I spend hours each day considering weather, season, risk, etc. in preparation for the weekend. My wife thinks it’s a little over the top. On some level I don’t disagree, and her comments persuaded me to consider the root of my actions. The answer is both gratifying and cringeworthy: Art. After preparation and practice, the terrain becomes a canvas, the route, the traveling, a brush stroke. Ha! how self righteous that sounds.
But this is not just some silly pastime. Its the collision of consciousness and physics and true fable, temporarily spewed into existence by a crude and unapologetic earth monster. Ok maybe not totally unapologetic. I am sorry, I do realize how selfish I am.
