Commuting During COVID.

I have started commuting to work. I roll out of bed, stagger to the coffee pot, limp around the block with my dog, and I am off. My bike is parked out front, crammed in a shed with nine other assorted steeds: mountain bikes, hybrids, three speeds, and pedal brakers. I free it from the tangle of pedals and spokes, strap on my helmet, and coast down the road.

At first, I question this choice. There has got to be an easier way to get to work, but I know that this is the way to get to happiness. I start to pedal.

I pass dog walkers and neighbors hustling to the ferry. I pass parents driving their kids to school, and I pass construction workers, runners, and grocklers. Sweat begins to bead lightly on my brow.

After a mile or two the houses on the island become more spread apart, and, instead of manicured lawns, I find myself cycling up wooded hills, and around granite outcroppings. I sail by stands of salt marsh grasses, rustling with bowing Pampas and righteous cattails, then alongside a sleepy pond before finally reaching the rocky coast.

Today, the waves rise up showing their glowing, aqua underbellies before crashing down upon the jagged shore line. One after the other rolls in and up, having no intention of ever stopping. The sky seems to reach down and pull the ocean up to meet in a crisp distant line on the horizon. There are lobster boats and seagulls, cormorants and kelp all bobbing about in the water. The wind blows strong and my breath now matches the rhythm of the waves, long and low.

A mile or two later, I reach home again. I nod at my front door, and then look away and continue. One more lap. This time around I meet the same passersby with an embarrassed smile. I imagine they think I’ve lost my mind. “There she goes again; she must have bats in her belfry. She is like a hamster in a wheel. A horse chafing at the bit.” Maybe I am, but that isn’t so bad is it? It gets me out here.

After a total of nine miles, I pull into my yard again and park my bike with all its compatriots. I am sweaty and my legs feel soft. I jog up the steps and up to the second floor bathroom, where my computer sits on its makeshift desk. I splash some water on my face, redo my ponytail, and turn it on.

Six hours later, I turn it off. I trot downstairs and repeat the morning’s routine, minus the coffee. I have to get home somehow.

This is no cross-country epic adventure, but I am going to keep going anyhow, because the alternative is not to, and life is too beautiful for that.