The train doors whoosh open. I’m watching the conductor, he’s become a buddy over the last year. Instead of walking out the doors as he usually does, he pushes back through the crowd toward the back of the entry way. I look confused, then he declares, “I ain’t goin out there, it’s raining!” I look outside in horror at the downpour that’s started in the five minutes it took the train to go from my station to the next. When I look back, the conductor throws his head back and laughs. He laughs even harder as I mock grumble, “It’s not right to laugh!”
Even in the rain, as my glasses fill with blinding droplets, as my cute leggings soak through and the water trickles down my neck, I love my bike ride. I think a big part of my stress over the last month or so was that I wasn’t riding. After Seattle, I caught the flu and Jrex and I shared the car. Lovey also loaned me her car while she was out of town one week. Not riding was probably better for my health, but when I got back on the bike Monday, I realized what I’d been missing.
Somehow in a car, the line between work and home seems thin. I listen to the news, I call people, the busy-ness continues and it’s harder to leave the business behind. On the bike, there’s a clear divide splitting work and pleasure as I ride through the quiet of the bike trail.
The moon over the bay, an egret cleaning his feathers in the morning light, the beady eye of a great blue heron three feet away watching me glide past. It’s a constant reminder that all the worries of work are fleeting. There are things outside that will outlast me, realities far deeper, higher and cleaner than my work life. I’m sure there’s the endorphin thing and exercise, blah blah blah, but that’s not what makes the impact on my soul.