Sigh

Always Gonna Be You

I could jump on some ol' highway
Run a thousand miles or more
Unlock some hidden mystery
Behind a distant door
I could sail the seven oceans
Til I crawl upon some long forgotten shore

But it's always gonna be you
Always gonna be you I'm lookin' for

I could climb a hundred mountains
Leave a hard ol' world behind
Wander right across some prairie
Like a man out of his mind
I could walk and stare into the sun
Let it all just burn me deaf and blind
But it's always gonna be you...
Always gonna be you I'm tryin' to find 

Where does a man go for redemption
Where does he take a broken heart
Shouldn't there be some small exemption
If he does all that it takes
To admit to his mistakes
Til the truth batters and breaks his world apart

I could ask for my forgiveness
From the heavens high above
Tell myself my prayers are gonna somehow be enough
And lay down in some angels bed
Convinced I've found the one I'm dreamin' of
But it's always gonna be you...
Always gonna be you that I love.

Where does a man seek his salvation
When does his mind finally go free
Is the pain he feels the only explanation...
For believing lies are true
For the stone inside his shoe
The endless ways the years keep haunting me... 

I could find an empty church
Get down on my knees
Tell myself the mercy
Is a matter of degrees
Then lay down in some angel's arms
Convinced I've found the one I'm dreamin' of
But it's always gonna be you...
Always gonna be you that I love

Always gonna be you... that I love

Kenny Chesney

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Urban Cycling Adventure

Consider this a residual of the “Toronto Effect.”  My cycling experiments on Toronto’s streets taught me two things: urban cycling is pretty interesting (even exciting/scary at times) and...I suck at it.

My cycling skills have improved significantly over the past two years.  This is a good thing because, frankly, when I started I was a menace to both myself and anyone/anything in general proximity.  I’m far less dangerous today as I pedal along mostly deserted country roads.  Me on city streets?  A different story.

I know I sorely lack a few critical skills.  The Chicago Lakefront Trail will either be my salvation or demise.  Time will tell.

A century ago, Chicago’s civic-minded embraced a plan developed by a certain Daniel Burnham.  His plan for the city was revolutionary in many respects, but the plan was never implemented in its entirety.  Here’s where the elders were brilliant - they adopted a central tenet of Burnham’s plan: “The Lakefront by right belongs to the people," wrote Burnham. "Not a foot of its shores should be appropriated to the exclusion of the people.” 

And so, yesterday, I pedaled the entire length of the Chicago Lakefront Trail.  It’s roughly 36 miles roundtrip.  A three-hour adventure.

I was delighted, impressed, amazed, tense, freaked-out and utterly charmed.  I hope to “do the Trail” one day per week for the rest of this season.  It’s quite an adventure. 

The trail begins well south of the city center.  There never was much development there and the beaches, back in the segregated 60’s, were the province of the “coloreds.”  The area remains undeveloped, sparsely traversed.  I found that stretch soothing.  Rolling farther north, there’s been construction/reconstruction.  Chicago once had an airstrip along the lake called Meigs Field.  It was bulldozed several years ago and the land returned to natural habitat for migratory birds.  I rather like municipalities that serve up such treats for the general populace.  Birders wander about.  It’s peaceful. A beautiful dune ecology on display.

The Trail serves many.  There were quite a few cyclists and runners.  They can easily be grouped according to proficiency.  I saw quite a few impressive athletes and quite a few struggling aspirants.  Nice to view hopes, aspirations and (every now and then) delusions on grand display.

I was passed by an absolutely gorgeous young man who rolled past on a “beach-cruiser.” Shirtless, deeply bronzed, flip-flopped, lean, muscular and sporting an impressive ponytail, this honest-to-god Adonis had a small boy riding in a child’s seat.  I watched as they sped away and, all the while, the young man was gesticulating and pointing out features of interest to his rapt protégé.  Watching them made me happy.

As one approaches the central city area, the Trail gets crowded.  Turns out a whole lotta folks like to come to the lakefront: roller-bladers, skate-boarders, chaotic families, oblivious lovers, daredevils, derelicts, people of every age, race and disposition.  Ah, yes, the urban experience!  I had deprived myself too long. 

