Mimosa

Today the temperature on my watch read 75 degrees as a I coasted down to the coast from Sorede. Seventy five. There was a subtle scent of mimosa blooms on the breeze and the air was so clear I could see the fine details of the mountains north of Perpignan, the layers of foothills and smaller ranges below Le Canigou and snow covered crags of Le Pic itself. The blue of the sea sparkled and dazzled and I enjoyed the sensations of summer, the easy warmth of the air on my skin and I laughed at having put on arm warmers earlier.

Today was an easy ride, recovering from yesterday's harder ride north of Perpignan in the Salanque Plain. It was fitting that it was warm on my easy day as yesterday at this time I couldn't feel my toes and was glad that I'd put on the long sleeve Craft shirt under my jersey. Yesterday was also solo: I was picking up Geoff in the evening at the Girona airport after his one week hiatus with his wife in Roma and the fellows I was supposed to ride with didn't show at our scheduled time and place on the outskirts of Thuir. It was cold and threatening rain, but there was likely another reason. Steve had raced over the weekend in Les Boucles Catalanes, finishing 23rd or so on Saturday but not showing up on the finishers list on Sunday. Crash? Something else? I'll leave it to Geoff to sleuth out and end up leaving the rondpoint after 20 minutes and heading north. It was a good ride and the rain never materialized, just damp cold, the bane of someone trying to kick the last vestiges of a cold out of their system while putting in 250 miles.

Today I could feel the sun baking the germs right out of me. My legs were ivory-white, an embarassement at races in May, but normal in February (I tell myself). The easy coast to the sea ends at the promenade and a meeting with Janet and the boys. I ride twice down the promenade with Karl and Johann, proud of each. Karl, with his velo de competition (overheard from a older man explaining it to his wife) standing on the pedals, learning to maneuver his way through people, around dogs and soccer balls, in pursuit; Johann on his Decathlon single speed bike with hand brakes and freewheel, pacing his brother and occasionally taking jaunts across the grass, or turns down side paths, looping through a soccer game in the plaza, twice. People look. I know they notice Karl's kit, his bike, smile at his obvious desire to be like dad, but they also look at Johann.

What do they see? A boy, obviously with Down's syndrome, but a boy laughing, riding a bike, feeling the freedom that all cyclists crave. Johann far from being a captive of his diagnosis, is soaring beyond it. I wonder if that is what people see?

A quick good-bye and I'm heading for home and a shower. Just an hour on the bike today and off with Geoff tomorrow morning. One thing for sure, he's never late.

4:10, 65.7, 1480ft
1:16, 17.4, 600ft