Sunday Love Letter: Window

Please note: I am away this week riding my motorcycle to Virginia to Horizon’s Unlimited, a travelers’ event where I have been asked to present my book Spirit Traffic. This post from the archive is appropriate for the ride as April has been unusually cold this year in Vermont and my ride may be initially brisk. Enjoy…

The window of opportunity was open between 11:30 and 2 today. Truly the window of opportunity has been open since early October, but because of my perpetual challenge with timing, I put my money on today’s small window. Today was the day I would ride my motorcycle from my house sitting gig complete (with the luxury of a garage) in Fairfax back home to my condo in Hinesburg. Sure, it’s a distance of a mere 37 miles, but the conditions, while the best they will be for weeks, were not the best they’ve ever been.

Yesterday’s snow had been plowed into banks, the high was 41 degrees, the low 33, so not freezing. And there was a misty drizzle that periodically threatened to break into sunshine—false threats every one. But I love to ride. I love to ride so much I even loved to ride today.

I wore Mom’s turtleneck base layer. Back in the day, we’d call this a long-johns top, but the fabric is black, high tech, shiny, and snug. Base layer feels like a more appropriate name. Over it, I wore what I call my Canadian Tire shirt, a merino wool long-sleeved number, also black. I bought the shirt at the Costco in Montréal, but Canadian Tire sounds so much more outdoorsy and warm. Over that I wore a cashmere vest, over that I wore a bulky—but not too bulky, it has to fit under my armored jacket—turtleneck cashmere sweater. On my legs I wore my adventure tights, fleece long underwear purchased during a chilly circumnavigation by motorcycle of the Gaspé Peninsula, wool socks (also inherited from Mom—inherited is a loose term that she might have translated as stolen, but where she is now, she doesn’t need these fuzzy wool socks, and besides, I gave them to her in the first place), and wool leg warmers. Everything fit under my armored pants and jacket, which I consider a remarkable success after a lovely Thanksgiving.

I was toasty warm. Until I got up to speed.

Below 20 miles per hour, the temperature was merely uncomfortable. Over 30 it was downright cold. At 50, the wind cut through all my layers. But I told myself that I’d be fine, my ride would only be 45 minutes long. No problem at all. Until I looked at the clock between the gauges on my handlebars. I’d been on this particular arctic adventure for only six minutes! I laughed out loud, which steamed up my face shield making me laugh even more, which made me open the shield. The slap of the cold wind against my cheeks took my breath. I stopped laughing.

I reassured myself that discomfort is only a state of mind and began pondering all the different types of discomfort and their distinctions. Emotional discomfort such as grief is different from mental discomfort which I think of as the experience of not knowing something others know, or not getting the joke. Mental discomfort can be alienating in a group whereas emotional discomfort feels more private. Social discomfort is like that you might experience dining for the first time at Thanksgiving with the family of a new sweetheart.

As I rode along the damp and cold road dodging puddles and the splashes from tires of oncoming cars, I started to play with it. Anticipatory discomfort is the discomfort you imagine you’ll feel at that Thanksgiving dinner. Observational discomfort is the discomfort you might feel witnessing something uncomfortable. Digital discomfort is the anxiety that arises when technology craps out on you just before the big Zoom meeting. Seasonal discomfort is the unsettledness one might feel while engaging in an activity better suited for another season.

Riding by Christmas decorations set up at homes along my rural route, I laughed, fogged up my face shield, and had to open it again to the bracing wind on my face. I reminded myself that my discomfort was only physical and a little bit seasonal. I started to sing to the beauty all around me.

Brown hills rolled by. Clouds rolled by. Fields. Farms. Rain and sleet spit for a minute or two soaking into my leather boots. I wiggled my toes in time with the song in my helmet. Usually Mozart accompanies such magnificence, but today it was Hey Ya! By OutKast.

Shake it, shake it, shake it
Shake it like a Polaroid picture
You know what to do

Hey ya! (Uh oh) Hey ya! (Uh oh)

I did a little shoulder dance as I sang leaning my bike from side to side. I was really in the grove until I saw the sign: Hinesburg 3 miles. I started thinking about my north facing, sunless, and often slippery dirt driveway. Anticipatory discomfort interrupted Big Boi and André 3000 mid Uh oh!

I told myself I would go slow. If the bike started to slip on the slush, I’d simply jump off. No biggie. At the base of my steep driveway, anticipatory discomfort morphed into a slushy, muddy reality, but I kept my eyes moving ahead, held firm, and rode. Smiling at the top of the hill, I relaxed and touched my feet down on what turned out to be ice. Uh oh! I put my feet back on the pegs and throttled up into my parking spot just as it started to sleet.