Each time I’ve come home from a riding trip, there is a strange period of decompression that happens. Or maybe re-compression – that’s likely more accurate because it’s the process of rewinding my internal spring too tightly.
When I ride home through the NY Metro gauntlet back to the place where I live, my nerves immediately start twiddling knobs and set all phasers to stun. I’m jolted by the electricity of feeling like everyone is too close to me at all times. It feels chaotic and like everything is out of control. There are too many cars, too many people, too much noise, too many signs, too many of everything! It is a reminder of how adaptable to your surroundings the brain is. In no time at all, these things that overstimulate will fade into background noise. It’s just that gray transition area between solitude and mania that is most uncomfortable.
As the scale begins to tip closer towards home and further from away, I have to work to hang on to the good feelings that sustained me over the miles. This is when the work of remembering happens.