I had acquired a gallon of exterior white paint for my little paint project. I bought it at my local hardware store. It was appallingly expensive but pandemics have a way of making our demand for things rather price inelastic. This hardware store thrives on people like me who will do almost anything to avoid driving through the US 1 traffic sewer to shop at a soulless big box store.
Once I returned home, I started to set up. A rowdy wind gust blasted me. Then another. And again. I checked my phone. The forecast called for more bluster all through the day and well into tomorrow. Not wanting to make a mess of things, I postponed the painting project until Saturday.
In a few minutes I had changed out of my scuzzy painting togs and into bicycling gear. After admiring some tulips near my front step, I rolled on down the street.
I managed to get about 100 yards from home when another blast hit my from the side, nearly knocking me off my saddle. It occurred to me that I might still manage to make a mess of things! Things being me.
Undaunted, I pedaled away. The Park Service had closed all the parking lots near the Mount Vernon Trail so the prospects for using the trail and maintaining proper social distance were greatly improved.
I managed to ride 25 miles. The first half of the ride was north through Old Town Alexandria into a very frustrating headwind. At one point a wind-aided rider came toward me down a slight decline with a curve at the bottom. He overshot the turn, careened into my lane and nearly went flying off the trail. I anticipated his ineptitude and slowed to watch his crash. He recovered control and quickly returned to his side of the trail. “Sorry.” Dude, now is not the time for a visit to the ER.
I was quite zonked after struggling along for 12 miles and was happy to turn back toward home. This was much more like it. Zipping along. No effort, wind at my back, sun shining in the sky.
As I pulled into my yard, The Mule turned a milestone.