Recollections of the harvest and farmers working fields long past sundown. Walks across campus, heavy book-filled backpacks on our shoulders, feet drifting through drying leaves. The donning of long sleeves to absorb the chill of mornings that advise of even colder times to come.
It’s odd how this time can feel like a stopping point. The end of one cycle, and the beginning of another.
Maybe that’s because I grew up in rural Iowa, lived according to a school calendar for so long, or work in a place with a year that marks time from October through September.
With fall’s arrival, I have an urge to pause accompanied by a yearning to be outdoors basking in autumn’s fleeting colors. A desire to take stock while I keep accumulating memories until the waning daylight and chill truly take hold.
This weekend Felkerino and I fought against the feelings of curling up with a good book, and took to the winding pavement and dirt outside of Harrisonburg, Virginia. Back into the hills after a month of even terrain.
The George Washington National Forest makes a good backdrop for a ride. They say fall already peaked here, but it still looks good to me.
The trees lull me into a contemplative state. I reflect on recent rides, mull upcoming possibilities, and gradually drift back into the present.
Ah yes, where was I? Let’s ride.
Chasing Mailboxes 