Solitude and Fun

The teenager and spouse is going camping. As someone who doesn’t like doing dishes and routine, I rejoice at the declaration of “Okay. Bye.” But I am wistful, too, seeing my almost-constant companions driving off.

What do I do now? I have the whole house to myself. I can read, write, eat, and watch whatever I want. I can roam in a tank top sans bra without worrying about being inappropriately dressed as a mother. Repeat: I have the house to myself.

I believe in sitting quietly with oneself. Can I do that at this moment?

Nah.

I throw on a red T-shirt and blue shorts, grab my sunglasses from the car, and hop on the bike. The sun fries the concrete driveway in its fierce glory. It is over 90 degree and just passed noon. “Peak tanning hour.” A voice from college days pops in my head -it is Michelle, a blonde-blue-eyed friend who tanned with others. I’d tell them that they looked like pieces of meat cooking in bright daylight.

Almost thirty years later, Michelle is an internist and I am sure she wouldn’t advise baking in the sun. What is my reason for going out at this hour? I don’t really know. I just have to go. It might be to atone for having a pint of ice cream in one sitting or eating steak and corn last night (un-recommended to combine protein and grain in meals). Maybe I am plain antsy.

It is freeing being on the bike. It goes way faster than running. I am no champion rider -I have thighs coated with cellulose. The shape of my body is like the that of a hen. I use my legs for short spurts of speed. It is enough to go woo-hoo. (The key is going woo-hoo.)

Fragrant wildflower from bike ride

My senses are awakened. Under the sun, I am grateful for a light breeze that lifts leaves of various green. Through the brown tint of my sunglasses, the roof lines appear crisp against the azure sky. The world seems cooler.

As I peddle, I remind the abs to tighten. The osteopath mentioned that after childbirth many women lose their core muscle tone. Even though it is over 15 years ago for me,  I have never rebuilt the body. My back has paid for this. Be mindful, I tell myself, get strong. I also love being able to feel parts of the body while I bike or jog.

No one is on the bike path. Not even the prairie dogs that chirp and occasionally run suicide missions across the dirt. I work my legs. Uphill I pant and downhill I savor the extra “wind” on my face. I take in sweet, honeysuckle-like scent of wild olive blossoms and purple wildflowers at certain section of the trail named “Cottontail.”

At my turnaround point, I pull out the bottle I had topped with ice cubes and guzzled with appreciation. Home-bound, I psych myself up with Can-Can music in my head. Tall grass part around bends, revealing the powder-dry path. The sun beats on my arms and legs until I approach an under-path.

A break from being in out the open. Ding-Ding. I ring my biker-bell in the cool tunnel. The echo effect is bonus. Since I am alone, I can ding as often as I’d like. What fun. Ding-Ding. Oh, the things I get to do and feel in solitude.

The bike is back in the garage. Now, I can sit quietly in a house that is all to myself.