[I was going to call this post “Fall on the bike path” but that would invite a catastrophe that I’m not interested in tempting… or repeating.]
Fall is a two-edged sword. Yes, there is the the spectacular foliage. Yes, the dreaded three H’s – hazy, hot, and humid – succumb to the three C’s – clear, cool, and crisp. But it also means the end of vacations, beach days, and a carefree attitude that summer always seems to beget. If spring is the season of new life, then autumn, like George Harrison, reminds us that all things must pass.
The local bike path captures all the highs and lows of the autumnal equinox. For example, there is no better place to appreciate the colorful pageantry of deciduous trees. They’re right there, at hand. No need to fight the tolls or endless line of leaf-seeking SUV’s crawling up route 3.
On the other hand, the very same leaves that are a joy to behold can be a nightmare to navigate. With the path’s edges obscured by decaying flora, if I’m not attentive to the track of my tires, there’s a fair chance that I could end up in a ditch. Stopping and turning on wet leaves is a hazard every bit as well known to four-wheeled vehicles as it is to the two-wheeled variety. The leaves also cover the mile markers painted on the path.
The air is indeed less humid and more crisp; the memory of the humidity that is the bane of some folks is as hazy as a sultry summer sky. But that also translates to cold on my unprotected ears and nose… and fingers and toes. A moving bike brings its own “wind chill factor” along for the ride. I confess that I don’t like the cold.
Whereas in summer the path was carpeted with sunlight, the lower angle of the sun casts visually arresting zebra stripes of light across the path. Luminous to be sure, but dangerous in that it camouflages obstacles in the path. Speaking of which…
There are plenty of obstacles in the fall, some inducing falls. For some reason, with the leaves come small branches whose radius seems to be magnified when I feel the thump on my posterior.
The most interesting bit of natural detritus is the lowly acorn. Out of tiny acorns come mighty oaks, yes, but hit at the right tire angle, a tiny acorn becomes a mighty projectile. They don’t endanger the rider, but woe to the one who stands nearby as one of these bullets shoots sideways from my bike. I’m sure I’ve taken out one or two squirrels or other wildlife in my travels.
Those selfsame animals can prove another nuisance. While they’re out gathering their winter store, I’m riding along simply trying to stay erect in this virtual minefield. Watching out for them is more than I can deal with while self-preservation is foremost in my mind.
Reflecting on it all, there are a lot of similarities between spring and fall: increased animal activity, more debris to deal with, cooler temperatures. But where spring means a new biking season is imminent, autumn augurs its end. Soon, the path will be better suited for cross-country skiing, an activity for which I am ill-suited.
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