When It's Harder To Get Out Of Bed Than It Is To Get On My Bike

Now, I hope that, having seen the title, you're not sending me copies of self-help books or the names and numbers of therapists, hypnotists or clergy members.  My reluctance to get out of bed this morning had nothing to do with depression or anxiety.  It just looked particularly gloomy and Max and Marlee were curled up with me.

Mind you, I didn't have any reluctance about riding today.  I have bikes with fenders on them.  I also have a rain jacket.  And it wasn't cold, at least for this time of year, or blustery.  It just that everything looked so heavy and gray.  Somehow the colors of the leaves made everything seem even more so.

In some years, in late October and early November, I experience surges of sadness that have to do with three deaths--one a slow decline, another a sudden demise and the third a suicide--that happened at this time of year.  But--for me, anyway--such sadness is not the same as depression.  It might make me a little slower to get out of bed, but it doesn't derail my life.

Anyway, I'll confess something:  I thought about doing the Tour de Bronx today.  I really don't enjoy big organized rides, but every once in a while I'll do one to, I guess, show solidarity with other cyclists.  I've done the TdB a couple of times--the longer version, of course--and enjoyed it.  Everybody, it seems, does the Five Boro Bike Tour, but most who ride it never see any of the Bronx besides the few blocks of it that are part of the ride.   I always liked that the TdB took riders through neighborhoods and to sites that those unfamiliar with the Bronx would not expect to see there.

But I got up after the check-in time for the ride.  Now, if you think I was looking for an excuse not to do the ride...well, maybe subconsciously, I was.  Subconsciously, I tell you.

I did a ride of my own.  It's one I've done before.  It wasn't as hard as getting out of bed.

A Bumette's View

I was such a bum today.  Actually "bum" has kind of a male connotation to it.  At least, I don't recall anyone referring to a woman as a "bum."  Are there bumettes?  Hmm...That sounds like the name of a band or something.


(Speaking of bands:  I actually played drums for a local punk rock band when I was in college.  Back then, it was perfect for me because I didn't have to be very good at it, and I could do it drunk, which I often was in those days. But I digress.)


So how much of a bumette was I?  Well, for one thing, I slept very late.  And when I opened my door, I felt as if I'd stepped into a blast furnace.  That destroyed my incentive to do much of anything.  So I didn't ride today.  


And what do they say about idle hands?  Well, actually, I had stuff to do, but I procrastinated a bit.   I finally listed a few things on eBay, including a couple of parts I pulled off the bike I just bought.


I find that I prefer photographing most bikes and parts in daylight.  So I find myself moving into all kinds of weird spaces and position to get the light or space I'm seeking.  Sometimes, I'll go into the driveway next to where I live, as it is partly covered.  And it offers some interesting views:

Once I leave the confines of the driveway, the shifters turn  into deadly weapons:

Tomorrow morning, I'm definitely getting up early and going for a ride!