Clock the Walk

Wink, wink – it’s gone. Back to almost Sunday and soon to be Monday. It scares me. Can’t it be Saturday one more day, please?

Gotta wonder why the weekends leap by so fast. Like a comet through the sky. Even faster then the morning coffee line-ups at the local Tim Hortons.

I mope about Saturday mornings on the bike. Rolling here and there. The luxury is in the time. Engulfed by the freedom of the space. Playing it up outside. In the grand outdoors. No rush to finish. Happy to carry on.

Till you think about the week - the clockin’ it wears thin. Give in to that Monday through Friday.

Be here then. Go there later. Get it done now. Don’t wait till tomorrow. Do it today. More to do the next day.

Come the weekends we have the count to enjoy. Ringing in the slow motion of the hour.

But why does it have to go so fast?

No time to stop and savour.

Do this, do that. Get caught up on this. Then that. See the fam damily. Hang with the friends. Wash the dishes, do the laundry. Walk the dog. Clean, vacuum. Empty the garbage.

Before we know it. It’s back. Time to start all over.

Back to clocking the walk.

A Weekend Roundup

Only one thing I look forward to on the weekends.

That’s going for a long bike ride.

Love the "Let's Bike!" part!

Most favourite part? Not having to rush home to change, shower, eat and run out the door again for - whatever.

The heart, the mind and the body are tuned and tired. Complete with a holding tank full of fresh, clean air.

Yesterday I travelled new roads. Traversed lagoons, seaside scapes -  majestic mountain ranges wavered in the background. I rolled up staunch steep hills, grunting and groaning with each turn of the pedal - an awakening of the senses.

Passing forests, bearded with grafts of green mosses. Streams running through. Rabbits chasing birds. Songs echoing the wavering filters of the leaves of changing tree types.

Some arbutus for sure. Firs, then cedars. Horses clopping along roadside. Sheep gathered in fields. Rolling farmlands. Here, there and then again.

Curbside harvests available for purchase. Locally grown pork, chicken and beef even. Pottery artists. Countryside lanes. Classic cars meandering with their Sunday family drivers.

No one is in a rush.

The odd pack of cyclists wave me by. I pedal on.

Doesn’t matter about the time. I have it.

For that, my health, my family and the environment I live in - I am so grateful.