The book project is coming together.
And I can’t exactly expect anything other than that. I’ve never been able to devote anything more than spare time to it, and so it’s often put off for another day. I need a deadline. Alas, the writing itself still needs work as well. Editing. Rewriting. And that pesky eventuality of an ending. There are holes and incomplete thoughts, entire paragraphs hanging delicately unattached to nothing in particular. But I can see a light at the end of the tunnel. I just don’t have any idea what that light is illuminating.
This space may suffer in thee coming weeks as I devote more time to finishing that project.
As the calendar moves it’s way into the latter half of January, I can’t help but feel an immense impatience starting to seep into my mind and heart. I’m ready for the sunshine and the warmth. The dirt, and the long summer days. The bike-bug has never really left, despite the stellar skiing. Luckily, there are three days of binge-riding planned for the desert at the end of the month—Camp Lynda v.4.
At the very least, I’m looking forward to March and April. When the low altitude riding thrives, the White Rim beckons, and the powder skiing is deep, fluffy, and followed up closely with corn cycles that turn the mountains into a white velvet playground. January and February are provocateurs of boredom. Grumpy, groggy mornings, and a fatalistic dismissal that heat and sun and singeltrack will ever exist again.
At times, anyway.
Nothing really to be done about. Put your shoulder to the wheel.
However, I am optimistic about the shape the writing project is taking, and at the general prospects for 2011. New races to flail at. New trails to explore. New boundaries to push. Yet unseen sunrises and powder days and immaculate singletrack. Photos to be taken. A blank slate. Possibility. And so continues the ongoing quest for perfection. Even if that perfection is fleeting, flimsly, and largely a matter of perception.
And so onward, ever onward.