Today, I took my bike out for a little ride. The weather was moody. There was a fog that had settled in places, and threatened to spread everywhere like a big soggy blanket, but it kept to the lower stretches of the riverside pathways.
The air was cool. In fact, it was kind of humid and somewhat pleasant in some parts of the ride, but as I turned on the trail beside the river, a chill fell over me and instantly the air was at least a few degrees cooler. I looked out over the very calm water and there were remnants of ice flow coming down the river. It was moving swiftly, but looked quite calm.
The river is swollen too. All that snow melt off has added to the volume, and the river threatens to overtake the bike trail that runs along side. In some places the river has inundated the areas and I rode by some places that were partially covered by water.
The patches of fog were interesting. As the afternoon gave way to early evening, the fog had a mysterious, even suspicious aura about it. Riding into it was somewhat fun but it was easy to imagine some movie-set style thriller plot twist, but alas, it was just my imagination.
I didn’t wear gloves. I should have. The air on my hands was cold. Not painfully so, but enough to have changed my mind after I left the apartment. I took one of the gravel trails along side the river. It’s a little too early yet with a mix of mud and a lot of the trail still covered in snow.
My friend was with me (I should have mentioned that). She was riding ‘up town girl,’ my bike I bought back in 1992. As we mounted a hill on a diversion away from the river, she fell behind some what. I waited for her. She seemed to be struggling a bit with the gears. After she caught up, we played tag in who was going first. She’s blonde, petit, fun. Cute body. We laugh a lot. We stopped at the lights. I noticed a young man looking out the window of the car he was in looking at my friend. He was eyeing her lovely figure, for quite a while, and as the car took off he seemed to be stuck on looking. Can’t blame him.
We stopped at my Francophone friends house. I called him before we arrived. We spoke, in French. I asked if he was in. Yes he said (in French). “C’est la petite maison a droite.” He invited us in. Such a wonderful gentle man. We got the tour of his house. He has many cacti plants. Not my thing by nice for him. His house was a little cluttered, a little lived in. He has a bookshelf that his father made him, and many titles in French. He has a beautiful wood stove, finished in a kind of cream porcelain. Perhaps the most handsome wood stove I have ever laid eyes on.
As we returned to my apartment, the weather had turned a little, and a light rain fell. The water was cool, but not punishingly so. It was a nice afternoon out, all told.
Namaste. 🙂 Gros calins, tout le monde.