Only a few miles out on a thirty-mile ride Saturday morning, I knew that something was up. I was breathing harder than usual, even on the relatively flat parts of the ride. (Relax, folks; there’s no heart attack in this story.) Usually when I’m biking east by Duncan Park, I’m easing along, enjoying the view of woods and boulders on the north, tree-lined fields on the south.

Saturday, I was pushing my way toward the curve that sweeps up the low ridge and turns north. Even on that low flat section I was breathing hard. By the time I got to the top of the rise, I was really sucking air and could feel my heart pounding in my chest.

I eased up on the pedaling and kept going, though slow enough to catch a bit of rest and my breath. “What in the world is wrong with me today?” I wondered. “I rode this same route a week ago without any problem.” I shook my head, wondering if a week without exercise could make that much difference. About the time I decided it apparently could make that much difference, I noticed the long grass on the shoulder and road bank to my right. It was bending toward me, swaying a bit in the pulses of the wind.

“Well,” I said to myself, “that would explain it!” Based on the weather forecast for the day, I’d expected a slight breeze, something that would barely bend the tall, slender stalks. This was something more than that. Enough something to make what was usually easy a moderate task and turn what was usually tasking into an outright chore.

So, being the natural glutton for punishment that I am, I rode a few miles more and then turned directly into the wind. I knew it would be harder that way and I could have turned east instead of west and taken a shorter and easier route back home.

Sometimes, though, the easier route does not take us where we want to go, especially when we are trying to follow the Higher Way.

H. Arnett
5/20/18