Amen

Silence is golden. Amen, brother. We did the second annual Ride of Silence last night around Winslow (or better, the area formerly known as Winslow) to commemorate our fallen cycling brethren. Seems that just yesterday we lost another one up in Bellingham. The event was attended by the usual cast of characters, and although a decent number showed up, I was a little disappointed in the total. So be it. It was nice to see all the club spinners out in force and taking part in a peaceful community reminder that we all share the roads. I had to laugh (silently and to myself) at the IDIOTS in their cars who were offended that the Police would block a few intersections for a few minutes so a few cyclists could honor those who have been mowed down by cars, trucks, busses or trains. I wish they would have issued a FEW citations.

Yesterday represented the fourth day of my return to training, and please remember, dear readers, that the goal was to train for eleven days and race in Elma on Memorial Day. Every morning since Sunday I have done an easy little 5K in the park to start the day and then a ride in the evening to cap it. I thought a relapse was in the works last night as my lungs were tight with excess mucus. Yuk all over again. But today I feel like the proverbial million ducks, so the dilemma is: Longer or faster?

The Wildflower fruit fly issue has been resolved I hope, as the video is rendering as I blog, which provides a perfect opportunity to get in the aforementioned longer or faster run. Which I will do pronto with RCV fingers crossed.

Also re-watched Michael Clayton last night after the ride. Saw it the first time in Chicago when I was back there for Steelhead last summer and was moved by Clooney's performance and the overall "ethics" of the back story. I really like this movie, especially ONE scene where Mick (Clooney) is driving his son Henry home from a birthday party where we meet his family, including his rehabbing brother-in-law, Tim. As they drive away Mick stops the car in the middle of the street to tell his nine year old son about his future, and how it will be OK, and he won't be one of those people (like Tim) who (seemingly) has shit fall out of the sky around him all the time. It is a GREAT scene, touching and almost painfully sensitive. The kind of scene you don't see much. Mick is flawed, he knows it, and as a parent, wants his son (who lives with Mom) to recognize that he isn't predestined to grow up smoking crack or stealing tires. That he is special. And he is.

And we are. Amen and amen.

(l) Chuck listens to Kim's opening remarks. (r) Tammy listens to the remarkable bagpipes.