The other day, I enjoyed a nearly perfect ride to Connecticut and back. An overnight rain broke the weekend’s heat wave and I pedaled, with a brisk wind against my face on my way up and at my back on the ride back, under a clear sky accented by light cirrus brushstrokes.
When I’m enjoying such a trip, such a day, I never realize how lucky I am and, however ephemeral that privilege may be, it’s still more than so many other people have —and how much more orderly yet joyful my world can be—even if only for a few hours—than what lies not far beyond.
Yesterday I learned, from my friend Lillian—who is recovering from a back injury and wants to ride with me again—that a mutual friend, Glenda, had passed away around four in the morning. That wasn’t much of a surprise, as her lung cancer was overtaking her doctors ‘ ability to treat it and her body’s ability to resist.
She also told me that Edwin, for whom we sometimes ran errands, did other things beyond his computer skills and simply provided company, passed on Thursday. That, of course, solved the mystery of why we hadn’t heard from him though, of course, that was neither a relief nor a consolation.
Oh, and there was another mass shooting in a school. The cynic in me is not surprised: In a country whose mantra is, “Children are the future,” we haven’t made it more difficult to get assault weapons or easier to get mental health care, educational services or stable housing and employment since, in an eerily similar incident almost a decade ago, 28 kids and two teachers were murdered in a Connecticut school. Or since, more than a decade before that, a dozen students and two teachers were slaughtered in a Colorado high school. Or after any number of attacks during those years.
That I can say “any number” of such incidents is a sad commentary on the situation in this country. So is the supermarket shooting in Buffalo a week and a half ago. Again, my cynicism kicks in: That horror doesn’t surprise me because if nothing changed after white kids were gunned down, I’m anticipating even less after a tragedy in which the victims were Black and, mostly, elderly.
So why am I invoking the Howard Cosell rule and ranting about such things on my cycling blog? Well, it seems almost frivolous to talk about anything else. For another, I wanted to express my understanding of my good fortune, though I am trying to avoid a lapse into guilt. Finally, though, I trust that you, dear readers, and cyclists in general, have a good sense of justice.
