Word After Word

 

Yesterday was an off day—too much distraction, too much talking, not enough working. Silliness, impatience, interruption, forgetting, a little loss, a little self-absorption, a long unwanted letter received, all ingredients for an Off Day. No good writing done. Maybe no good writing. No good feeling about writing. No fifteen hundred words.

 

 

But then. Tuesday Night Ride!

 

On the bike ride last night, I got my groove back. The bike ride is the perfect resets the counter to zero experience. I would be lost without the bike. Without the group rides. 

 

Ingredients for the perfect ride:

 

The kids lining the sidewalk on

17^th Street

, and

40^th Street

. The kids with sticks, waving from their dirt yard down by the lake.

 

The smell of cold water in the little river along 66^th, and the sound of the water, and the birds, evening-loud.

 

The liver-grey turkeys, with that bizarre look in their eye, like fish in the bushes, fish on weird fish feet.

 

The amazingly fast deer—faster than we were, running along the treeline in the cornfield by Pat’s house in the last sheets of gold light. Racing us and winning.

 

Riding the perfect strong east tailwind, three abreast, and coming up fast on the three deer that didn’t move on Island Road, they just stood in the middle of the street and Mike said, “Has a bike ever hit a deer?” and we were approaching so fast. Could smell them fast. Could name them.

 

The friendship of J., and the post ride chat. And writing down the recipes for two more perfect rides. J. knows the miles to everywhere, how far it is, and what it will be like when you get there.

 

The general generosity of doing something pointless with people and graceful and perfectly shaped. It’s just like church but with crazy shirts and wind and speed.