Care to enjoy a thinly masked, but extended metaphor with me?

I took a bike ride tonight in the last hour of daylight at the edge of town where the asphalt hasn't taken over. The WB&A runs along the edge of town. When riding through those trees, you can imagine what Maryland was like before the suburbs took root.

The sunset was beautiful. I could hear the stream running parallel to the trail. The trees were still in leaf, but all changing colors. I was riding through the change of seasons. I saw little brown rabbits and chipmunks and squirrels working hard to prep for winter. And then, at mile three, I saw deer: three does indifferently grazing right beside the trail, blasé to the pedestrians and bicycles on the path. They were a visual gift, and I gasped at their beauty and stillness.

Equal in biomass to the three deer and various other critters were the bugs. I think they were gnats. At times I rode through clouds of them. At first I was freaked out, trying to drive one handed so I could swat. Instead of swatting I had to cover my mouth and nose. I was so glad I had on my glasses (aging eyes!) The clouds of bugs were intermittent, worse where the trees were closest to the path.

When I looked down at myself, I realized I was covered in the bugs, like a human windshield. They threatened to ruin my lovely ride. I brushed them off only to be covered again. Finally, I just decided to ignore them and enjoy the scenery – that's when I saw the deer. They were so lovely.

I relaxed and only wiped the bugs off my face. I still had to cover my mouth & nose sometimes. I needed an assistant nit-picker at the end of that ride!

I passed other people out enjoying the path. I pointed out the deer to one family. Several said hello or some other simple greeting. One cyclist was talking on his cell phone. Another was freaking out about the bugs. I laughed and shouted over my shoulder at her, “bugs! bugs!” She probably thought I was a nut.

There is a gun club along the trail that has recently re-opened after long controversy over the protective walls that guard the trail. The gun club was there first – out in the woods. I did hear shots fired behind the wall. At the gates to the gun club, I passed a gathering of men with gray hair sticking out from under their ball caps, I imagine waiting for their brethren to gather for a mid-week gun meeting. They all extended a friendly greeting. I rode along with a smile, hoping the bugs didn't get in my mouth.

Don't you find that you can tolerate a few bugs without any problem at first? But suddenly lots of little tiny bugs are swarming you. At first you take evasive action. Then you just get used to it. The worst danger is behind a safety wall, patrolled by the morally conservative. You may as well just enjoy the ride. You don't want the little bugs to ruin this otherwise beautiful trek. You will eventually brush those teeny bugs all off – or pick them out.


Is it just me, or was that whole ride a life metaphor. Did any parts fit yours?