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A Full Day Already and Not Even 4 p.m. - Blather. Rants. Repeat.
A Møøse once bit my sister ...
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A Full Day Already and Not Even 4 p.m.
In hindsight, I'm way glad I made Friday my return-travel day and yesterday one for recovery. Lots of good things all around today, including one sigh of relief.

I must've still been pretty Outta It yesterday. Just ran a few errands around lunchtime, then went back out and got a few groceries right after 5 in the afternoon. When I reached for my wallet, it wasn't there; I'd left it in the blue hand-held shopping basket that I'd stacked in front of the register.  Good thing I caught THAT, huh. Came home and made an early evening of it.

This  morning, I arose even before an early-set alarm to get to a workout at 8 a.m.  Once again, though, my wallet was AWOL. I grabbed Eleanor's shopping card to use for breakfast and a few other things we needed at the store, and figured I'd find the wallet when I got home.  Then I saw an incoming call on my phone- from Wegmans, made at 9:30 last night. Sure enough, I'd managed to drop the damn thing a second time after leaving the store, and this time it took almost four hours before it got turned in.  And my faith in humanity is restored, since my IDs and even 20-odd in cash were all still in there. That puts me up about 13 bucks for the whole long weekend if you count the stolen Yankee Stadium beer;)

I'd picked the early workout time because I wanted to actually set foot in church for the first time in almost two months.  Our wife-and-husband pair of new ministers took over at the start of July, and they had a meet-and-greet with them after today's.  They're both fairly young, and the lead pastor is extremely pregnant, but I think I will have sympathetic ears if I can put up with the BS long enough; in the first sermon of hers I heard, Heather spoke about privilege and inclusion  and used the term "black lives matter" without sneering.  I told them I'd been making efforts with the previous pastor to get us officially on board as a Reconciling Ministries church within United Methodism; and while they didn't pin a medal on me, send me down the hall and say "You're our boy!" I think they're with me on the cause.

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Then we just got back from our first real spins on the new bikes. 

Eleanor wasn't entirely sure how much she could do- after two days sick last week and a full day scheduled tomorrow- but she kept to our plan to leave about 2:30 this afternoon.  We're lucky to have an extensive network of bike paths beginning barely a mile from here, but it's safest to load up the bikes and start the ride there, so we did our first full drill of loading the new rack and then the bikes onto it.

I wanted to take the lead on this, since I'm not the visual one and wanted to be sure I could do it without screwing things up. And for the most part, I did- one piece didn't seat quite right, but I'll remember that next time. The only other snag is that hers, being a ladies' bike, needs an extra attachment to be inserted between handlebars and seat so there's something straight to attach to the rack. We bought the part when we picked up mine, but we'd never tried it out with hers until today- and it kinda gets gorked when bumping up against her rear reflector. So it's going to require a screwdriver and pliers to come with us every time we load and unload it.

Once all that was done and we were on the path, it was all good.  We took the fork in the road that comes up to the edge of UB, then returned along Ellicott Creek to the point and place of beginning- probably about five miles in all.  We both still need to relearn how and when to shift, and my ass hurts more from the hot sun on a black seat than anything else.  The path is lined with memorial trees, which are decorated with the usual American flags and angels but also distinct mementos at many of them (a coffee cup here, a pinwheel there).  I also saw a guy in a "Ride for Roswell" shirt; that's the annual fundraising race for our local cancer center, where riders always honor a specific survivor or memorialize a victim of the disease.  Its fun-run equivalent is only three miles, wot we did, but the shortest real distance is ten, much of it along the same path, and it looks eminently doable next June. (There's also a 40-mile course that goes into Canada, but I'm not going to get bigger than my britches just yet.)  So look for me to start begging for money in about nine months, and it'll be Betty, our beloved and tough-as-nails 83-year-old neighbor that I'll be riding to honor. Yes, honor, dammit.

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Back to our Simulated Normal tomorrow:)
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