What a Place!

Praying as I pedal that this not be the path on which I pass I am particular about picking a path vacant of the petroleum powered population conveyors that power people from point to point out here in Paradise. I pass ponies and pastures. A phone call, Shimano will warranty my cassette but the parts cannot arrive by parcel until July is past and August is upon us. I can be patient. 

I power uphill passing a sign warning of snow plows. Particles of moisture perturb my physique as I push past the pain. The hot wet particulates oppose the need to pay attention to any plows or snow or snow plows. Pavorotti and Pachini play, their clear pipes prophesying the tail wind pushing upward which I will power against in pain when I pedal down the opposing path. 

I perpend as I push onward through the pines, the hum of rubber on asphalt failing to pacify my desire to press forward. I pass the power plant. I am pumped. I do not pander to the perception that my pace has past the point of power, I do not turn around. Feeling each precious, passing moment I pronounce “what a place!”

I ponder over the playful path of this rider and in memory what the writer shall pontificate upon when putting pen to paper, what shall I post? Perhaps it will be playful. Perhaps prophetic? 

Or due to mild hypoxia it might just be plain stupid. I am pooped.

The ride – South Cache Valley and Blacksmith Fork