Fear Not: I'm Still Here!

 Dear Readers, I am still alive--but not well. That is why I've been posting less frequently.

My illness isn't life-threatening or disabling.  But it has drained, seemingly, all of my energy.  

As I recounted a few posts ago, I started to feel congested and tired near the end of my Paris trip.  My former religious self might've said that I was being punished for having too good a time.  Truth is, the only possible connection I can see between my sojourn and my illness is the Munch exhibit I attended with Alec and Michele at the Musee d'Orsay.  It was one of the most crowded exhibits I've ever attended:  We, and other visitors were literally shoulder-to-shoulder.  It was all but impossible to move individually and independently.  

(That, by the way, was my only complaint about the exhibit, or any other I attended while in Paris:  I thought it was well-presented but I couldn't linger at some of the works, as I often do when I'm interested.)

I came home just in time for a long weekend. (Monday the 16th  was Martin Luther King Jr. day.) Surely, that would give me time, aided with copious quantities of chicken soup and orange juice, to recover my energies for the beginning of the semester on Tuesday.

My body--specifically, my respiratory system--didn't get the message. I felt as if I were being submerged even deeper into a sea of phlegm.  My routine has included going to classes, answering only the most urgent emails and curling up with Marlee.  

I figured--correctly--that whatever I was suffering wasn't COVID or the flu, as I was vaccinated as soon as the jabs became available.  Finally, I called my doctor who believed I had a respiratory infection and advised me to go to the nearest City MD center rather than to make a trip to his office.

His hunch was correct.  All I can do now is wait this thing out.  Then, I hope, I'll be back to my regular habits of cycling--and blogging.

It Wasn't Age After All!

 The other day, I mentioned that I didn't post during the last few days of my latest Paris trip because my full days ended with my getting back to my hotel in the wee hours of morning and collapsing onto the bed.  I intimated that, perhaps, age was catching up with me because I felt tired, if in good ways, after the sorts of activities--visiting museums and friends and, of course, walking and cycling--that also comprised previous trips.  

Well, now I know (or, at least, think I know) the real cause of my fatigue.  You might think that I am in denial and want to continue calling this blog "Midlife Cycling."  I assure you that's not the case.  Also, I tend not to suffer from "jet lag" for very long, so that's not a reason why I have become an immobile object or, if I want to put a positive spin on it, Marlee's bed.

What seemed like a slight cold during my time with Alec and Michele on Thursday devolved into bouts of coughing and sneezing on the flight home and, now, my respiratory system turning into something the Department of Environmental Protection might condemn.

Oh well.  I've gone from lunches of confit de canard with Jay and Isabelle  and civet de cerf with Alec and Michele to slurping down gallons of water, juice, chicken broth, alone, wrapped in a blanket.  That means, of course, that I haven't ridden since I've come home to colder, blustier (Is that a word?) weather than I experienced in Paris.

So I am in my apartment with Marlee, my books and my bikes.  About the latter--here's what I rode after returning the bike I borrowed:

Turns out, Paris a Velo  (formerly known as Paris Velo, C'est Sympa) was open after all!  The proprietor, Victor, explained that the pandemic boosted demand for his bikes and, therefore, he's operated year-round ever since.  When I last rented one of his bikes four years ago (almost to the week!), he made a special trip into the shop for me and one other customer who'd made a reservation. That might be the reason why he remembered me, "d'une monde different."

The bike I rode was different, too:

in contrast to the more conventional hybrid/city bike I rode four years ago.  More about that later.

I Wooon't Park There!

I confess...I haven't done a lot of riding since my latest trek to Connecticut.  That was almost a month ago!

Since then, I commuted until the end of the semester and, last week, took a ride to the Rockaways with Bill.  But for much of the week before that--including Christmas Day--I was languishing with a virus frolicking inside me.

I am feeling better now.  I started to notice improvement after that ride with Bill, last Thursday--before a snowstorm.

Today I took another, shorter ride before--you guessed it!--another snowstorm that's coming our way tonight.  The coming snow squall, like the one we just had, shouldn't leave us with a lot of white stuff.  But the weatherfolk are promising lots of wind and colder temperatures.

So I felt I just needed to get out today.  I wasn't going to stop for anything--especially after seeing this:

Noooo parking.  No, I woooon't park.  And I won't ride sloooow.  At least, I'll try not to!

What Do We Have In Common?

The virus was kind. Or, at least, it was courteous:  It delayed its gratification.  It could have made me really, really sick more than a week ago.  Instead, it decided to wait until I finished my semester.  Not that I was feeling great as I graded all of those papers and exams:  I was functioning just well enough for that, but not much else.

So now that I'm finished until next month, I still haven't been riding.  It has nothing to do with the weather, which has been cold, but not unseasonably so:  last week's snow is gone.  It also has nothing to do with the shorter hours of daylight:  I have my blinkies and other safety equipment. And I do have one thing in common with Santa's most famous reindeer.

