The night before the ride out I didn't sleep much. Steven didn't arrive at Goldie's until after her kids went to bed, and of course we had to stay up late and scheme and pack.
Then, I tried to sleep in Goldie's big bed, reminding myself that I probably wasn't going to get a good night's sleep, air conditioning, or an entire bed to myself in large quantities in the next week and a half.
And that's what I thought about as I tossed and turned until dawn.
In the morning, despite all my preparations, I had a number of items to attend to:
- get the bikes outside
- get dressed (not in that order)
- drink coffee
- last minute cat and dog wrangling.
- And silently panic. That too.
Soon enough Steven and I were holding the front door open and trying to lug massive, overweight bikes out the front door. (Oh, I forgot to mention that I "broke" the garage door, so the bikes had to go in Goldie's swanky foyer. Sorry Perfect Fit!)
And, of course, the cat makes a break for it. Wilson, large and lumbering, sneaks out to the front porch and then pauses. Just imagine, me, in bicycle shorts and barefoot cooing at a cat, silently begging for it not to take off into the bushes. Just as he contemplated hopping off the porch, I swooped him up and lugged him back to the house as he meowed and kicked in kitty protest.
Then we tried to get Steven's bike outside, and, of course, whoop! There goes the dog out to the front yard with out a collar or a leash, naked as the day he was born. Repeat the same hair raising-panic-inducing-pet wrangle as before.
And finally, finally! We were ready to depart.
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| Role reversal in our normal game faces, wouldn't you say? |
We took a pre-dawn but already sweating selfie and headed down the hill towards the bike trail.
The #RideOut had begun.
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