Oregon weather has uncountable benefits; two of which are beautiful flowers and gorgeous days for mountain biking. Today was one of those days: white puffy clouds, light breeze, mid 50’s. Needless to say the bikes got thrown in the back of the truck and we headed off to the trail head.
Twenty-five minutes later we are pulling the bikes out, lacing up shoes, and buckling down helmets. I was putting the front tire back on the bike when I caught my finger between the disc brake and the fork. After exchanging a few choice words with my stupidity and dancing around like a drunken Irishmen, I discovered my thumb nail had been split in half and I was bleeding like a stuck pig stuck twice. I, of course, had removed the first aid kit from the truck after returning from Yosemite. After leaving me with a wad of napkins, Lissa drove the truck to the ranger station to find some sort of first aid equipment.
You can never fully appreciate how magnificent the sounds of the forest are until you are standing in it alone. The way the wind moves through the towering pine trees, the song birds as they sing harmoniously with the wind. Then when the master conductor signals for a rest, there is nothing.
My attitude has not really changed; I am a tad frustrated at myself, but wounds heal. I am wandering around the forest, alone. The recent rains have brought numerous small wild flowers; brilliant violets and yellows pepper the mossy undergrowth. In the middle of nowhere special was a remarkable flower. It was many times larger than all the others; its single white flower, surrounded by three broad leaves, drooped down towards the ground. Its colors were so sharp, its pedals so clean. Its beauty made my day, something a few miles on a mountain bike was supposed to do.
Lissa returned, no first aid materials. The bleeding had stopped so it was not a big worry. Going home as decided to be the wisest choice. I had to know what that flower was, that marvelous white flower.
A Wild Trillium.