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.
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