Early thoughts from a novice rider

[This was undated, but it was probably written early in my trip in Denmark or Northern Germany]

I have grown quite accustomed to sitting on the narrow, unsprung, stiff, leather saddle, with back hunched over, toes under straps, arms stiff, legs tight, the wind ruffling through my hair, for four or five hours a day. To anyone first attempting this position, myself included, it is an extremely uncomfortable position. I am unable to stand up and use the weight of my body on the pedals. All power must come from the upper calves. When the road is wet, the water and mud sling onto my face from the front tire, there being no fender. The rear wheel slings it onto my back.

I removed my socks, there being no use for them, with simply my jogging shoes covering my feet. Within an hour my leg was covered with mud up to my knees, dried mud with a sprinkling of sand. In this position I ride for hours without stopping, through forest and fields of wheat, past little old ladies and age-old men on antique bicycles, past children with full knapsacks on their way to school. Up hills and mountains, down into valleys I coast for miles without pedaling, watching the splashing hues merge into a kaleidoscope of color. I smell the burned wheat fields after they have been harvested, the cow manure from a friendly farm. The fresh air is sweetened by a million pines. Cars honk at me as they pass. A train runs clickety-clack over miles of track.

A song comes to mind...

This land is mine, God gave this land to me.
This brave, and ancient land to me.
And when the morning sun reveals her hills and plains,
Then I see a land where all men can run free.