No racing for me this week. As I said in the installment of Racing School, I said that it was time for a rest week. That being the case Saturday was the first day I had ridden since the Sunday
previous. Maybe that simple fact is what made it feel so, dare I say, magical. Actually that's a hippy-dippy word that should never be used on this blog. It might be a word some hipster might use in one of those "fixie" movies. Anyway. It was a great ride.
What made it a great ride? I'm not sure. I didn't take some special route, I just rode down HWY 30. There was another way, that would have taken me through a national forest, but as is google's want they had me turning every 500 feet. I was alone and the lady was going to meet me in Claskanie I decided it was best to stick to place where it would be easy to find me if things went South.
I left the house at 10am under threating skies. I had resigned myself to being soaked by the time I meet up with the lady. I was soaked, but it was with the type of water that comes from the body and not from the sky.
I don't have a whole lot to say about it, how much can one talk about spending three hours and forty minutes alone. It was just what I needed. Not all of my thoughts were pretty, but that's just the way it goes. For the most part I just pedaled along, enjoying the process. Which is what it's kind of about.