Nashville Byline

For the record, (pausing to catch my breath) Columbus is flat.

Nashville straddles the Cumberland River, then lurches to the small ridges surrounding it. Those little peaks have proven how I fooled myself into thinking those years of cycling built up endurance.

I assure you, they did not. But my knees needed their break from running and I needed a break from the recliner.

Last night, the hills are alive with the sound of grunting, lowering gears and a carload of teenagers cursing toward me as I inched up hill after hill, scanning for a road across the Cumberland to complete my route. I found the Rock Harbor Marine, a few concrete plants and even more dead-end streets. It was a painful journey, encompassing more than six or seven miles.

Of course, it was worth every moment. A ribbon of thin clouds split the sunset, casting everything on the final miles in ambient red light. Somehow, the pain of the hills stayed in the hills ... until I trace them again tonight, that is.