Tommy said don’t call him for bike rides anymore, not until further notice.
“Further Notice”- that’s one of those phrases that all the flavor has been chewed from, like “Going Forward.” They all mean, I don’t want to talk about it.
We understand. There are big summer projects to do, and it has nothing to do with the 92% humidity and the swarm of biting insects. He loves the misery index stuff, truly.
It is a defeat for the inner child. It is hard to justify spending the energy it takes to plow a field like mad money at the county fair. When play goes up against reason, none of us stand a chance. Inner children go sit in the corner.
There was no playing on Saturday’s ride. It was all brass knuckles and pitchforks for the three of us. Sticky heat and spider webs, burning thighs and marbles under shoulder blades. Grinding and churning against wet grass and softly melting rubber sloughing off along the trails.
The summer groove is settling in, and if we can ride through August, September may kill us, but October will be worth the wait.