I should’ve ridden the bike today, but for some reason I felt like hoofing it, so I did.
Not running — I took a break from that nonsense back in mid-May — just walking. Walking is a nice change from cycling, the same way that cycling is a nice change from driving.
You … just … plain … slow … down.
With trails just two blocks in either direction, I can enjoy what feels like country life in fairly short order. The rains have sprinkled flowers all over the place, and it’s relaxing to spend a little time wandering around among them after a few days of watching the Hilldebeast try to lose this campaign while assembling journalism kit for medium-heavy duty at Interbike.
The idea (as usual) is to strive for some sort of multimedia extravaganza, an electronic bouillabaisse of words, pix, audio and video documenting The Experience. As long-suffering readers are all too aware, the reality, once I hit Sin City, is likely to be entirely different.
So, too, with the walking. Instead of sand, sun and flowers I will be navigating concrete, smoke and bad noise.
Thus I’m gathering my rosebuds while I may.