Light At The End Of My Ride

 I’m still getting used to the sun setting before supper time in Florida. (I’m not sure I ever could get used to eating the last meal of the day an hour or two after most kids’ schooldays end!) So I have to remind myself not to linger over my bagel and coffee if I want to do a 120 or 140 kilometer ride and get home before sundown.

Mind you, I have lights and reflective garments.  I am not against night riding:  It has been thrilling, surreal and revealing for me. I simply prefer to end a ride of more than a couple of hours in daylight.

Yesterday’s ride to Point Lookout and back—on LaVande, my Mercian King of Mercia—got me home just before high wispy clouds began to flicker with orange rays.  The light at the Point was even more of a harbinger of winter than the early sunset that would follow my ride.

A Ride Into Winter

I saw winter coming in this weekend.

I think I rode into it the other day.

That is not a complaint.  In fact, I enjoyed my ride to Point Lookout because there wasn't much traffic, even on the main thoroughfares.  And the boardwalks along the Rockaways and Long Beach were all but deserted.  Ironically, there were more surfers than dog-walkers or strolling couples.

Temperatures dropped steadily from Thursday onward.  On Saturday, the light and air changed, within an hour--about the time it took me to get to Rockaway Beach, riding into the wind, with a potty stop--from nippy late-fall to steely cold.  By the time I got to Point Lookout, the sky turned into a veil against the sun's warmth and radiance.

As much as I like the sun, I enjoy cycling to the shore under a sea of clouds.  Sunny days bring people out; chilly, overcast days when the ocean pours itself in brings me to myself and to those with whom I am close, whether or not they are present.

Also, I feel a kinship with the folks who are out walking, cycling or surfing--or just out--on a day like the one that took me on a ride from the end of wall to the beginning of winter.