I hadn't mounted Babe since the Pan Mass Challenge. Choosing to ride my other, my first road bike, Ruby. But it's getting darker in the mornings. The schedule does not permit long lovely AM rides, so it is back to the garage on weekdays. Back to Babe, who hung patiently waiting for her turn to serve.
She is an important part of the winter riding routine. Braced in the trainer we will work together to prepare for the PMC2017 and she will be my faithful ride for the Boston Brain Tumor Ride in May.
Can you have a therapy bike? Or in my fortunate situation, two? I spend so much time alone with them. Thinking and planning.
A month ago I joined Weight Watchers as I had gained 20 pounds in two years. My clothes were not fitting and it was either new clothes or relearn to eat properly. I love my clothes. They have tons on wearability still. I chose WW.
As community service project my religious education class collected flip tops to donate the recycled value to Daniel's Table, the organization in town which feeds hungry children. We worked with the premise that each flip top represents an act of kindness.
Think of the weight of a flip top. Now think of thirty seven pounds of them. That's a lot of kindness.
A Ghost Bike is dedicated to a rider who died on the road. Eugene Thornberg died on June 16, 2016 on this stretch of road. A stretch I ride frequently. For when I heard about this dedication I knew where it was being held and how to get there without a map. Been there. Ridden that. Knew I had to attend, even though I didn't know him. He was a cyclist.
Heading there, by bike, of course, I rode the usual route. And as I past my friend's parents' home on Landham I noticed her car was in the driveway. Two years ago she moved to New Hampshire. I stopped. A quick chat. Two or three hugs and I was off, I had to. Two miles more there was a cyclist stopped on the road. She was standing over a huge snapping turtle. I stopped. And we try to move the huge beast to the side of the road with some branches. Making some progress but meeting resistance from our new 20 pound friend a landscaper stops and a soccer family stops. And with the landscaper's shovel and the branches we were able to move the snapper into the swamp next to the road. I rode on. Now pressed for time. Knowing that I was heading for a solemn service, but celebrating life along the way.