The hum of life drummed morosely in my ear. No will to do any more than exist, like I was living someone else’s life for them. Until I heard Life drumming the rhythm to bring my Hero Queen back to life. Until I re-discovered the thrill of cycling from the first chapter of It’s Not About the Bike (Lance Armstrong).
(Fresh with the knowledge of having the holes of cancer burning through his body, with a few days left to live) Lance Armstrong writes -
I was in shock... ‘Oh my God, I’ll never be able to race again’. Not ‘Oh my God, I’ll die’. Not ’Oh my God, I’ll never have a family’. These thoughts were buried somewhere down in the confusion. But the first thing was ’Oh my God, I’ll never be able to race again’.
These lines jolted me back to my cyclist self. An uncontrollable urge took me – to experience the surge as I glided down the slopes of Yeoor. I almost couldn’t wait for evening.
It’s a chilly windy day, overcast; the kind that makes you dream that it’d snow in Thane. I dug out a warm sweatshirt, afraid that the wind would catch me unawares as I cycled. (It ended up around my waist later as I zoomed about).
My Queen was waiting for me, draped in pigeon shit of the last 3 months. Brakes > check, guards > intact (not vandalised); I decided that some air in her tyres and a good oiling was all she required. And we were off.
It’s a little embarrassing to admit that I usually take the easiest routes about; warming up on the numerous slopes of Lok Puram and then advancing to those of Vasant Vihar -Siddhachal and finally Lake Upvan. I have never cycled beyond that, but I have never felt the inclination to. These are by far the most scenic, least congested and above all, the easiest routes to pedal.
Wheeling her to the cycle-wallah and panting up those darn slopes, I sorely regretted having sold off my hand pump! Anyway, once Queen was fixed up, I kicked her pedal up into place and with a gigantic push... I was suddenly home. Funny how you can miss something so sorely and not know it. I hadn’t even begun to imagine how much I needed that rush. As I sped down the familiar slopes, the wind blew every last thought out of my head. (Immediately, I wish it hadn’t, because I nearly rammed into an oncoming bike. Hehe. Mental note to retain road sense next time I get a high like that).
But what exhilaration! Every molecule on those familiar roads was like a long-lost friend I’d met again. Every speed-bump, every pot-hole was by some weird trick EXACTLY where it had been 6 months ago. (Shows... It’s not the TMC’s complacence; it’s the extra congestion that ruins the road-experience for everyone; even more reason to take to bicycles. QED)
I made a quick stop at Pop’s office to show off that Queen is out again.
And contrary to what I’d imagined, I was actually able to cycle the slope up that leads back home... (A feat I have never been able to achieve on first day back to the cycle)... THAT was the extent of my rush.
I was alive... Apart from the pounding heart, the blood gushing through my veins so fast that my arms itched, the fresh oxygen making my brain swim, the lactic acid disappearing painfully; everything was secondary. What brought me back to life was the sheer pleasure of the ride.
As I wind down at home drying off all the burnt fat (the sweat, dodo); I realise that the night is going to be rough. Vigorous exercise after a sabbatical of several months is bound to take a toll on my muscles. I happen to not care. I WILL return to my bicycle tomorrow.
Just to experience that thrill of speeding through the streets, of being the master of my own spirit once again.
Dear lady can you hear the wind blow
And did you know...
Your stairway lies on the whispering wind...
