A weekend morning above freezing, first time in about six weeks.
A professional seminar this week: 45 hours in a stuffy hotel ballroom listening to someone talk.
A layer and a layer and a layer. Hot Gatorade in an insulated water bottle, to keep it from getting frigid.
Astonishment at the difference between hefting stacks of weights at the gym and pedaling a bicycle up a hill.
The pleasant warmth inside just the right amount of gear. Sunlight like a warm hand on my back after emerging from the trees.
A surge of confidence after the biggest hill of the ride. A brief roadside contemplation of the sounds of trees and wind, birds, distant airplane motors. Surge of gratitude for living in Western Massachusetts.
Stepping delicately into the roadside snow to pick up a beer bottle some yahoo tossed out his window. Wait – do yahoos throw O’Doul’s bottles? In the Pioneer Valley, this kind of makes sense.
A rebirth of the familiar dialog between achy leg portions and my mind.
A neighbor in a cowboy hat, work boots and field coat carrying a vintage wood surfboard from his car to his house, through the snow. Again: Glad I live in the Valley.
The blast for home on rolling terrain: dogsCarsFieldsHousesDogsCarsFieldsHouses…
Slip and slide over the driveway ice. Burst through front door, a blend of sweat, enthusiasm and outdoor-fresh-smelling air. Kiss wife. Make lunch. Write post.