This morning, it was cool and sunny on Old Sandwich Road. The long rays of the morning sun sparkled through the dewy grasses of Chiltonville, the oldest, preserved rural part of Plymouth. Mist rose off the pond and wrapped a swan in nature's tulle. Horses flicked their tails, and nearby a gang of wild turkeys leaned against a building smoking cigarettes in their usual spot. They ignored us, but I know that some day they're going to mug us and steal our sweet rides.
Why doesn't everyone wake up at 6 a.m. to go bike riding? Well, thank God they don't because it means that me and Design Diva (not her real name) can talk shop in relative peace. See, together, we're reliving the old days that we didn't share, when we were both bike snobs. The rides we used to do. The way we used to check out every single bike we passed on the road. (We still do, actually.) We launched a three-day-a-week regimen last week, meeting at 6 a.m. and riding for an hour. We started in sweatpants; after a week on the bike, the old school gear is getting dusted off, the 2-oz. racing bikes are back out, the silly shoes are on, the painful racing saddles are attached, and we're starting to feel like cycling hipsters. Out-of-shape hipsters, but as it turns out, no one's looking. We're old broads. And I don't know about the Design Diva, but me... I feel whole.
I did come home and practice. That was nice. My girl is sleeping, and that's nice. Soul Fry and I went food shopping last night when respectable parents already had their kids in bed, and we had a blast. Soul Papa and I are raising a kid who's fun to food shop with after 8 at night. That's really nice. Spent yesterday afternoon with a great friend, hanging with the kids and making smores and pinatas. Now I'm about to make the morning coffee, and get ready for a day of work, doing exactly the thing that I love doing. That's wicked nice.
Sorry to gush, but things are looking damn good today. The best part of it is, it's not luck. All of this came because we asked.