High, wispy cirrus clouds. The ocean barely waving, let alone tiding. A breeze against my face on the way out and my back on the way home.
Everything felt like a ripple today. It may have had to do with doing another
Point Lookout ride. I made that choice,
in part, because of the direction of that breeze, as gentle as it was. Had I gone to Connecticut, Westchester,
Alpine or Nyack, I would have been pedaling against the wind on my way home. Also, yesterday was warmer than it had been
earlier in the week, and I started to ride later in the morning than I'd
planned. If the warmest part of the day
was going to be warmer than the past few days, I wanted to ride by the ocean
rather than inland.
So, when I say that the ride was a ripple, I'm not
complaining. Rather, I felt rather
privileged, as if I could see the brush strokes of those ripples in the sky and
on the water, as I felt them against my skin.
Also, it's a treat to ride any of my bikes--in this case, Dee-Lilah, my
Mercian Vincitore Special, lived up to her name.
Our ride ended, not with the rain, but a ripple. All right, T.S. Eliot didn't end " The Hollow Men" that way. I'm not sure
that he could have, any more than I could have written his poem. I am happy to
write my own poems--and take my rides, whether they begin or end with ripples,
or anything else.
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