I’ve ridden the Minuteman too many times to count. On Thursday I got to the end of the trail, took a few pictures for Instagram, turned around and headed back. I mention how often I’ve ridden it because there are still parts of it I’d never noticed before. The previous week I realized there was a cemetery alongside the path that I’d never seen. Someone had been clearing out trees near the path and one day headstones suddenly appeared before me, looming over the path.
On Thursday I noticed for the first time a farm nestled alongside the track. My heart leapt when I saw a pair of horses alongside a wooden fence, stretching their necks out to chew on the branches of a sapling on the other side. I stopped, set down my bike and took pictures. Few things can compare to the joy of spotting an animal somewhere I hadn’t expected. I feel that elation every time a bunny bolts across my path in Somerville. There are plenty of them there, but the mere fact that I’m in a city just outside of Boston makes them a novelty to me. Since I’ve been cooped up so long I’ve gotten to the point that even squirrels can cause a jolt of glee.
It was about four, and the afternoon sun was still bright in the sky. Considering how late it was when I started my ride, I expected a darker ride home. I felt like I was racing to beat the sunset, but there was no evidence that I was. My route was shady, but not even remotely dark. I was probably just guilting myself because I had meant to leave my apartment before noon. The ride home always feels faster than the ride out. As I got closer to Arlington, I noticed a man kneeling beside his bike, helmet still on, bike standing upside down, rested on its seat and handlebars. I saw an empty innertube next to him. I had flashbacks to my own tire fiasco, still very fresh in my mind, and pulled over.
“Did you get a flat?” I still had my hand pump attached to the frame of my bike.
“Yes, do you have a tire guage?”
“No, but I have a pump.”
“I am a cynic and I long for that sort of optimism.”
It turned out I wasn’t the first person to stop. He had more luck than I had. Someone had stopped with a CO2 Cartridge, filled up his tire and left. He had a road bike with slim tires that were likely to burst if they didn’t have enough pressure. There’s a strange sense of comradery when you ride a bike. Often on long rides, passing cyclists will give a friendly wave. I have heard many times that bicycle touring makes people have a more optimistic outlook on human nature. I am a cynic and I long for that sort of optimism. This was my first taste of it.
I told him I planned on investing in a tire gauge, but he was welcomed to use my hand pump. I gave him some pointers on its use since my own experience had taught me well what worked and what definitely did not. He pumped his tire just a bit more, tested the pressure with his thumb, and we chatted for about ten minutes about my trip cross country. He told me about his own attempted trip when he was younger through the southern states. I believe he started in South Carolina.
“Have you always been like this?” he asked.
“What? Independent?”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
“Good for you!”
I tried to casually insert my blog into the conversation. I’m not much of a salesperson so I couldn’t slip it in naturally and gave up. It crossed my mind that it might be a worthwhile idea to have a business card with my social media handles and website on it. I haven’t quite decided if it’s a good idea or a terrible one.
The Stars On the Horizon 