I didn’t think it would end like this. The snow, or rather the ice came last Sunday and I found myself ill-equipped and forced to park the bike. Until this Sunday’s momentary respite, the temperatures have continued to be…miserable. Blowing snow, ice fog, frozen roads and paths, cars slipping and sliding into the curbs and ditches everywhere. Bikecalgary.org’s How was your ride forum littered with “I got up as fast as I fell down”. My wrist ached as if to warn me against riding my slicks in this mess. For once I heeded and drove.
So now I’ve been driving for a week. More importantly I haven’t ridden in nine days. Nine. That’s a lot. The car-commute continues to stink as much as it ever has, worse now that the roads are sketchy and traffic crawling. I see the few, the brave, cycling along on the pathways and I regret having to drive. Not preparing ahead of time. Not having proper tires. My dislike of car-commuting grows.
The body has revolted. Every muscle is suddenly contracted and shortened. Touch my toes? Ha! Can barely touch my knees now, which is good because my knees ache when they’re bent. And when they’re straight. My back aches in places that have been quiet and happy all season. My right pinkie finger and it’s neighbour waver between normal and numb. My neck feels like wire cable. I feel old. I feel like a man approaching 80, not 40.
So I deal with this most unfortunate situation the old-fashioned way. The addict demands to be satisfied and it doesn’t care how. If there’s to be no cycling, then something else. Anything else. While driving to the gas station – something I hadn’t done in weeks – it crossed my mind that they sell cigarettes, that I could be smoking on my way to work instead of just riding the clutch and sucking exhaust fumes. I declined that rush.
Food. I lie to myself and think well, I didn’t eat any doughnuts while stuffing another cookie in my pie cookie-hole. I go back for seconds at every meal. I order the large satay. This was marginally tolerable while riding but lethal now. Self-control falls victim to the ravaging addict and I’m paying the price on all fronts.
Then there’s the drugs. Not any drugs, the drug. Crack. Crack was waiting for me when I got home today. The sight of it causes panic. You know where this road leads but the addict shouts. It’s a wonderful ride he says, besides, it’s the journey, not the destination. You cave. The rush of the first hit shoots through your body, your senses reeling. Dopamine levels shoot off the charts, the pleasure center at Command Central takes down the defensive mechanisms. It’s like fireworks, on the inside. The addict is satisfied. For a moment.
But it doesn’t last. More. You need more. I resist. Debate. A fight. We rationalize. I accept defeat and feed the addict, bathing in the sensations until they flit away again. More. No. More! At what cost? MORE!! I think we’ve had enouMORE I SAID! GIVE. ME. MORE! And I do.
So where do we go from here, my addict and I? We spread our disease and share our poison. We infect those around us and seek out our kindred. So I share with you.
- Dark chocolate
- Peanut butter
- Maple syrup
- Crispy rice
Melt the chocolate in a double boiler. While that’s happening, mix the peanut butter, maple syrup and crispy rice (cereal) together into spherical-like blobs. I assume I don’t have to say “put them on a pan” or other more familiar, obvious steps. While you’re waiting for the chocolate to melt, drop them in the freezer to make them easier to handle. Pour melted chocolate over spheri-blobs. Eat. Eat more. Eat more than you should. Gorge. The earthly equivalent of the White Witch’s Turkish delight. My wife is my dealer. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need another hit.