It is 108°. The A/C is still not working. It’s really too hot to do much of anything. I can’t get much done sitting in front of the fan, so I sweat through the day doing what I can. I certainly can’t ride my bike in this heat. I’m going to ride in the morning.
But that’s my prime writing time, I argue with myself. But if I don’t, I won’t be primed to ride 40 miles at the Clear Lake Konocti Challenge in October.
I get up twenty minutes earlier. Throw on old clothes. Feed the dog. Feed the fish. Drink my Boost. Get my water. All I need now are my shoes and helmet.
As I reach toward my bike shoes on the closet floor, I notice Dancing Dog. She’s so excited anticipating that I’ll take her on my bike ride, she pirouettes. Again. And again. And again.
“Do you want to go on ride?” She pirouettes even faster; then races down the hallway towards the closet that stores her front pack, like a front pack you’d use with a young baby.
“Stop dancing so I can put you in your pack.” Then we’re off for a morning ride. Dancing Dog takes it all in. She observes what’s going on, smells the fresh air, and holds her head high while the wind blows on her face. She’s simply taking in the moment as she rides along in my front pack.
I’m still grumbling. I’d rather ride in the late afternoon. I’m missing my writing time. Then I restate the truth. I’m delaying my writing time. I will write after my eight-mile ride.
With the writing dilemma settled, I focus on my ride and am in the moment, just like Dancing Dog.
“Dancing Dog, do you see the kitty?… Hi kitty cat,” I sing-song as if both animals will answer. I’m now aware of the birds’ songs in the quiet neighborhood. I observe a breeze, just enough to keep me comfortable.
Ahh, this is why I like bike riding. I’m in the fresh air enjoying God’s nature and beauty. Oh yeah, and getting some exercise too.
Before I know it, we’re heading home. After I cool down, I write. And Dancing Dog? She’s lying next to me, living in the moment, yet anticipating our next adventure.