Cycling the Canal

Dear You,

It's Summer in Upstate New York, and as I live near the Erie Canal ("low bridge, everybody down") -- someday to be among the country's longest parks, with the old towpath now used by joggers and cyclists -- today was a fine time to take my new bicycle for a spin. A park nearby provides easy access to the path, and in previous years I've found several other good places to begin.

Heading out is different from coming back. I connect the earbuds to my little radio and tune to NPR, adjusting the volume and clipping the device to my shirt. After deciding which direction to go and setting the gears to the hardest, I ride at a pretty good clip along the canal. My attention is divided between watching out for the others sharing the graveled lane and paying attention to the stories on "Weekend Edition."

My fellow travelers include other cyclists (often in pairs), joggers (most often young women with headsets, and families (complete with strollers and dogs). It's the last that provide the challenge, since after I ring my little bell I have to hope they cling to the right side so I can pass. I note for the umpteenth time that I'm the oldest one out there. On the rare instances when I spot someone older, he or she is usually on foot. And me without a helmet!

When my watch says I've gone at least a half-hour, I stop, turn around, pocket my radio, and start back . . . slower. This time I'm using my senses more fully. A Canada goose with five goslings glide near the bank. For a moment, a monarch butterfly keeps pace with me inches from my face. Birdsong punctuates the quiet until it's drowned out by the little powerboat cruising by. I detect a sort of hayfield smell to the air. The sun, coupled with the exertion of the outbound round, warms me, and I appreciate the cooling breeze that my ride creates.

Philosophers urge us to "live in the moment." It's at times like these when I come closest to that.