Tommy held San Felasco to my head like a revolver and we rode bikes for 2.5 hours in a glimmering and breezy October day in Tallahassee. It was a modest, but honest performance that exemplified the depth of the shit I am in at this stage of preparation. Oh well, pass the donuts.

Wrecking Ball passed us with his son in the car and bikes on the rack. I noticed a number plate on his handlebars, but I’m not sure what that is about- do bikes now require license plates?

I am coming to the end game on this house-buying activity. When I say “the end” I mean the beginning of a never-ending list of chores and responsibilities. There will be no more laughing as the roof caves in and then moving down the road to the next filthy hovel.

Those were good days. I love a filthy hovel.

I take today’s ride as a signal, a return to normalcy. A bike-centered life that leaves me too fatigued for foolishness and shenanigans, which I have plenty of energy for lately.


8 Responses to Tinder

  1. You always find the best pictures to go with what you write. I know it’s just some sticks, but still. I like the photo.

    Muscle memory is a lovely thing. San Felasco is longer this too year, correct? And just think, after you’re finished riding that, you get to mow the grass or work on plumbing! 🙂

  2. By that logic, I should buy a plane or hang glider?? Juancho, it’s good to hear you’re still kickin’. I have not seen hide nor hair(well that last one’s a given)of you in so long, I just assumed you bought a house in Hippy Killearn in Texas or some such other far away place, where you didn’t have to ride with the likes of me anymore. (Sorry for the bad Western flavor. Once it started, I couldn’t reign her in.)