old writings ... the hill

gee ... i was on a roll with writing snippets in feb 1997

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The wind howled and whipped the bare branches of the trees over her head, but all she heard was the beating of her heart and the sound of her breathing as she crouched lower on her bike and tried to reach the top of the hill. The terrain was a combination of mud and gravel. The gravel slid out from under her, causing the tires to loose traction and spin, the mud sucked the tires, grabbing them and relinquishing them reluctantly.

She reached a plateau and stopped to catch her breath for the next trek uphill. She grabbed the water-bottle from its cage and laid the bike down. Taking a long drink of the marginally cool water, she walked towards a convenient tree to stretch her calves.

She had taken her sweatshirt off just before this last climb because the temperature was beginning to distract her and now she noticed the wind that was beginning to pick up near the ground as a stiff breeze sent chills down her spine. She considered putting the sweatshirt back on over the T-shirt but decided to wait until after this last climb, until she was ready for the downhill.

It felt more like late summer than late winter. The temperature had reached well into the sixties, and the humidity, while not oppressive was still high for the time of the year. The increasing wind suggested a late afternoon storm, but still being February, she doubted a storm would materialize.

She picked up the bike and made a wish that the weather would hold out. It had been an unusually mild winter for New England, especially considering the amounts of snow the last few had brought. If the weather continued this way, she would be in shape for some longer rides once spring really arrived and other trails opened.