Chad and I got out for a mountain bike ride of substance this afternoon. 35 miles and a big hill of substance, to be precise. Granted, some of those miles were on pavement to get to the trails, but it still felt like an adventure.
The weather helped. We had the unusual-for-us conditions of 70-degree temperatures and off-and-on drizzle, leading to damp air that didn’t feel oppressively hot and humid. Combined with the still-lush spring flush of vegetation, the damp forest smells, and the pervasive birdsong, the weird weather made us both feel like we might be somewhere more exotic than home as we slogged up the hill. Maybe New Zealand. Or, after a whiff of blackberry blossoms, surely the Pacific Northwest. Definitely not home.
Or maybe we are just yearning for a time when a vacation might be possible...
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