Yes, my nose is red.  But it won't guide any sleighs or bikes or much of anything else besides my sneezes.  

Since I can't ride, or do much else, I will try to find out what, exactly, gave Rudolph his red nose.  Surely it wasn't my virus!

Through A Sea Of Molasses

If you commute by bicycle, you know that sometimes your ride home can feel very different from your ride to work.

Sometimes you're happy to get out and get on your bike at the end of your work day, especially if you have a couple of hours of daylight.  Then, your ride home might seem easier and go more quickly than the ride to your job.  You might even take a longer route, or a side trip, as you head home.

Then there are other days when the ride back seems longer and more tired because, well, you're tired.  You mght have had a stressful, or simply long, workday.  I know that when I have early morning classes, conferences with students and a meeting or two--or any unforeseen situation--the ride back might take me a few minutes longer, especially if I'm pedaling in the dark, in the dead of winter.

But yesterday, I felt as if I'd been pedaling through a sea of molasses for my ride home.  That sensation began with my first pedal stroke.  Even mounting my bike seemed more arduous than it did in the morning.

Mind you, I didn't have a tough day at work.   Things went well, actually:  Students were prepared and engaged.  So was I.  Exchanges with colleagues and office staff were pleasant.  Heck, I even stayed a bit longer to get a few things done--and write yesterday's post on a computer at my job.

By the time I got home, though, I felt as if I'd pedaled up every major climb in the Rockies, Alps, Appalachians and Pyrenees, and maybe one or two other mountain ranges.  Those eleven kilometers or so felt like a Tour de France stage--one that combined the mountains with a sprint.

Well, today I realize that I wasn't as out of shape as I feared I was.  My sinuses were spewing more than Mount Vesuvius and Mount Etna, and what it was spewing probably would have qualified my respiratory system as a Superfund site.  And, instead of eating pasta or noodles, my body has the lateral rigidity (sorry for the bikespeak!) of those foods--when they're overcooked.

So today I didn't go to work--or ride for any other reason.  It's odd that I managed not to be sick all winter, and the first week of Spring brought me to this.  Oh, well. It's temporary--I hope.  At least I'm not hurt. 

When "Can't" We Ride?

It's Saturday.  The snow that fell yesterday morning and turned to slush in the afternoon is mostly gone now.  It's a couple of degrees warmer than normal for this time of year, and the sun has just set.  

All in all, we had pretty good (especially for this time of year) riding conditions.  But I didn't get on my bike.  Why?  Well, I've felt tired and my nose has been dripping like a faucet that needs fixing.  And I have been nodding on and off throughout the day.

In my younger days, I might have tried to "pedal it away". That usually worked with a simple cold or other minor ailments.  I am convinced, to this day, that I once rode long and fast enough that a flu couldn't keep up.  Or, perhaps, it couldn't hold on.

Almost anyone I know who isn't a cyclist would say that I "can't" ride today.  Perhaps my cycling friends and acquaintances would say as much.  And there are times we ourselves say we can't ride.  Sometimes it's a matter of health; other times it's because of other commitments we have, such as jobs and families.  Or some friend or relative we haven't seen in ages has come to town.





There was a time in my life when I would have said that there never is a time or place when one can't ride.  I even told people as much when they said they couldn't get out after work, caring for kids or whatever.  Of course, in saying that, I felt superior to all of those people who weren't riding 50 to 100 kilometers every day and taking a 150 or 200 kilometer ride on the weekend.  Hey, I wanted to feel superior about something.

Of course, I have changed, at least somewhat--at least enough that I can reflect on those times and ask the sorts of questions whose answers can change the course of humanity.  (Please, please permit me one moment of grandiosity!)  To wit:  Are there actually times when, and places where, we can't ride?  Or is it that, at least in theory, that such times and places don't exist--and that we only allow ourselves to be fettered by weather, commitments and "no bike riding" signs?

After Sandy: Too Sick To Ride

The storms have passed.  Most of today was overcast and rather chilly. I don't mind either.  At least the wind and rain are gone, for now.

So, I thought, I'd finally get out for a good long (or longish) ride this weekend.  And I would do something charitable.

Well, it didn't happen today.  I started to feel aches and congestion earlier this week.  On Thursday, one of my classes was observed, and I could just barely get through it. I rested yesterday but still felt tired and congested today.  And my cough has gotten more persistent.

I felt so drained that I didn't even volunteer to help storm victims in the Rockaways, as I'd planned on spending at least some time this weekend.  

Of course, this isn't the first time I haven't felt well enough to ride.  It's also not the first time I had to cancel or postpone plans to be of service to the community.  But it might be the first time both happened.  So, as best as I can recall, this is the first time I have felt both cheated and guilty.  It sounds like a weird combination, I know.  But the last couple of weeks have not been ordinary.  

Well, at least I know that even at my age, there is still plenty of time left for bike rides and service to others.