate now. Even when they don't yell, crowd, beep their horns or give me the stink eye, I feel it. I know they are not bad people. They are just angry about their own ghosts. They are letting their cynical bastard drive.
It is no coincidence that I am commuting this week. Because I am alive and can ride a bike, I feel as though I should. I should ride as much as I can. I should ride on the road with my fears, with my hate, with those that hate me. I am going to ride because that is the only thing I can do that feels productive. It's my road too. I paid my share, and then some.
Tomorrow, lets ride.
W.B.Z.N.
