Long Hill

Today at 5:30 in the afternoon, I felt compelled to get outside and get some exercise. I had been busy most of the day and unable to really be outside in, what seems to me, to be one of the finest days we have had since October. So I jumped onto my yellow beach bike, in a warm grey wool turtleneck, and thick black cross country tights, and set out of the driveway to the right, toward Manchester, thinking I would head up to Singing Beach and back. The sun was still fairly high in the sky, say, at about a 60 degree angle so I still had plenty of daylight. But it was quite cold riding into the wind. My hands were freezing by the time I got to Captain Dusty's. I started to turn around, and in doing so, felt the warmth of the 60 degree angled sun. How could I possibly miss out on this, I questioned. Would I simply show back up in the driveway and tell Bobby that it was too cold? That certainly felt like a pathetic thing to do. After one moment of speculation, I took a hard left hand turn at Haskell Street, determined to get "inland" just enough to take the bite of cold off of my hands.

It worked. By the time I made it up Grapevine Road, I was riding with freedom and ease. I imagined myself looking more graceful than the men and women that I see riding, in full regalia, and force, as though they were competing in the Tour De France. I could not possibly ride like that, and even if I could, I think I would look like a blow up doll in the bright colored tight clothing, and worse, I would have no matching freinds riding with me. So, I opted for the Grace Kelly rides a bike with sunglasses look, and I think I really pulled it off. The basket on my yellow bike carried only my cell phone, not the baguette and wine and tomatoes of summer. We are only, after all, just getting started.

As I continued past Gordon College, with the sun now at only 50 degrees, but hands comfortable and happily getting some sort of a sweat going, I wondered how far I should go. I began mapping various routes in my head, but decided it best to be conservative, and pull into the driveway before dark, without eliciting any worry from my husband. I took a sharp left onto Essex Street, also known as route 22. I peddled past Mullen Advertising, or at least where they used to be.....maybe they are still there, I did not notice. What I did notice was my proximity to Long Hill, a beautiful Trustees of Reservations site, which is also the site on which I fell in love, with my now, second husband, Bobby. We would meet there and walk in the gardens and talk and share a sandwich, or pretend to eat, but we never really did because when one really falls in love, one is never hungry.

I rode up the hill and felt immediately sweet and tender. It had been easily 3 years since I was last there, and it felt like it was about time to go back. I rode past the few teenagers in the parking lot and parked my bike on the path leading up to the large brick house on the gardens. I walked with emotion and a childlike faith in beauty. Instantly, the warmth of the now 40 degree off the horizon sun, filled my being, and I walked amidst thousands, and I repeat, thousands of pretty white snow drops. They lined every possible path, and invited me back to the equally white and pretty memories of walks and talks in the garden, which, though beautiful, never occured at this time of year.

I meditated under a red Buddhist like structure with a bench that looked out over the gardens and the now setting sun. I thought about my father, who died 18 years ago tomorrow, and my mother, and I thought about nothing, which is what you are supposed to do when you meditate, and I felt the warmth of God and the injection of something I don't recognise, better than a sip of wine or a shot of morphine or anything I have ever felt. It was perfect peace.

I think on this day, the Ides of March, my bike went where I needed to be, where I could be still, and where I could feel grace. I think that I have been told that Sundays don't "count" as Lent. They are "days off" from the rigors of abstinence and self sacrifice. Although I can hardly deem myself worthy of a day off from anything arduous, I will declare that the beauty of Long Hill, complete with Snow Drops and 30 degree setting sun, was a free ride. It was the spring and the warmth and the grace that I have craved on these cold Lenten days. It was heaven.........