The first time I did that six-hundred vertical, my legs, like my lungs, burned. By the time I wheeled into home, I was torn and tired and murdered. It was as though I'd run up my personal Kilimanjaro twice.
It was queer. After all, I'd been up here more than a few years. I go on walkabouts at any opportunity. Then the reasoning kicked in; like snowshoeing, riding a bicycle calls upon the use of other muscles, and, in the case of the first time, muscles in places you didn't even know you own.
A few weeks later, that route was old hat, just something I was doing that summer...
It was the first time this season and I anticipated the burn and exhaustion. I was pleasantly surprised how easy it was. Maybe easy isn't the right adjective, but to compare it to what I'd experienced the year before would've been an outright lie.
The zen of zipping down-valley at the speed of inertia and push back up. Having wheels at people speed. Like trills of hummingbirds through the valley and the slow-greening of the High Country, I move in time to a waltz of warmer weather.
Spring is here and summer isn't that far off..