Still The Best Medicine

I woke up Sunday morning feeling a little better than shit, but not by much. I had a ride to co-lead. It’s a job. I’m back to lying on my back for cash. Brings me back to my old messenger days. Much like a prostitute, I put on my tightest clothes and went out to make money for daddy. In return I believe daddy gave me 40%, told me I was his top bitch and promised to only put his Sidi’s in my ass on Tuesday’s.

My ride was 45-50 miles to someplace in Jersey. Doesn’t matter because I didn’t want to go anyway. At 5:00am I heard rain and rejoiced that the ride might be cancelled. At 6:00 the rain stopped. At 7:00 I began swearing and lubing up my thighs. Friction is real. I loaded up my gear, coughed up some phlegm and headed to the start of the ride. North Jersey ain’t Iowa. You can’t go too far without climbing. I sucked it up and upshifted the rise going into Eagle Rock. My legs were defiant in their refusal to work. My head agreed. My heart is usually the matriarch of any effort, regardless of height of climb or speed of descent. The heart like grandma gets shit done. Not today. I coughed up more phlegm and kept turning the pedals. The weather threatened to rain again. I was not happy. I figured that I’d ridden feeling worse. Cold medicines only mask the symptoms. If I didn’t die in the saddle, the mere action of generating energy would begin to cure and not mask my cold. The weather cooperated by allowing me to sweat and for my heart to reconsider it’s decision to sit this one out. 30 miles in I felt the pangs of the cold still very much present. I upshifted to increase my cadence. Concentrate on the pedal stroke as opposed to my lungs being a housing tenement for phlegm. Expel more phlegm. All of that heavy breathing continued to bring the gross stuff out of my lungs. Beats an expectorant any day.


Cycling has always been a cure-all for me. Be the journey from one state to another, through the woods or merely around the block. It not only clears the lungs, but the mind. Problems tend to get left behind. They’re always waiting for me when I get back, but for a few hours the only issue worth confronting involve forward motion, avoiding tree’s and playing a personal favorite of mine called, “Car Door Dodge”. I feel as though I’m the focal point in a Zoetrope with the countryside as my frames. The fluidity of motion in a greater sense keeps the universe healthy. I have noticed over the years a correlation to my own health. Life is motion. Cycling is motion which in turn is life.

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