This coffee tastes good and I think I just signed up for a racing team: Nickel City. Between last night talking about it with my bike friend Erin and now today talking about it with the coach Pat, I think I might be ready for this. It’s an all women’s team and its intention is to get more women cycling and learning to race with each other. He said he doesn’t want super experienced riders; he wants women who want to learn. I like that idea. I want to learn.
This coffee tastes good and last night while riding with Athena Cycle, the sun was setting and we were racing to get back to the city and I was last. I wanted to be last because I had back lights and I wanted cars to see us. I also wanted to be last because that way you get to see this whole group in front of you. You get to see all the women who came out to do this ride tonight. We are going along, really clipping and I hear Enki call to me, are you okay? And I am. I so am.
This coffee tastes good and life is always moving, always changing. I try to make it stand still and I say “Be this!” but it won’t let me. I try to pin it down like a butterfly on an observing board, but it flaps away and leads me to strange and exotic places. It leads me here and there and I find myself awake the next day, changed, completely anew.
This coffee tastes good and last night after the ride I drank a cool, clean Peroni at Caffe Aroma. It was cold. Cold on a cold night: it stung my hands, my throat. My body was hot was from the ride and my woolies were soaked with sweat. The beer was refreshing and good and good and a treat and a treat and a clink and a toast and we’re all friends.
This coffee tastes good and I drink it down and I realize I’ve got to get into better shape if I’m going to ride with women who do triathlons. The cup is empty and now it’s time to write a short story about a small child who wants a tattoo.
This coffee tastes good and I want to go as fast as I can on this team, but I want to take my time. I want to take my fucking time.