Sunday Mornings

Some mornings getting on the bike to ride home is a monumental task and sort of a drag. Others it is a wonderful commune between rubber and the road. Sunday was one of those mornings. I usually love leaving Good Sam on weekend mornings. There's no traffic, the normally bustling streets of Northwest Portland are near deserted. In short, it's near perfect. And Sunday was the best for some time.

It was cool, not cold, but cool, with a slight nip to the breeze. Just a touch to remind me that fall was not completely banished and keep me awake all at the same time. The sun was out, low in the sky, casting a great golden light on near everything. Instead of the sigh of desperation a I swung a leg over, I got the chill of anticipation. As I rode, I felt the stress of the last 2 nights of work start to melt away. Gone was the tension in my neck brought on by the constantly ringing phone. Gone were the cramps in my hands from entering order after order. Cleared from my mind was the lingering resentment of the resident physicians who couldn't quite seem to see the forest for the trees. But as the rubber hummed along the pavement those thoughts passed away.

When co-workers ask me how I ride home after the night shift, I always extol the virtues of it in its ability to clear my mind. On more than one occasion I have said the even if I have a completely shit night, by the time I have ridden home, it's gone from my thoughts. It gives me the chance to process as needed. Some mornings are better than other but this Sunday was a jewel. I just sat back and enjoyed the ride. Wish every morning was like that.