The end of Daylight Saving Time meant that I’d have to start my Sunday ride—to Point Lookout—earlier. I did, and when I arrived I was treated to a seascape of broken clouds and rippling sails that felt like an Alfred Sisley painting. As I munched on my bagel sandwich, a lady named Ann, who probably is about a decade older than me, asked if she could sit by me.
We chatted about one thing and another. Turns out, we have more than a few parallels in our pasts—including bike tours. But she hasn’t been around the Point, where she and her husband live part-time, because “the bike I had here got wrecked by Sandy,” referring to the 2012 Superstorm. “And I never got around to replacing it.” I gave her a bit of a pep talk about getting another one. “Perhaps we’ll bump into each other again.”
That would be nice. I didn’t mind that she threw a wrench into my plans—the last 10 kilometers or so of my ride, from Forest Park, were in the dark. I had lights, but the reasons I didn’t mind included, not only Ann, but what I saw in Long Beach on my way back:
