You know how it is: you've been out running errands - or even just having fun - all day, and now you're home, settling in and ready for dinner. Except in all that running around, you forgot a major ingredient, plus a couple of items you'll need tomorrow. So in spite of wet hair and gathering dusk and quickly falling temperatures, out you go again. But instead of a ten-minute drive, it's a half-hour on a bike.
Yeah, I cratered. My almost-driving-free weekend ended about 5 p.m. Sunday with a trip to the supermarket. I'd have made it if they carried stewmeat at the corner store.
Riding to the current job is still a long way off - but at least the job is still in the "current" column. Saturday I did some route-scouting to the halfway point, which is always fun. This point is also the closest possible bus stop to the worksite, an important landmark for any future trips into town straight after work - an option made poignantly more feasible after other events of the day.
Besides the data gathered, the ride Saturday was primarily to blow off steam and get out of the suddenly-lonely house. My sister had just left minutes before, taking with her my war-buddy from the trenches of a long campaign: my cat Boze, whom I inherited from my late dad. She's been with me for six years and through four moves, including the initial exile from her previous hilltop fiefdom that was the only world she'd known. My current living arrangement became untenable for the old girl, so off she goes to the north. My sister has two cats of her own, so she's suddenly become single mom to a blended household of aging felines. Boze is in the best possible hands, but I miss her.
I hope I can get out of bed tomorrow morning without her yelling to be fed.
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