The Fourth of July weekend isn’t usually thought of as a time-marker, like New Years Day or Thanksgiving, but it’s become that for me. Last year at this time I had an accident on my bike, briefly described here, which turned out to be more serious than I’d thought, and which left me oddly discombobulated with thought of my own mortality and insignificance. Maybe because of that — or maybe for perfectly random reasons — the year since last Fourth of July has been an unsatisfying grind, particularly at work. I’m blessed to have a job that’s more interesting than most, one in which I’ve always felt I was accomplishing something more than just bringing home a paycheck, actually doing some good. But the last year has seen a rebirth of my cynical side, a revival of the thought that it’s all a big stupid zero-sum gain, everybody for themselves. Not a particularly motivating mindset.
So today I decided to put an end to this unhappy year the same way it started, with a bike ride. To minimize my odds of a repeat of last year, I rode away from cars, down the Joe Rodota Trail to Sebastopol, then up to Graton, and back to Santa Rosa.
A gorgeous day, cool in the morning, warm as the fog burned off around noon, peaceful bucolic scenery along the way.
I’m pleased to report I returned unscathed, no scrapes, no breaks, just tired and cognizant that I need to get in better shape. A sign maybe that this next 12 months will be better than the last.
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