There’s a lot you can do in a short time; your journey to where you’ve got to be each day can be more. I scoured maps to explore those turns off the road that always flashed by as my head was down. One turn off that road lead me here, a barely visible single track. A small finger of woodland stretching down through the city. As I rode down the staccato flash of sunrise and the tap of mud hitting the frame broke to a bright wide banked grass park. I dove up, back into the tree line then, down the trail, hopping roots and skirting mud on the small berms.

My son was born in June, way before the rain and wind of January. Crossin’ to the hospital to see him each day was a joy.

Ride everthing, ride erry day