The Omen Deepens
Another Way Home
Most afternoons I roll out to see my friends, the trees, riding Hope on a mix of habit and optimism. Yesterday started the same. Snow on the trail, quiet settling in, that familiar sense of arriving somewhere even while moving. Then the seat post started sinking. Not dramatically, just enough to feel like the bike was sighing beneath me. I adjusted it, laughed it off. Accidental rear suspension. Fine. I was heading down the trail that skirts University Mountain, planning to angle up behind Sentinel, maybe hop off and walk a bit to make up for the walk I skipped earlier. Hope said yes. My legs said yes. The light was still decent.
Today was supposed to be cleaner. Marshall Grade, then down into the Rattlesnake to meet Mo after her hike. Windstorm damage everywhere. Trees down, lines broken, momentum interrupted. But that was not the problem. The problem was Hope shifting like it had lived three hard lives already. This bike is basically new and suddenly it sounded like a tired teenager clearing its throat between gears. Every shift was a suggestion, not a promise. I tried to ignore it. The woods were still generous. The ride was still doing its job.
Eventually gravity helped. I made it down and found Mo and her friend at the van, mid conversation, surprised to see me roll in looking both pleased and slightly defeated. I told her I needed a ride home. She said okay without hesitation. Another quiet rescue. She dropped me at the bottom of Marshall Grade, and I rode the last stretch back to the truck, the bike clanking its way uphill like it was offended by the request.
At home, Blue locked eyes with me. That look. Equal parts judgment and understanding. Yeah, Blue, I know. Something had shifted, and it was not just the drivetrain.