Juggling

I told the mrs. "fine, if you must go, but I ain't got time for foolin' around," thinking all the while there was a song with those lyrics, but the only one I could come up with that was close was the Talking Heads' Life During Wartime -

"This ain't no party, this ain't no disco

This ain't no fooling around

No time for dancing, or lovey-dovey

I ain't got time for that now..."

Yup, there just was no time for messing around. Juggling riding while attempting the great tennis comeback, both while in the midst of a record-setting rainfall season has not made it easy to managing some semblance of consistency. I suppose I should be thankful, in some ill-defined way, that the mountain bike is laid-up and awaiting a new part - at least there is no debate right now about what bike to ride - road it is!

Thirty miles along the SGRT ain't much, but following that up immediately with another couple hours with racquet in hand was satisfying. In some thirty plus years of riding that old river trail I can recall only one time (maybe) that I have seen as much water flowing down and out to the ocean - bank to bank. Yet still, I see homeless encampments out in the middle on those little islands, surrounded by raging water, dogs barking, people wandering and wondering [?] how they got into such a mess. Call be socially incorrect, but a little common sense goes a long way. A little further down river, and the Ren Faire's Port Deptford taking shape before the season opening looks, this year, like a real port, waters lapping at the gate. Elizabethan-costumed folk will need to arrive by submarine this year, unless the submerged parking area dries out before the queen and her court arrive. 

The pair of them passed by far too fast for me to sprint up to them once the Squadra Folgore kit clicked in my mind. My only hope was that they would stop at Chalan Rest Stop long enough that I could find out who it was - I only know of three or so of the old teammates who still ride - it's not Tom, not Waldi... Devon, maybe... hmmm? I can't tell from this far away. Anyway, Omar's handmade tortas were drawing my eyes in a different direction.

While the ground strokes came back like I hadn't missed a day, the serve was never my forte, so today was all about working it (and that includes simply tossing the ball up. Finn would gladly have shagged the balls, but slobbery felt? I don't think so!

Great day, thank goodness for a few dry ones! Now lets's do it again tomorrow! Variety if the spice of life after all!