Today: Flight (revisited)

The rain stopped all those no-handed, high-speed shenanigans 

 After six pieces of free pizza for lunch yesterday and the prospect of no exercise today, I doggedly resolved last night to ride my bike to work today even as torrential rains lashed the house and tore at the eaves. Okay, so I exaggerate. No lashings or tearing took place. But the rain did fall in steady torrents, both last night and today. And I did ride. The total elapsed ride time remained about the same usual: one and a half hours of soggy bliss. By the time I had been in the saddle 4 miles, I was wet throughout. By the time I coasted into the garage here in Bellevue, the rain had clawed its way into my backpack to "moisten" my clothes, leaving me with a lingering reminder of her presence all day long. The best part of the ride? After 25 miles of this punishment for my overweening pride, I shuffled into and shivered through an hour-long meeting with a few of my peers, my boss, and my boss' boss. There I sat strategically positioned below the icy draft of an air vent in my dripping bike clothes. I soldiered through as best I could.  When it was all over, I needed a warm shower so badly, I didn't even mind all the creepy body building pictures in the gym. So cycling might be the closest thing to flight short of sprouting wings, but that doesn't change the fact that flying in inclement weather is no fun.

There's Mercer, but I don't see much of Seattle today.

Today: Flight

Back in January, I allowed myself—against my better judgment and repeated vows—to be persuaded to ride the STP again this year. So now I have to figure out how to train for a 200-mile ride while remaining gainfully employed and juggling the needs of church and family. Despite rumors to the contrary, I actually enjoy seeing my kids and speaking with Rachael. Tuesday night it rained all the way home. That was an unmitigated drag. Last night, however, reminded me why I put up with all the physical and emotional abuse. The weather was dry and relatively warm. And in spite of a stiff headwind, my yellow-tinted safety glasses enhanced the fresh green-ness of the budding cottonwoods lining my route home. The sun rimmed everything with bright reflection. On days like these, there’s nothing in the world like a hard ride on a well-tuned bicycle. It’s the closest thing to sprouting wings and flying. 

In Renton, south across Lk. Wash.

Who's the clown that's following me??

West across Lk. Wash.
Mercer Island in the background

A Revisionist's History: Mom

I had the opportunity to speak to a group of women at my Church on Tuesday evening. I was asked to consider the women that have had an impact on my life and—this was more suggested than stated—speak to how these women made do with their limited resources to overcome the challenges they faced in their time. Ultimately, I believe, it was hoped that by sharing these experiences we would be able to impart a measure of hope to the women attending.

Obviously, that was no small order to fill. Anyway, when I finally got around to putting something to paper, the following remembrances sprung, almost as it were, fully-formed from the pen. As it happened, I didn’t share what follows that evening. But since the Muse was kind enough to guide my pen, I thought I’d pass her beneficence on to the “interwebs”.