September 7, 2023
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Nothing to see here — just an out-of-shape dad sweating his way up a short hill, a job made harder by the free weights shoved into the bottom of his panniers, something that will get him in cycling shape about as well as brushing one’s teeth five minutes before walking into the dentist’s office.
I start my trip in four days.
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I say hello or wave to four people I know before I’m much past the store. I come away with an invite to a girl’s sixth birthday party and get asked how my kid’s first day in kindergarten went.
All those years I spent riding through a thousand small towns having never lived in one, I wondered what it’d be like to take out a loan on a house, settle down, and make a home in such a place. Now I’m six years into rural life and I can’t imagine heading back to the city. The slow speed and gentle rhythms and good people keep me here and keep me content.
It’s a fine Thursday evening, warm but not hot, high clouds drifting with layers of texture. There’s the strong smell of fresh-cut grass, the faint stink of weed, and a light sweetness of berries turning overripe. Crickets and tiny birds carry on. Cars are few.
I catch False Bay at high tide and eat smoked fish and apples for dinner at the edge of a short bluff with tiny waves diving into the shore below.
I head back mostly the way I came. There’s still enough light to ride through town, grab a treat, then crank up the steepest hill of the day just before reaching home.
Juniper is tired but still awake when I get there. I hear more about her first day at school — double recess, snack time, Mr. Potato Heads, a book about insects, and a girl who might might be a new friend even though she and Juniper have yet to say a word to each other.
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8 months ago