Metropolis of Mind.

Making the preparations. Getting clad in your raingear, your armour against the hostile elements, the wind & rain torrents been thumping the islands remorselessly for a couple of days now. Fleece skull cap for warmth under the helmet, clear-lensed glasses against the downpour, weather-protecting pants and jacket, neoprene kayak gloves for the cold, shoes, well, they’ll just have to get wet. Water to replenish in the field. Mount up, click into your peddles, you’re set: bring on the mud, puddles, creeks that weren’t there yesterday, slippery roots, slick moss, and slimy rocks. A solo spiritual journey, making common cause with the elements.

At first, the slow ascent up the mountain causing you to reconsider the wisdom of your choice of activities today. You’re unpleasantly reminded that you own lungs, thinking you didn’t need that dual-suspension after all: too much added weight, too much money. So you distract yourself, drinking in the wet woods alive all around you: lush lime moss carpeting the forest floor, trees growing out of fallen ones, recycling life and habitat. You hear the watery calls of the resident ravens and eagles from somewhere within the canopy around and above. …and life! Rain pouring down on a fresh forest of fir and cedar—you’re in an eco-system now, baby!

At the top of the mountain, the view. Maybe sharing the lofty perch with some eagles. Seen between the moist mists floating by are the islands, ocean, ocean life: seals, sea lions, gulls, though no fishing boats or ferries on a stormy day like today, the weather claiming the sea back from human activities. You recover your breath. Love your water, even if it does taste of plastic from the bottle. Aaahhh, life’s good on the Coast. Reinvigorated, reënergized.

Now, the fun. Downhill, with the trails pretty much to yourself on such an ugly day. You might be the only person on the mountain.

So you climb back aboard, start wheeling down the trail you love so well, disappearing into the forest’s embrace, swallowed whole. Downhill is fast and soggy. You’ve forgotten all about your lungs, now loving your dual suspension, designed just for this west coast downhill riding, gliding smoothly over all sodden stumps and bumps. So what if your brake pads are too wet to work? You’re out there! Your face getting freckled with speckles of soaked earth strewn at you by your front wheel whizzing, your face caked if you spill. These trails are second nature to you by now. You’re at ease, even though you’re rushing through the winding wet single-track, a few shifts of elevation in the terrain adding further spice. Trying not to scare the wildlife. Sometimes splatters of mud making home in your teeth. Fun! Going fast, nearly losing it a few times, could’ve broken a neck. Quickly and suddenly, you find yourself at the bottom of the mountain, alive and well, another exhilarating excursion under your wing, getting better with every outing.

By this point of your ride, your toes long since sloshing about in the swamp that is now your socks, your scrotum floating luxuriantly in the cold pool now residing in your flooded skin-tight spandex pants. Now, it’s the ride home, the endorphins encouraging, fueling you home. Then a hose-down (of the bike), finding a safe place to deposit the assorted pieces of your waterlogged shell. Looking forward to the hot shower, dry relaxed attire. And warm food, maybe something Mexican tinged.