Autumn summons our biking limits

Every year, Delta and I participate in an arduous, hilly, soul-bludgeoning, day-long bike ride in the Jersey Higlands. I have no explanation for why we do this, other than our own gluttony for punishment. For I cant, in good conscience, call four hours of uphill biking "enjoyable".

And yet, it's one of our most looked-forward to events all year. This year, just like previous years, I almost started crying right at Mile 50. I was gazing up at (yet) another long uphill looming in front of me, and my legs started screaming out, help, get us away from this crazy woman! But we lumbered on, Delta, my mutinous legs, and me. Up, and up, and up. Crying and swearing under my breath the entire way.

But eventually, just like every year, we made it. Suddenly, just as we reached the end of our tether, we turned the corner, and there we were, right at the finish line. Instantly, we were filled with an incomparable euphoria, mingled with relief, and a sort of pride at what we'd achieved. It wasn't quite solving cancer or world peace, but we'd pushed ourselves to our limits, and there's always something to be said for that.

The bike ride was, of course, inevitably followed by a lot of sitting around on the couch with our feet up on the coffee table. An exercise not to be scoffed at in its own right. But not for long: for tomorrow, we embark again on another bike ride, this time fifty miles around NYC. This time, to raise money for Multiple Sclerosis (it's not too late to donate).

Again, I have no doubt it'll be a day of panting and puffing and swearing and gruffing. But I wouldn't have it any other way. For autumn is our time for pushing our biking limits.