I think a lot when I go cycling. A lot more than usual, I mean. Yesterday the number of assorted, completely unrelated, fastidiously developed trains of thought that passed through my grand central station astounded even me. Among these:
God, I really love biking. Why oh why don’t I do this more often? (Answer: Because it really, really hurts my ass.)
When I think I “need” to get a “faster” bike, what I really need are stronger legs.
(Upon watching a small pack of harleys cruise past me:) I wonder if there is any relation between the ascribed “sex appeal” of a motorcycle and the notion that, at least from behind, a woman looks like she’s getting it on with the bike when she’s sitting on it?
I think a cool invention would be a point-and-shoot camera (or, even better, a camcorder) that could be operated safely by a moving cyclist. There are jillions of moments that I wish I could capture while in motion.
I wonder what I would do if someone suddenly opened their car door directly in front of my path? (Answer: brace for impact)
Heyyyy, are those cute girls looking at me? (Answer: no)
Do I look fat? (would not dignify that question with an answer)
People are morons. Observing the way they drive and conduct themselves in what is supposed to be leisurely traffic along a beachside boulevard thoroughly supports my conclusion. I am ashamed to be counted among their number… Great, yet one more thing I feel the need to apologize for. (But to whom?)
Is it worth bicycling 16 miles roundtrip to a music store just to buy a $1.50 part for the guitar I’m building? Yes, it is. Only because I wanted an excuse to go on a bicycle ride of about that distance.
… Still, I really wish the guy who I phoned at the music store would have advised me that they had recently relocated half a town away. (Yes, I found out they had moved the store when I reached the old location and read a hand-writen sign posted there.)
… And brick-and-mortar retailers wonder why fewer people buy stuff from them. Thank God for mail-order.
It’s a really neat thing they finally completed mapping the entire human genome. I wonder how long it will be until concrete applications of the revolutionary sort will be made available to humanity at large.
(quickly followed by…) I’m pretty sure that If I owned a fine restaurant and was raking in good cash from it I certainly wouldn’t go out of my way to ensure that both my show-off, look-at-me sports cars were color-coordinated. In Big Bird Yellow.
(and, finally:) I wouldn’t own and operate a restaurant if it was the last job left on earth. That must be the purgatory of small business owners.
And so on.
When I end my ride I find that this frantic level of mental activity basically drops to zero, as if my mind was congratulating itself on a job well done by going into some near-comatose “cool-off” period. Consequently, I find many of my thoughts immediately begin to dissipate (hence the pot-luck nature of the previous list), well before I can write them down, like that vivid dream that wakes you in the middle of the night but whose details you just can’t recall by morning. One of my worst habits, panicking over the possibility that I “may have missed some Crucial Detail about ___ …” really kicks in then. Now I remember the real reason why I don’t bike more often. So much for getting any sleep tonight.