There was something missing on that ride. Something as intangible, yet meaningful as the light of a full moon on a snowy cold winter night. My inability to define this thing was in itself a frustration.
It was a good ride, aside from a five mile stretch of rough pavement and a few idiot drivers on I-15. My bike ran well. My butt, while sore, survived without much problem. I would have liked to bring my camera, but didn't.
What is it?
There, that fleeting hay field! Those cows over there! The Virgin River, water tumbling over ancient rocks in a timeless furor! The blue sky above, aching to be stared at!
That was it! Without trying to define what was missing, it became obvious by the things I saw in the periphery of my vision while buzzing down the road.
I missed the opportunity to walk in a hay field again.
I missed a chance to just stand and listen to cows.
I was in too much of a hurry to stop and pull over; to walk in an ancient river.
I did not stop, park the bike, lay down in the grass and just stare at the sky.
Next time. Definitely.