Works Out Sometimes

How weary I was after a long day at school! (Actually two schools; I taught at the UW-Seattle in the morning and then headed out to Cascadia for an afternoon class.)

When I unlocked my bike and started riding away from the Bothell campus, I thought I’d only ride to Lake Forest Park before hopping on the bus—if that; had the 522 heading south appeared before at that time, I might even have boarded right then.

But it was so nice out, albeit a bit chilly: there were fat clouds overhead and an inky-blue sky as the sun began to set; by the time I arrived at the spot at which I’d transfer from two wheels to eight were I going to do so, I didn’t feel like getting on the bus at all and most of the sleepiness I’d been feeling had been replaced by something more like anticipation of the route ahead.

When I got to Montlake a light breeze seemed to be pushing me forward, even though I couldn’t tell it from the leaves; perhaps I was just feeling strong—for me, anyway.

Then it began to snow: little bb-sized “flakes” rained down, nature playing a funny sort of combinatory trick; I had to laugh.

The final push from Madison Valley wasn’t as difficult as it often is; I never even had to shift onto my granny ring, partly because I remained distracted by the strange weather, which continued until I crested the penultimate hill before home.

The smells of African cuisine wafted over my neighborhood from the quartet of Ethiopian restaurants that welcome the rider on Cherry Street into Leschi; had I been on the bus, I never would have gotten to enjoy that heady scent.

I pedaled up the final two blocks to my street, then turned down the alley to my backyard. I remembered being tired and cranky when I left school, but by now I’d forgotten how that felt.