The Mosey Ride™ isn’t about bicycles, it’s about being together. And together, The Lovely Deb and I sought relief from the annual drum circle weekend here in town. Some years we like its charm and history. For 2018 we decided to hide from the noise. Our front porch isn’t far from the bandshell. I found a room downstate in one of those tony little places easily confused with Stepford. Where even the logos have logos.
Less than an hour’s drive transported us to a village where every second male looked like a thirty something hedge fund manager, and the women were skinny, tan, and blond-ish. I guess diversity isn’t the new black – yet. But this was our choice and we were going to make the best of it. A relaxing stroll through the shopping district followed by a mid-afternoon meal at a gastropub with a Central European lean, and then to the motel.
We were (nearly) horizontal by 5pm. Not hungry. A bit worn from the stimulation. Landlocked. And bored. Deb and I danced around our feelings and then had that Come To Jesus moment that defines our relationship – honesty. “Let’s collect our things and drive home.” And we did.
Heading north on the Merritt. No traffic. The light was low. It wasn’t yet 6pm. Deb found WFUV. El Cóndor Pasa played. That version by the Funkel Brothers, Simon and Gar. Everything seemed serene. I was with the right person and wanted to tell her. “Ya’ know, sweetie – we’re like Thelma and Louise. Buds. Best friends.” Deb agreed.
We were in the driveway by sunset. Back in our comfort zone. Buddy nestled into Buddyland, his little warren of cushions and small toys. And the sound of a thousand tabors bounced off our closed doors and shuttered windows. Home. Safe.