The Mountain Dance

I would like to say the mountains met me with gentle conversation but they did not. Their cruelty began early and livened our time together with sharp grades and undulations. For I am the traveler the mountain understands. I am the lone traveler with the human powered engine and the cooling sweat that drips onto the thirsty parched pavement.

Those bigger vehicles with their metal pistons and fake atmosphere would not understand this journey as I do. Those “others” float fat on gravy seats hastening the throttled explosions under the hulking hood while portly maneuvering around the bends made so generous for their proud obese fenders. Those damned vehicles that will someday deliver my doom. Curse them all!

My eyes are hollow now and I look through my eyelids for respite ahead. As the snow appears I feel the cool promise or relief but know it is a lie told only to the weaker pockets in my brain to keep doubt at bay. At 9000 feet the only relief is at home, thousands of feet below.

The serpent dance has begun on my pedals as I am standing looking to find the mythical rhythm to get me through the kick and deliver me to a gentler bend. In truth I want more. Suffering is the way, the badge, the life. Here on this road built by men long dead and surrounded by monstrous boulders I am searching for a moment of my own and the only souvenir I can carry home is the suffering.

Cresting the top I tug at the zipper on my jersey providing the only protection I will have on the cold descent back to the toil of cars and bustle. I lean, bend and contort my body into shapes to steal any precious speed I can find. The wheels are whirling now and the room for error was vacated at the top. Lean left and push hard on the right pedal. Pick that line and carve, carve, carve!

The ride down is the drive home from the hot date. The real action was on the way up but the way down gives me a chance to relish in the hot sweat and love. It’s a beautiful dance of pain and desire and the mountains are always a wonderful partner. A brief break for refreshments and it’s time to go again. The orchestra begins to play a waltz I will never tire from and I will always answer to with lively legs and a pumping heart. The glory is in the mountains.