Already this year is sliding by, carrying too much speed through a greasy turn. Four months ago the year stretched out ahead, days, weeks lined up into a light-filled distance, like the peloton being driven pell-mell to an inexorable finish. The problem with this image is that it progresses with deceptively greater speed and intensity, blink and miss, and all you can do is utter, "what just happened." The long list of races, Sunday group rides, and mid-week training sessions, with their appearance of never-ending, ultimately turns a corner, and the finish line appears suddenly close. If we could turn around at this point, with the bunch continuing its headlong rush, the kilometer markers, which only slowly ticked by in February and March, could be seen falling away behind in its own lengthening stagger.
I know there are people in places where winter has only just loosened its grip, but in Southern California there is no off-season really and the first four months of the year, before the heat and smog ride in, may bring some of the best riding we do all year. So, this morning as plans for a family day at the Renaissance Faire collapsed with the son's confession of an all-day homework project, and race or group ride options fell to the delay, I resigned myself to a close-to-home loop ending at the farmer's market. Looking back at one point I couldn't help but notice those kilo markers beginning to collect behind me. I have been to too few races, and in even fewer still; my spot in the groups given away to someone new. We may be four months into the season, but thank goodness there are still two-thirds of a year to go.
as ever, sunny flowers
old-time text message
and more music
meanwhile, behind the scenes dogs, and bikes,
wait patiently for the return of their owners
not quite mothers day yet but dads and kids,
and gramps and kids were out in force today