Sunny Solstice Sortie 2022

On the first day of winter in 2019, I rode what I consider my first "true" solstice ride, starting before the first light of day and finishing well after the last.  I'd done some longish rides to mark the solstice in years past, but just at the start of summer and just long rides to avail myself of the longest day, but not really directly honoring the rising and setting of the sun.  Then in 2019, I decided to ride for at least an hour on either side of the sun to experience every moment of light on the shortest day of the year. It was a special outing, in many ways inspired by meeting my friend Steve, who compared to me or likely anyone else, rides A LOT, but special not simply because it was hard, but more importantly, because I came to enjoy it despite being hard.

It was a cold day.  Temperatures topped out in the mid 20s, and I can remember walking up a paved climb midday as it was the only way I could get some warmth back into my feet.  But then I adapted, grew acquainted with the cold in a way that made it no longer a threat.  I took it in, made it mine, part of me, or to borrow a line from Wallace Stevens, I developed "a mind of winter."  My intent was to stay out until full dark, or roughly an hour past sunset, but in the waning hours of daylight, I opted for an elongated extra loop and kept riding for even an extra hour beyond that.  My mind of winter was at ease, enjoying, and no longer just trying to finish a task I'd set for myself.  It was the shortest day, and a cold one at that, and I'd likely just done the hardest ride I would complete all winter, so I could head into the chill months ahead knowing, not just feeling, that I could handle them.  In a way, I felt I owned the winter, and that is a special feeling.

Chapel Falls

I refrained taking a dip despite having the swim hole to myself.

Since that first foray, I've honored every solstice since, with a ride from full dark to full dark, with the notable exception of this past June when I was otherwise occupied by forgetting what happened two minutes earlier.  Heading into that first summer homage in 2020, I wondered how it would rate for difficulty versus the winter outing.  The challenges would be far different: heat instead of cold, and importantly, it would be a far, far longer ride.  When it comes to riding, I am not a numbers person, but I knew it would be my longest ride ever, so I succumbed and tracked it with GPS, bringing a spare battery to supplement what would be an over sixteen and a quarter hour endurance test for my phone as well.  I rode 215 miles which persists as my longest one day ride, but I'd felt ready for it, and don't feel it presented the same mental, physical, and emotional challenge to conquer as the first winter solstice.  As for the heat, I stopped to swim enough.

Snowmobile Street

Supporting 1.95 tires at 35psi!

Yesterday was different.  To start, literally, I began alongside my bike instead of atop it.  At 6:15AM I pushed my bike down my access way (refraining from calling it a DRIVEway of late), across the street, and into the state conservation land I call a neighbor.  For the first hour and some, I walked, not on the roads because, no surprise, I'm still a wee shy of riding roads at night.  As a perk to this newly increased sense of self preservation, setting out at 19 degrees was far more amenable without the windchill of wheeled travel.  Heck, even mere gloves instead of mittens mostly sufficed.

Almost sunrise

But yesterday was different in another way.  I've always been pretty happy to experience the laps around the sun I am fortunate enough to experience, but this has taken on an accentuated meaning for me of late.  My accident happened three days before this summer's solstice, and I'd been roughly contemplating how to commemorate the longest day.  Visiting me and my addled brain in the hospital, Adele, knowing its importance to me, had let me know that day had arrived, and some time later it was my first successful answer of a doctor's standard diagnostic query of, "What day is it?"  

"It's the solstice."  

No, my recovery is not complete, and in fact may never return me, my mind, and body exactly as it way prior, but yesterday being able to complete my outing, with modifications to allow for comfort in the dark, that means a lot.  This year's solstice ride meant as much to me as that first in 2019.

Really, I did ride some pavement, just didn't take a lot of pictures of it.