I have serious envy these days. My friends and relatives are doing all sorts of exciting things and posting pictures of their fab lives on social media. My nephew Conor is cavorting in Bali. Friend Linel is finishing up two weeks in Portugal by hanging out in the Azores. Amanda, fresh off her first bike commuting crash, has flown to Lisbon to recover. Charmaine just participated in the Bicycle Ride Across Tennessee. Blogger Brittany is working at Yellowstone Park. Jessica is living in the Altacama desert in Chile. Brian is in Bologna. Juneau Julie chartered a seaplane to take her family members to a bay in Alaska.
Oh how I hate them all.
Several times in the last week I have said “I wish I were doing something like that.” Then the person listening to me whine says, “Dude, you just rode your bicycle across the United States.”
I forgot.
Already.
Then I think about the tour and the afterglow returns. Square Butte, Rogers Pass, 136 miles in one day, excellent pizza and beer in Wibaux (and Minneapolis), the Painted Canyon, the turquoise lake on the descent from Rainy Pass, ASL bike racks in Fargo, Big Ole. And on and on.
I woke up this morning and, for a moment, I felt like I should get packed up and head on down the road.
Oh, give me land, lots of land under starry skies above. Don’t fence me in.
It’s not like I’m doing nothing. I rode the 50 States Ride. I went to see Hamilton last week. Last night we went to see Portugal. The Man. (I actually liked the opening act, Lucius, better.) Today I am taking my daughter to see the Washington Nationals. I think this may be her first game of the year, having spent most of the year in London. And it’s her first chance to use the scorebook I gave her for her birthday.
A Few Spokes Shy of a Wheel 