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The ride in this morning seemed to have a lot of stop and go. My rust-colored bag was slung across my chest and rested on my back. Whenever I took off from a stoplight, I'd have to readjust it. But the sky was the clearest blue ever and the air felt fresh on my face. I wore a sweater because it seemed a little chilly, but by the time I got to school, I had a small sweat spot between my breasts. I knew I should have dumped the sweater.
After working until 3, I hopped on my bike and started the ride home. The ride home always seems worse. First there's the hill and second there's the other hill. I was on the sidewalk section of the ride home when I looked to my left and saw there, amongst the traffic, a man on a red bicycle with a red helmet. He carried a gray backpack. I had to look again to be sure. Then I yelled, "Hey!"
There was my husband riding his bike to work downtown as I was coming home.
He raised a hand in greeting, and I wondered for just a minute if the gesture meant "Wait there," but I kept riding and I knew he had to get to work.
I'm way out of bicycle shape, but passing him like that reminded me of, guess what? Of course, our bicycle trip in France.
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3 comments:
I don't think I'm in the shape to do a trip like that but it looks like fun-especially the part at the end when you sit down for a cool drink in the shade.
That's really cool......
Claim you lane !
Nothing as cool as your bike. We forget that as adults.
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