An undeserved gift
Brown. Olive. Gray. From ground to sky, all of autumn’s life was drained, leaving the roadside an almost colorless husk. The road was wet, but it wasn’t raining. With the road spray, it might as well have been.
Jen was on the front, keeping us at that mythical winter pace, keeping the group together through the cutoff to Cook Springs. The usual dogs were in their houses or under their porches. Time on the front was a trade off: you took the December wind but avoided the gritty wheel spray.
Bo rolled up and said, “A sketchy day and a ride like this … it feels like you stole it.” He’s right. We never take a 65 degree crystal blue day for granted. But on a wet, gray day with a group, you’re not just sharing the work, wind and wheel spray. You’re sharing something, a gift, that feels oddly undeserved.