149 words about 88 miles and the man in the cemetery
I like the social aspect of group rides, but today I did a long solo ride, following a favorite route through Washington Valley and letting my mind freewheel: What’s up next week at work. Costco shopping list. The December ride through here with Payne. Will they ever pave this road? But all that stopped when I glanced at the small family cemetery off 23. A car with the hatchback up. A man in a camo shirt and cargo shorts standing at a grave, hands clasped behind his back, head down, looking at a large spray of flowers. The posture that seems to signal loss and remembrance universally. It’s Father’s Day weekend, so I had a pretty good idea what was going on. I passed in a few seconds, and when I made the turn for home I was reminded of how much you miss a tailwind when it’s gone.