... and in the snow, there is cleanness.  Neat, patient layering of camouflage over scars, sins and the debris of a careless life.

The snow will melt, the surface will once again regain its stubble and uneven grain, and nothing of substance has been permanently altered by the fall of crystalline, transient beauty.

Which is truth, and a lie.

The blanket, the drift and spray was never the method of transformation.  The growth made possible by the watering of the soil will overcome the rest; and thus a moment of stillness and hope, even when known to be ephemeral, will become that which towers and shades and protects in the green stillness.

Winter forgotten.

...and miles to go before I sleep.

As one wanders, Frost-like, through the woods, there are inevitably signs of passage from those that have gone before.  D+S carved into a tree, perhaps, or a well-worn path around a boulder leading to an easily-forded section of a stream.  Other places, other meadows, the signs and markings may simply not be found, and one is left with untrammeled wildflowers, a choice of direction and approach... and no warning signs if the meadow is secretly high-mountain swamp and likely to result in rangers finding only your hat sitting on the top of what appears to be solid ground.


As in marriage, so as in life.  And birthdays, I suppose.  I find paths and patterns in my meanderings that I know were cut with care by my mom and dad.  I find other areas where the path simply fades out, and I'm left to cut my own trail into the undergrowth and hope that I'm still going the same direction I was when I set out.  Turns out moss actually grows on every side of most trees that I've seen, leaving me no conclusion when I find myself at a loss to where I am ...other than that I've ended up at the South pole.
The clear and simple paths, the ones that avoid cactus, poison ivy, sudden drop-offs, and potential unpleasant surprises of that ilk don't cause much consternation, or wonder, for that matter.  Other travelers, having been through that, or having the foresight to avoid it, have embedded the route into the earth, leading you safely past.  It's the meadows, however, where the footprints become sparse, then invisible, that cause me to pause and reflect.
If the path has stopped, why?  Is this a bad idea?  Here Be Bog Womblers signs were eaten, along with the previous souls that came this way?  Is it safe, and thus you can pick your own bed of flowers to lie in for cloud-watching and star-gazing, and peacefully while the afternoon away?

Or, is this simply a place and a time where it's more important that I be left to discover what needs to be found on my own?  No small and hidden wildflower, when pointed out by another, has the same magical impact of seeing it yourself.  No warning of 'that may sting for several days' can convey the reality of having suffered through the reaction oneself.

I, Ryan, having been blessed with goodly parents, a resoundingly adept and beautiful wife and friends that matter, am happy.  I'm grateful for trail guides, for purple mountains' majesty, and for someone to show me the vistas I missed while I was on my hands and knees, looking for flowers amidst the ferns.  I'm pleasantly surprised to find that my Life, the Universe and Everything year feels not much different than my twenty-fifth, other than the kids needing far fewer diaper changes and more car keys.  I'm also kinda happy that the number of my parents' anniversaries is still greater than the number of years I've been roaming this planet, no matter what people yell at me when I'm on my bike.

Life is sweet.

Locations and locomotives

Where does greatness lie?

In the pursuit of life, liberty and happiness, there is often little heed given to moments of stability.  Much ado over change, chaos and uncertainty seems to be omnipresent, and yet there is no joy in being consistently balanced on one leg, Karate movies notwithstanding.
Greatness does not come with conquering nations.  Greatness does not find itself in the trappings of movements, causes or blind endorsements devoid of thinking.  Greatness does not lurk in the edges of madness and despair, but it starts to appear when the struggle to move toward light and singleness of purpose becomes all-important and all-consuming.  It comes even more to the fore when that singleness of purpose encompasses love.

Greatness lies in my arms and smiles at me and makes the world revolve, softly, as I sleep.

Land of Enchantment. And Rental Cops.

Strange town, Trinidad... and yet it's the first spot of true verdant, well, anything after leaving Colorado Springs and heading South.  I was hoping for some 'A Whole New You, While You Wait' parlors along Main Street, but alas, Trinidad's reputation was not matched by reality, at least in that aspect.

Tammy hit on the brilliant idea to look up the smallest, middle-of-nowhere towns that we passed through on her phone (hooray for iPhones) and surprisingly, there were some pretty stellar things in some amazingly blasted looking places.  There wasn't an app for 'make the stupid headwind stop' though, and we managed to stay on a greater than 1:1 miles to the gallon, but only just.

Wandered among the great unwashed at the balloon festival, and my theory was once again validated: there is no event, no matter how high-minded or full of artistic merit that cannot be improved by the liberal addition of carnies.  We gorged on turkey legs, pulled pork sandwiches and almost made it to the funnel cake line... and then realized the crowds we were pushing through WERE the funnel cake line.  We absconded to the bus, and returned to the mall, making it barely in time to have a Mall Security Officer (like a real officer, only with less fat and twice the USDA recommended fiber!) tell me I was no longer welcome on the mall grounds.  I thought about being hurt, but then decided to eat candy by the handful while sitting on the hotel bed instead.

Oh, the balloons were really cool, lest I fail to mention that.  They finished up the night with a fireworks display, but sadly, not one timed to coincide with the balloons being in the air, and perhaps allowed to fire back.

Sick Of It All... Okay, Just The Bad Parts.

Tired of cold.  Tired of mud.  Tired of rides that are just fighting equipment and the weather and terrain.

I've caved already.  Riding will take place later in the year.

Started working with a physical therapist to keep my back from locking up and to get some better explosive power for sprints and climbs... and some core strength so I don't rag-doll my way around on the bike anymore.

Maybe this won't be the year of supreme punishment, but maybe it'll be another year of improvement and happiness once the trails are dry and I don't have to ride in fifteen layers of clothing.

More importantly, yay Rich, yay Reese.  Go, fight win.  Great to see hope and love win out.

- Ryan

Cold

Back out after being sick and then just sick and tired of cold and busy without time to ride and enjoy it.  Need more daylight, more warm and less adulthood.

Laptop Died, iPhone Sucks For Blogging But I Rode