The Music Man

Some of my fellow cyclists find their rides more enjoyable with a soundtrack, and might pedal with earphones and an MP3 source. [One earphone is legal; two are not.] I prefer the natural sounds around me, which included some lovely mockingbird solos today. Or I can tap into the vast trove of songs in my memory bank.

On most of my recent commute rides, the refrain of one song was (inexplicably) stuck on replay in my head. I do not own a copy, and I could not name the artist. Something about rain in Africa, and things we never had. I don't even like the song. Eventually, I managed to displace it.

I headed for a short club ride this morning, certain that we would have a nice little group. Little, indeed—just two of us, plus our leader. The other rider's bike was set up with a tablet computer mounted on his handlebars and a small loudspeaker fitted in one of his water bottle cages. We enjoyed some Vivaldi before an abrupt switch to 80's pop (Eye of the Tiger).

Unlike the songs in my head, which can loop indefinitely, a real song plays for a few minutes. A fast beat can encourage you to ride with a faster cadence, but I actually found the music disheartening: as each song ended, I was reminded that I had not traveled very far in the interim.

I climbed the hills without stopping. [I wanted to stop. I kept going.] A little over 17 miles, with 1440 feet of climbing, before the day heated up.

As we parted ways at the end of the ride, guess which song was blaring from the other bike?

Africa. [By Toto.]