Spring to life on Rails to Trails

We spent some quality time at Rails to Trails last Sunday afternoon. The kids brought two of our poodles. The dogs nearly hyperventilated, sniffing signposts and foliage draped in the perfume of budding growth and possum droppings. Every time I visit that renovated rail bed, I come away feeling rejuvenated myself.

Even the day a long black snake slithered across the path just inches from my bike tire, I went home experiencing renewed energy. Some folks call that an adrenaline rush. I have seen wild turkeys, hawks, loads of rabbits and deer along the trail. There is something indescribably therapeutic about whizzing along the scenic route of locomotives, beside bucolic pastures and gurgling brooks, taking in the sun, revitalizing your spirit and working up a sweat.

One morning, I rode out with contempt for the world. It was one of those despondent days, when it seemed all that could go wrong had. I was angry and conflicted. I was confused and sad. I was unappreciated and misunderstood. I felt old. I felt ugly. I felt forgotten. I felt lost and misguided. And I felt it was everyone else’s fault but my own that I found myself in an unmitigated funk.

Out on the trail, I put on my headphones and strapped on my helmet. My misery and I pedaled out beneath the outstretched limbs of sycamores and maples, the summer humidity soaking the thin cotton of my shirt. As athletic bikers passed in streaks of streamlined latex, I picked up the pace and listened as Sheryl Crow crooned:

“With broken wings we'll learn to fly. Pull yourself out of the tide and begin the dream again.”

She sang of Diamond Road, a place to rekindle dreams and start again. In a shallow valley, cool air descended momentarily like a whisper of spring. I made good time for a tired old gal and noticed I had pedaled farther that usual. Barbed wire fences spanned the miles ahead, framing endless fields of corn and cattle. The world appeared changed, less hostile and foreboding. The sun slid behind a thick cloud and eased the throbbing heat of summer.

The morning had been a day of reckoning for me. I need them, from time to time, those days spent figuring out what is wrong, what is right, what just is. I saw a cow and her calf. They looked content and carefree. Horses stood full of grace and good fortune. Out past Sumrall, I suddenly saw llama grazing and decided it might be a good time to turn around.

I rode long enough that I listened to a full circuit of the songs on my MP3 player. Sheryl chided me to join her on Diamond Road again.

“Don't miss the diamonds along the way. Every road has led us here today. Life is what happens while you're making plans. All that you need is right here in your hands.”

I don’t like to make plans much. It seems when I do, they simply fall through cracks of indecision and good intentions. Life happens, either way. But I can see the advantage to accepting those things I cannot change and mustering the courage to change those I can. Knowing the difference is wisdom, of course, which can emerge from something as simple as a bike ride in the country. That’s when serenity replaces the madness. That’s when wounds heal and hopes rise.

Last Sunday, as the poodles bobbed on their tethers and my family cruised on foot among the dogwoods and azaleas, life happened all around us. Poets romanticize spring, gardeners worship it, but nature delivers it in glorious fashion every season. Plans may run astray, but the rebirth of spring always arrives as expected. Visit your Rails to Trails and find your own diamonds along the way. http://www.railtrails.org

For more information on the Longleaf Trace, visit http://www.mylongleaftrace.com/.