Friday Follies ~~ October

October is a strange month.  Things happen in October.  I mean weird and wonderful things happen.  Of course the climate is putting on a grand show.  We have the annual roller coaster weather-ride, and the incredible displays of turning foliage and fall sky.  But there is more.

I suspect that folks are a lot more weather sensitive than is normally thought.  At this time, people act differently.  By turns we see our fellow citizens become frisky and playful, and then morose.  I think it’s down in our bones.  We have this urge to go out and finish the gathering and hunting, to prepare for the coming Winter.  That gives us bursts of manic energy.  At the same time, we know that the cold and dark is coming, and that makes us slower and more cautious.

Once, in the midst of a fine mountain October, I was finishing my work.  I worked a factory job then, marking time until I did something else.  My shift started early in the day, and had the benefit of ending in the afternoon.

I was glad.  I’d ridden to work on the motorcycle.  (This was before I realized that motorcycles had been invented specifically to lure me, personally, to serious injury.)  The morning ride into the work had been almost bitterly cold.  But the afternoon was balmy.  I felt the joy of a Friday, with a fine Indian Summer weekend ahead.

I booted the cranky beast, and for a wonder, it started on the first kick.  I rode the thing home, and quickly changed into my cycling clothing.  My intention was to get in a quick ride, race the gathering dusk back to the house, and then begin the weekend in earnest.

I rode out of town, and found myself, without giving much thought to the process, doing the “climb route.”  I suspect that my intentions were to work hard on the way out, and do a mostly coasting ride back into town.  The land in that direction ascended fairly steadily for miles.  Eventually the “climb route” would intersect a state highway that led either up to the Blue Ridge Parkway, or down, but away from my home.  The thing was, that “decision intersection” was on a local highpoint.  It afforded a good vista to the west.

As I climbed, the sun was lowering, and the air chilling, but I was warmed by my exertions.  I reached the intersection, with the sun hanging low in the western sky.

It happened that the clouds were present in enough numbers to make for a pretty good display.  The sun was painting the sky with glory.  I was tempted to keep going, or to stand and watch the sunset display.  Either course would have been folly.  In those days we didn’t have good lights, and my bike was not equipped with any.  There would be no moon to light my way back.

I sighed, and (for once) chose the wise course.  I turned back toward home, and rode (mostly) downhill, as the Autumn evening advanced, and the sky reddened above and around me.  For a while, a late flying hawk kept me company, gliding above me, in formation.

I rolled into the driveway just as the last deep crimson glow was fading.  Perfectly timed, and not to be repeated until Spring, was this ride.  I had just carved a signature on a good week, written in the asphalt of country roads.

Not all rides are epics, or disasters.  Not every one is a comedy act.  Not every day is remarkable.  But sometimes, just doing the right thing, on the right day, leaves one with a sense of peace and tranquility, of accomplishment.

Life is good.