there is something so perfect about the slow slip of reisling out of its glass, the slippery slide of the sunset behind buildings of steel, and the gentle and subtle satisfaction of friday. it holds much promise, much potential, and absolutely no more momentum.
as the tips of my fingers split and crack from dry winter air and re-washed and re-washed and re-washed handwashing, i feel a smile curling. this afternoon, i was beaming. i looked like a goddam rapha shot, meandering (with suffering and determination) up a cracked pavé surface toward some sense of glory and suffering and suffering gloriousnessness. really though, it was glorious. beechwood avenue is always "closed to traffic", but this makes it perfect for dog walker enthusiasts and riders to enjoy the hill or the valley in relative car-free-but-paved bliss. the hill is where it's at.
it's rough. going down is more cautious than carefree due entirely to the surface (lackof)quality rather than the sharp left curve at the bottom. i mark my efforts up the hill based on transition points between this part of somewhat smooth pavement and the next part. they are long enough to mark sustained effort and achieve effective training. it's rough.
it's also next to the Don Valley Parkway, a meandering freeway designed to bring traffic in and out of the downtown core from the 401 that skirts the top of the city. this proximity makes it doubly exciting to ride beechwood for the hill, as the congested and choked freeway is right next to a perfectly broken road, aimed uphill and into the sunset, and the relationship couldn't be more literal in its metaphor. show me the steep and thorny...
the sun sets. everything becomes gilt golden in the process. the cars, petrified inside and out, stop moving. the tableau is set. and then someone rides, slowly and steadily, upward, from stage right diagonally up to stage left, one pedal stroke at a time, the sun glinting off of his fancy helmet, the frost forming on his chin. epic.