Ascendant Cycle

Bicycling was not my thing. I was still a solid two miles out from my office and the waves of sickness were disproportionate to the revolution of my wheels. The nausea was almost debilitating. I found it strange that the activities recommended by my physician often worsened the feelings of sickness I’d been experiencing. I’d purchased a light-weight, carbon fiber road bicycle based on my doctor’s recommendation. I wisely avoided purchasing clip in pedals—I’d heard too many stories of people falling, which coupled poorly with my proclivity for clumsiness. Although I was struggling, I definitely looked the part. I’d bought the latest in biking fashion and equipment. I assumed it would somehow compensate for my years of inactivity. I was so very wrong. There was clearly no better way, save an actual survey, to understand the true topography of an area than to bike it. A ten-foot increase in elevation over a thousand feet is noticeable, but this route was not about subtle inclines. There were large, sustained hills between my home and work. My short bicycling commute had turned into a half-day journey. As I approached every hill, I remember likening the feeling to what the Mongol Hordes must have felt when they approached the Great Wall—every hill appeared to be an insurmountable obstacle. I would have attributed the swings in elevation to the natural contours of the Seattle landscape, but that would be too easy and much less entertaining. Instead, I created an absurd back story that explained the shifts in elevation. Take, for example, the Lake Washington bike trail. By the very nature of going around a lake, the trail itself ought to be relatively flat. So the only plausible explanation for these hills must be that a city planner was bribed by Big Auto and Big Oil to create trails that made it nearly impossible to commute to work without using your car. The incentives aligned well, and it somehow eased the guilt around my inability to traverse the landscape. It had all the makings of a good conspiracy theory: an underdog, common man struggling against an antagonist so large and vast, he wasn’t even aware of it as invisible forces actively working to make the noble task in front of him more difficult. Bingo! Mystery solved and a short reprieve from the nausea I was experiencing. Even with the discouraging landscape, it was impossible to not take in the beauty of my surrounds. Washington State was home to mostly evergreens—spruces, firs, hemlocks, cedars and junipers. The foliage—moss and ivy— blanketed the forest floor. Sunlight pierced through the trees, appearing to hover in the air like millions of reflective crystals, captured by the moisture evaporating from the ground. Blackberry bushes along the road bloomed. The majority of my ride was through the forest bike trail. Eventually, I’d emerged to the city roads for the last leg of my ride. This was the least comfortable part of the trip. I was by no means an adept bicyclist, so traversing crosswalks and riding close to cars in the bike lane was a treacherous proposition—I stayed to the sidewalks as much as possible. Witnessing my journey, one would assume I needed medical attention the way I desperately gasped for air. My frail physique and health issues made completing the journey that much more daunting. This morning, I sensed an audience of drivers and passengers watching my personal tragedy unfold as they passed. I glanced left and a young boy, no older than seven, was pointing and laughing at me from behind the safety of his window. I thought it endearing to see a child finding this humorous, until my eyes scanned to the front seats and found the parents were laughing as well. Good grief. I reined in my hostility. Lashing out only served as an avenue for excuses. One rotation of the pedal after another, at an acceptable speed, an egoless pace—this war of attrition would soon be over. As the office came into view, I smiled. I always smiled when I saw it. I’d influenced so much of the architecture to ensure that it represented my vision, my labor, and my accomplishments. Large spires reached upward above the Seattle landscape. The building was as sleek as any modern building, but felt organic. It curved in many areas to give a sense of vanishing points stretching far to the horizon. Often, I found myself revisiting each detail in the morning as the early sunlight penetrated the fog. As I approached the office, Sira was just walking out for her lunch break. “Brahm, you actually made it in before lunch!” Her incredulousness stung, though it wasn’t strictly unmerited. “Don’t act… so surprised,” I replied, between slow expansions and quick contractions of my chest. “By the way, if this new exercise regimen kills me, I name you my successor in the company. Just remember, in exchange I expect a touching eulogy. The contract will explicitly call for tears of sincerity. I recommend an acting coach, given your stoic nature.” She smirked to acknowledge and dismiss my response. She was used to my ramblings by this point. “Hey, Jeremy’s excited to discuss this morning’s system alert. I haven’t seen him this eager to help out since our last chili cook-off. Do you think it’s something significant?” Sira asked, only partially interested in an answer. The alert blinked across my watch midway through my ride— I had been too far from my home to turn back for my car. An anomalous event had been detected in the system. I was equally intrigued and concerned, as I’d never seen a notification quite like it.