The Delta Function In An Autumn Bike Ride

I've been reading a novel called The Delta Function by Spanish writer Rosa Montero.

I'm mentioning it, not because I'm going to critique it (In case you want to know, I like it a lot so far.) or even because it's terribly relevant to cycling.  Rather, I'm bringing it up because of the title.

As I understand, The Delta Function is an attempt to measure phenomena that take place in almost no time (i.e., nanoseconds) but are of nearly infinite intensity.  From what I can see, it would be very useful to astro- or nuclear physicists.  But it's an interesting idea in its own right, I believe.

Anyway, it occurred to me today, as I was riding, that my rides often consist of "Delta Function" moments and events.  It may be because my senses are more open, and I'm generally more alert when I'm on my bike.

As an example, today, in passing a postage stamp-sized park on Rockaway Boulevard, I had, for a fleeting moment, the full sight of colors and sensation of leaves rustling that I experienced during early-autumn rides in  the Delaware Valley,Vermont, the Finger Lakes region, and the Vosges in France.  All it took was a few feet of pathway lined with fallen yellow leaves:

Of course, Rockaway Boulevard is a long way from any of the places I mentioned in my previous paragraph.  And today's ride was really incidental in my running of errands and fulfilling other obligations.  However, that sight, that moment transformed them, if only temporarily.

And, on the way home,  I saw something else that, for no particular reason, gave me a momentary rapture:

I know it was just a bush next to somebody's house.  But it heightened my awareness of the light and color of this season, if only for a moment.

The Season Is Starting, Slowly

Last year, at least, I had an excuse.  I was shaking off the cobwebs at this time a year ago because of my surgically-induced layoff.  But this year...Well, OK, the streets were covered with snow, slush or ice, or some combination thereof, for a good part of two months.  Still, I feel that I'm getting off to such a slow start to my cycling season.


Now I can recall years in which there wasn't a cycling season. It seemed that for a few consecutive years at the end of the last century, we had mild winters.  In fact, there were a couple of years where we barely seemed to have a winter at all.  The cold has never been a deterrent for me, but even with studded tires, commuting is not always feasible when there are snow and ice on the roadways.


Even so, I've never been tempted to move to a warmer climate.  Somehow I can't think of cycling, or anything else, without the rhythm of the seasons.  However, if I were to move to, say, Southern California, I suppose I'd adapt:  When you come right down to it, most people do what they need to do in whatever situations they find themselves.  It's a bit like learning foreign languages:  Lots of people, at least in this country, never do and assume they can't. However, I would think that at least some of them would learn, in one fashion or another, if they moved someplace else.


Ever since the warm weather we had a week ago, it seems we've returned to winter.  I suppose that if I were more religious or believed more in any sort of cosmology than I do, I'd say this was retribution for my arrogance in riding in the middle of major local roadways under the biggest, brightest moon I'd seen in a long time and thinking myself Queen of the Road, or some such thing.  


All right...If I get out for a good ride tomorrow, all will be right with the world.  Maybe I'll still be off to a slow start.  But even a slow start is a start, and a move forward.