The strong winds from the south, the reason for the unseasonable temperatures, challenged me as I set out. City crews had been hard at work since my last ride. The playgrounds that dot the lakefront had been outfitted with gleaming new swings, slides and monkeybars. The rusted metal and peeling paint of the exercise pad that sits alongside the bike trail had been similarly transformed. 3 new workout stations inhabited the space where derelict ones had stood.
Time constraints, the strong wind and concern about sun on my pale flesh so early in the year kept me from going the full distance I usually ride. As I turned my bike north the wind was at my back and pedaling at times seemed superfluous.
That night we watched from our west facing kitchen window as thunderstorms approached. Occasionally hard, fierce and furious the rain soaked the dry ground. The following morning a dense, cool fog had settled along the lakefront. Once it burned off it looked as if spring had arrived, all at once, overnight. Flowering trees had bloomed, on others, the sun and rain coaxed leaves to unfurl from small green buds. Grass and shrubs had gone from dry and brown to that rich special verdant shade only seen for a few short weeks each year. Scores of daffodils and jonquils joined others of their kind already in bloom. Brightly colored tulips burst from their tightly closed green shells. Thick leaves, low to the ground, seemed suddenly sturdier, holding the promise of more flowers to come.
It was spring in Chicago. After 30 plus years I knew that anything could happen. But, that day, I reveled in the moment, enjoying the feeling of warm wind in my face and the bright sun on my shoulders.
