Saturday. Five hours. My first two bottle day. And one pack of Clif Bar Bloks In strawberry. Love these. They’re like Chuckles but without the colors. I think Chuckles would be a better snack to grab but with the plague, social distancing, and shopping with masks, it’s easier for me to stock up using my QBP account.
Rode up to Haddam and across the river. Did some climbing in Moodus and environs. I love that word, environs. It’s not used enough in daily conversation. I just used it twice. Environs. Three times. Some of the backcountry around Moodus is a bit spooky. It reminds me of the death marches I did in Franklin County.
There are pockets of wilderness east and a bit north of here that take me away. Abandoned summer camps. Hard scrabble farms in abundance. That’s also a word (abundance) that needs more airtime. An hour of pedaling from my driveway and I’m in this other world. By car it could be a third the time. And I wouldn’t need the bottles.
These are the days I come home drained. Empty. Feeling alive as well as dead, but more alive than dead. That much pleases me. Riding this year, especially since the plague thing, but particularly because I decided to leave racing after 2019 – riding this year is like my own personal Summer of ‘42. Each time feels like my very first.
All This By Hand
.
