The Things You Notice When You Don't Drive

So, like I mentioned in the last post, I rode almost 14 miles on the bike last night. It was quiet, and generally, all I could hear was the wind as it rushed past my helmet, my continual panting and the shifting of my gears. But I heard other things as well: the running river, trains in the distance, etc.

You notice things you don't when you're zipping past at 60 MPH in a fully encased machine like a car or truck. Like this morning, on our run, I really noticed the sunrise in the east, the pinks and oranges painting the horizon, clouds dappling in front of the sun. Pastel mists rising from the fields, and barns & farmhouses being outlined and highlighted in shadow. If it weren't for the powerlines in the distance, it would be really beautiful.

Or last night, on my ride, I noticed cars that were for sale in front of their owners' homes. I had a chance to take some good long looks at a couple of quaint country churches as I past them, and thought about what their congregations might be like, or their services. What kind of community outreach might they have, when the world is encroaching on them and passing them by at the same time.

But the thing I remembered most distinctly were the gnats that were swarming on Pollack by the river. The sun hadn't set yet, so I was able to see the little black dots darting around before me them a mere second before I tilted my head down and heard them smack into my helmet.

They sounded like pebbles.