After a week of family travel-- hours of driving, lots of standing and touring, and no bicycles-- I was gleeful this morning as Spooky and I slipped out of the house. My husband waved good-bye, still chuckling at the way I refer to my bike as a person. "Well, at least you never ride alone!" he said, shaking his head as he went back in the house to drink coffee and watch TV like a normal person.
Cool air. Blue sky. Sun and shade. Steep hills and marvelously winding miles drained the lingering fatigue from my travel weary legs. Spooky gripped the turns and sprinted up the hills-- surging past young men in matching cycling jerseys as I smiled and called out, "On your left!"
A little over an hour later, I reached 20 miles, and practiced my transition to the run-- leaning my bike against a sign, whipping off my helmet and cycling shoes, and sprinting down the trail. I forgot my running shoes, so went without. I chose not to make eye contact with passersby who surely must have wondered why this middle aged woman was sprinting barefoot away from her bicycle. Perhaps they thought I was running from three bears!
After recovering from my run, I grinned like a fool. If everyone knew how much fun this was, the trails and roads would be packed with cyclists. Thank goodness no one believes me!
