Pity the cyclist on a wind trainer. Endlessly spinning. An oscillating fan to move the air. Maybe a half-watched movie to provide a small distraction. Usually banished to the basement or an out-of-the-way corner. A lone rider, ceaseless yet stationary.
The grind of the chain on chainrings. The buzz and hum of the trainer. The whir of the fan. Television chattering in the background. These are sounds of the mid-Winter spin, with heavy legs awaiting the promise of warmer days. In pursuit of, yet never attaining, the long-ago sensations of the open road. Sweating but never moving.
Spring is coming. Spring is coming.
*Author’s note: This was originally written at a time when it was, including the wind chill, -37 degrees outside. The despair was palpable.