I throttle down the shoreline road to town in a brisk March breeze, close attention in the curves where the snow melt can freeze. I park my cycle outside a favorite lakeside restaurant. I shake off the chill so vigorously that I stumble through the doorway. The lunchtime crowd is long gone. The bored waitstaff greet me like a long lost friend.
I order a glass of Amber, and write in the warm sun at a table with a view. A wind gust whips the snow into a frenzy on the frozen surface of the lake. I work for several hours, straying when searching for a word – How would the cycle work out there? – then back
to the page, a sip of beer at paragraph’s end.
In the late afternoon, overheated now, I pay for my beer. I pull on a few insulating layers, taking my time to prolong my waitress’s welcome amazement. Does hardy forgive crazy? I pause in the lobby to put on my jacket and helmet. I glance in the mirror long enough to chuckle at the fancy synchilla liner I’ve somehow put on backwards, collar up under my chin. I’m sure my waitress was impressed.
The knowledge that I am still a fool warms me as I turn towards home.
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