I could go on...and on.  From the city center, the trail heads north through well-to-do ‘hoods and upscale beach environments.  The denizens were well-manicured.  The vistas gorgeous. 

The entire Trail is a gift, a joy, a blessing and, at times, a nerve-wracking adventure.  I’m hooked.

As I was nearing the end of my ride, I noticed a rather comely lass pedaling towards me.  I’d guess she was in her forties.  I smiled and nodded as we drew closer.  She, in turn, blew me a kiss as she rolled by.

I was utterly, squishily charmed.

* * *

* * *

    .  

No Expression

I’ve got friends I love truly, madly, deeply because they send me stuff like art and music and poesy and such that all-too-often rock me on my heels.  Leave me breathless, sometimes.  Doubled over in pain, sometimes.

So I got me this friend who sends me this ancient vocal clip from an artist I’ve dearly loved for decades: Terry Reid.  Terry Reid wrote/sang/performed incredible music in the early 1970’s.  He faced a lot of competition for ears, given there was a veritable explosion in musical creativity and passion that engulfed us all...all happening at pretty much the same time. 

Even so, Terry Reid had a voice that grabbed my heart and squeezed it hard enough to hurt...and thrill.

Have you ever ridden horses
through a rainstorm
Or a lion through a busy street bazaar
There are many things
I'd love to turn you on to
But I somehow feel
they're safer where they are
Well, some people are
inbound with infatuation
And some others spill
depression as the law
From one's mother
getting at no imagination
So beware then
Maybe sin is at everyone's door
Yes, there's a man I know
with no expression
He's got none at all
Yes, there's a man that I know
with no expression
He's got none at all
But you never, no
You would never see this man laughing
Come to think of it
I've never seen him cry
But he might be sitting
And you hear him singing
But by and by he'll stop and sigh before
his voice would even begin to speak
And he'd just cry
Yes, there's a man I know
with no expression
He's got none at all
Yes, there's a man that I know
with no expression
He's got none at all
Have you ever ridden horses
through a rainstorm
Or a lion through a busy street bazaar
There are many things
I'd love to turn you on to
But I somehow feel
they're safer where they are
Yes, there's a man I know
with no expression
He's got none at all
Yes, there's a man that I know
with no expression
He's got none at all

* * *

Here’s my all-time favorite Terry Reid song:

Rips me up every time

* * *

Suffering

This past week was physically intense.  I pedaled more than 175 miles in conformance with a training regime  sufficiently rigorous (supposedly) to enable someone (like me) to complete a cycling “Century.”  OK.  Maybe.  Hope so.

I’m feeling kinda beat up right about now.

And there were the Olympics.  Say what you will, at some point, in some event, some human being is gonna blow your mind. 

Grooving on Wheaties and Olympics programming, I cycled quite a bit this week.  Enough, actually, to suffer saddle sores.  I had hit the end stage of an 8-week training program to prepare for a “Century” (a 100-mile bicycle excursion).  According to this plan, I was ready to complete a Century when I completed my 74-mile romp.  I have my doubts.

Given that I started cycling so early this season (early March), I’ve actually got the time to embark on a second training cycle!  I intend to peak with an 85-mile romp at the end of the two-month plan.  But, truth be told, the long rides don’t interest me as much anymore.  I already know I can survive them.  I’m gonna focus my attention on suffering. 

That sounds strange, I know.  But that’s exactly what I wanna do.

Folks who’ve trained to run marathons, triathlons or centuries can attest to the importance of raising one’s “lactate threshold” and VO2 max.  This is where the suffering comes in.  If one is to become faster, stronger and fierce, then one must suffer.  One must suffer through lung-bursting “intervals” that take your heart rate to its maximum.  It’s a weird/scary feeling...to hit your maximum heart rate...to float there...only to collapse physically moments later.

There are the “tempo” runs/rides that keep the heart pumping near the level at which muscle cells and mitochondria scream “No mas!” and self-destruct by drowning in lactic acid.

If you want to improve as an endurance athlete, you must suffer.

I contend that the very best endurance athletes endure suffering better than most.  True champions can “out suffer’ their competition.  It’s the suffering that leads to perfection.

I can riff on this metaphor...

A whole lot. 

* * *