No, not mine - the gal on the horse. Well, one of the gals on a horse; there were about sixteen of them, though quite a few were a much younger age and, since I'm going on about it, a couple were men. Anyway, a nice winter morning ride seemed like an awesome way to celebrate a seventy-fifth year around the sun, and I said so as I pulled over to let the line of riders pass.
As I said, it was a beauty of a day to begin with, the wild flowers are really beginning to bloom, which is making the bees happy, green is sprouting from the tips of the sycamore branches, there is still water flowing in the normally dry washes, so the celebratory mood must have made it even better. Not a single rider failed to say hello, or good morning, or nice day for a ride, etc., as they hoofed it on past. Once the roving party had moved along up the trail, I got back to my run down the Cucamonga Creek Trail, that most fun, bumpy part that narrows to just a single track weaving around the yuccas and stuff, sinks into sand here and there, and has you on the verge of calling out whoop, whoop to the crows up on the line. A good day all in all.
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