THE LYRICS to two iconic tunes from "my" time come to mind as especially appropriate to my current situation.

Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future
Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin'
Into the future

I want to fly like an eagle
To the sea
Fly like an eagle
Let my spirit carry me
I want to fly like an eagle
Till I'm free

- Steve Miller, Fly Like an Eagle

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And you run, and you run
To catch up with the sun, but it's sinking
And racing around
To come up behind you again
The sun is the same in a relative way
But you're older
Shorter of breath
And one day closer to death

Every year is getting shorter
Never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to naught
Or half a page of scribbled lines

- Roger Waters / David Gilmour, Time

It's been a spring full of distractions and weather that persuaded me that staying inside was preferable to braving the elements for even a short outdoor ride.  Somehow (and no it wasn't the slightest bit difficult to do), I convinced myself that better days would soon be coming my way so what need was there ("why bother?" I would ask myself) to do regular- or even irregular, if it comes right down to it- penance on the spin bike.

A couple weeks ago, after a very restless night due at least in part to the certain knowledge that I have not been preparing as my heart of hearts tells me I ought to have been, I came very close to postponing the whole shebang.  It could have slid into mid-summer, though that wouldn't be anywhere near optimal based on typical summer weather conditions.  It could've slid further to the right, into the autumn, which might've been okay (unless there was a hurricane moving up the east coast- a very real possibility starting in late August and continuing until mid-November).  It could've slid all the way to next spring.

Each of those options, however, causes the excursion to fail in what has become one of its principal reasons for having been added to this year's calendar in the first place: it's training for the Katy ride next month.  (Yeah, yeah I know: I'm using a possibly moderately hilly, 12 day, 600 mile ride for which I'm patently unready as preparation for a nearly-flat, five-day, 300-mile ride a month from now.  So sue me.)

Now, with a mere five calendar days remaining before I board the Amtrak for my ride to Charlotte and the starting point of this ride, I'm frantically trying to figure out how to scratch for at least a few token miles by way of preparation.  To top it off, one of those days has somehow been claimed by a round of golf with the neighbors, so I really have at most four days to get "ready" (I hope you hear the derisive snort here, at the blatant misuse and exaggeration of the term "ready") to go.

Today, however, is a picture-perfect opportunity to open the training regimen.  Unlike much of the past many weeks, which have been chilly and rainy and windy, it's bright and sunny and in the upper 70s with just a light breeze.  Perfect riding conditions.

I'm under no illusions as to the state of my fitness, so I elect to take my road bike rather than my touring bike.  The roadie is made of gossamer and moonbeams, spider silk and fairy dust.  It carries all the weight of a promise made during a political campaign speech.  Neil Armstrong, walking on the moon, weighed more than this carbon fiber beauty.

As you are most likely unfamiliar with the roads in my area I'll spare you the blow-by-blow turn-by-turn litany of details.  Suffice it to say, it was a most pleasant ride.  The bike hummed sweetly along on low-traffic roads, bordered with multi-million dollar homes often set far back on generously-proportioned tracts of land.  Sure there are the hulking, garish McMansions of the nouveau riche sprinkled around, but the greater part of the route passes through more established and bucolic scenery.

My route is comprised of intersecting segments, minimizing the backtracking I'll do.  Two of those segments cross about ten miles from home, and there's a small rural convenience store at the point of intersection.  Since the routes cross here, I get two chances at it: the first comes a third of the way through the ride and the second comes with the final third remaining.  In between, I've got a turnaround / rest point available at the halfway mark.  Perfect.

Arriving at the store for the first time, I'm still feeling good so I only sit at their picnic table and have a drink from my water bottle, along with about five minutes' breather.  From there it's only about five miles to the turnaround point, where I've planned a longer break.

During COVID, several local musicians got into the habit of traveling out to Riley's Lock on the C&O Canal, where they could practice and jam in the open air and safely distanced from one another and everyone else.  They enjoyed it so much that it's become a regular Sunday afternoon fixture, year around (weather permitting).  They're not busking: I see no evidence of open instrument cases or other containers that might accumulate stray currency from the appreciative onlookers.  No, they seem to be there purely and solely for the joy of being there, and of playing together.

Heart

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Some of the people in the audience are clearly familiar with the setup, while others just happen by and are drawn in by the music and their own curiosity.  Today I'm in that former group, but after just a moment another couple ride up and join me.  They've been out riding the canal towpath, and just happened to come by.

We converse for a few minutes, during which time it develops that one of them is slightly pressed for water.  They're pleased to hear about "my" convenience store, and agree to let me escort them to it when we're ready to go.  Then we settle back and take in a few tunes, before I get restless and decide it's time to be turning the cranks once again.

Covering the five miles back to the store takes 25 to 30 minutes, during which time we chitchat amicably about or respective bikes, the day's weather and ride, and a few other light topics.  Reaching the store I decide it's time for something other than water to drink so I stop along with them and we enjoy several more minutes' conversation.  The store's owned and operated by an Indian family; today two of the younger members of the clan are on duty and they've got a cricket match on the television.

Last autumn we canceled some of the subscription TV channels we'd been paying for, and among the casualties was the all-cricket-all-the-time station I'd watched a lot during the pandemic.  One of the top leagues is in session now, and I've rather missed getting my daily fix so I linger inside for a few minutes watching with enjoyment.  The teams engaged today are longtime franchises, and every match between them has something of a Yankees/Red Sox air about it.  Today's no exception.

The clerk is more than a little surprised to find an American, and not one of south Asian or British heritage, with interest in the game and a little knowledge.  I like that: it gives me a new level of distinction in his eyes, particularly as he stands listening as I try to explain the basics of the game to my companions.

After my brief cricket fix my companions and I part ways, heading in opposite directions.  The remainder of the ride is easy; I'm in no hurry so I'm not pushing the pace.  Once home it's time for a refreshing shower (it's always so good to shed the sweaty riding clothes after a ride) followed by various home activities.

I'm hoping (planning) to get out again tomorrow, if only to run some errands.  If I manage it properly I might even get a few more miles than I did today.  One of the errands is a visit to my cardiologist; by showing up in riding duds I hope to mitigate the near-certainty of disappointing him when he takes note of my weight.  It'll at least look like I'm serious about trying to step up the exercise level.