Tossing and Tortured 'Till Dawn

I come back to you now, at the turn of the tide.

Friday, December 07, 2007

Someone recently asked me how it was going, and I said, of course, pretty good, how about yourself?

They responded, no, really, how's it going? How has your life been lately?

One day last week, I think it was Tuesday, I woke up at 5:00 in the morning and ate breakfast. A lot of breakfast. Steel-cut oats with chopped walnuts and figs, coffee, banana bread, an english muffin, some juice. A few pages of Cormac McCarthy's Border trilogy makes getting on the road seem like a great plan. Just past seven am, dawn just starting to do its thing. A gray seattle morning, drizzling what I'm told the Irish call "soft rain." It eases off in a hour or two. I ride my touring bike, with my work clothes in my panniers which thankfully are fully waterproof.

Hours and time get gone quickly. Just remembering all of the towns that one of these rides cranks through is a challenge: Milton, Fife, Puyallup, Sumner, McMillin, Alderton, Orting, South Prarie, then the reverse. A fairly flat cruise, and I don't put a foot down except my one water break.

At noon, I roll into work, lock up, and do my best Superman impersonation in the bathroom. I wish we had showers, but, what are you gonna do?

The hours slide by quickly in the fast-paced coffee shop, until midafternoon, when an eighteenish guy approaches me and asks if I know his sister. She usually orders and iced white tea?

"Yeah, sure, I know her. She's nice."

"Well, she wants to know if you've got a girlfriend. That's pretty much why I came in here. I guess, uh, I'll get a coffee, too."

I don't think I've seen that kind of asking-out by proxy since, what, high school? And apparently too many people seem to think that wasn't as long ago for yours truly as it really was, which is still only seven years but that's a pretty long ONLY when I think about it.

I get home about nine in the evening. The distant lights of the highway cut through the trees, drowned out by my icy blue headlight. It's peaceful, and mostly downhill on the way back.

At home, there's an email from the photography company who did the last shoot I took part in -- they are doing different shoot next week, would I like to be in it?

Pasta, the last of the sauce I made the week before, a salad, and a few more pages of the book. People say McCarthy is hard to put down and they might be right, but in recent years I've learned to savor books more than just plow through them, plus I'm really to tired to get through more than a dozen pages anyway.

Ten thirty is ridiculously early for bed for me, for most of my life, but I'm getting used to it, I guess. The maths say it should be nine anyhow, but that's just not going to happen.

And that's pretty much how it goes.

3 Comments:

  • At 7:47 PM , Blogger Old as dirt said...

    Try to get it earlier to bed 5 mins a week, it will really help your energy and racing.Even if you don't make it to 9.

     
  • At 3:34 PM , Blogger Miriam said...

    Are you telling me you have a 3+ hour commute?

    Me thinkth you need to find a closer Starbucks.

     
  • At 10:13 PM , Blogger Argentius said...

    No, silly, that's why I said "then the reverse."

    When I work in the afternoon, I train in the AM before work. Sometimes I just ride right to work afterwords rather than stopping home.

     

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