I only ride naked bikes. My first ride of the season today reminded me why. The temperature, Im guessing, is in the mid-seventies. But that doesnt describe the soft air and the warm wind in your face, the smell of recently overturned fields ready to be planted. On my return I did have to clean my leather of a couple of dozen splattered yellow bugs, and wash my face and brush my teeth, but this just proves that I was moving through something coming to life. Just a hundred miles, but great fun.
I stopped at a lake to have a smoke. A lonely old fisherman just pulled in a big one as he spotted me. "Look at this big ol carp, I didnt think they would bite yet." "Have you ever been wrong before," I asked. "Of course, plenty," he said as he threw the big fella back. A big fish on a soft day and the old man was happy.
I have meandering thoughts when I ride. There is the rare intense focus about something that feels like an insight during a good church service. It may be something like Aristotles prote philosophia, a logical axiom; the closest the moderns can come to it is in the concept of certainty, and--no suprise here--they make it trivial, a la Descartes or Wittgenstein. Or, more often, thoughts come and go--did I call whats his name about this problem, or I wonder if a student will recover from something he thinks is awful--but those thoughts are always surrounded by the warm soft air and the reflections are always satisfying. No discord follows. Winter is over.