The roads speak to me

Here I am now, mounted to my steel steed of transport and play.  As I spin circles I feel as though I am gliding over the surfaces of the earth while maintaining a direct connection with what rests beneath.  Looking down reveals a vignette of things both long past and soon to come: Road.

Reading the road is like understanding an intimate language that transcends verbal communications of any sort.  To both feel and see while simultaneously adapting to the contours of the landscape strikes me as the equivalent of a sailor navigating the unknown vastness and uncertainty that is the sea.  You can only know it truly by approaching it and embracing it for what it is.  With unexpected ramps, winding switchbacks, varying terrain and seemingly endless flats with rolling hills, the land tells its story through innumerable subtle nuance.

 Great roads tell tales of conforming to the curvature of the plains, mountains, valleys and straits.  A path chronicles history over the decades past and suggests things such as an appreciation for nature (and often time a lack thereof), overzealous ambition, and both patience as well as hastiness. The plowing of bulldozers and digging of excavators inevitably differentiates the natural flow of continents from expedient routes of transport.  In turn the road reveals itself as unit of measure that is directly proportional to our willingness as humans to traverse the planet as it is.  Such aforementioned roads are the ultimate conveyors of our planet's current state.  They speak a language that has either a highly industrialized and mechanized dialect, or a gentle, admiration induced compassion for nature.

Although a blasted sliver of highway dissecting a colossal mountain pass may indeed facilitate quick movement, the greatest roads are indeed those of least resistance.  Simple in nature though they may be, the best paths speak volumes as they allow us to follow in the footsteps of those who paved the way with grace.  With respect and admiration, I now continue onward, feeling the textures translate through my bicycle and into my muscles, nerves and bones.  A direct translation is understood as I continue forward with receptivity being my key to movement, thus allowing me to bend and stiffen with the ebb and flow of the ride.  The road will only continue to afford me a wonderful journey so long as I am capable of speaking its language.  

Continue on road, and I will be here to listen.