I awoke long before the sunrise this morning, fresh from a dream about a couple hipster Asian kids moving in and taking over. “You gotsta move that bike Yo, dat’s where we’re gonna put the turntables Yo!” I turned to The Daybreakers, by Louis L’Amour to lull me back to sleep, thinking “If I read one more time about Tom Sunday gunning down Chico Cruz I can rest easy.” (Because Chico Cruz is fast and a dangerous man with a six-shooter.)
Chico died, as he always does, but I couldn’t go back to sleep.
A sense of urgency gripped me. Breakfast. Bacon, greasy eggs with cheese, biscuits, hashbrowns, grits, sausage patties, sausage links, pancakes, waffles with peanut butter, eggs Atlantis, rivers of hollandaise merging with maple syrup beneath English muffins and black beans, or something like that.
25 minutes until Publix opens.
By the time you read this the situation has been well taken care of, believe me.
My legs are stiff, and I’m incredibly thirsty. We rode Munson pretty hard last night. I’m rolling again today with a new recruit, so no time for rest. It is raining nice and steady this morning, well before the dawn. The blinking yellow school caution light is casting itself two blocks off the glare of a shiny, slick 10th Avenue. Pretty soon people will be skidding and sliding, coffee in hand, racing to the office.
I have a yearning to be in the mountains right now, this morning. Somewhere like Deep Creek, North Carolina, sitting by the icy river drinking coffee. Cleaning my drivetrain, airing my tires, packing a lunch, and more. Riding up until there is no more up, then riding down.
Eat a good breakfast this morning, you want to be prepared.