Last week, Pete and I mapped out a bicycle route to the new office and I started commuting to work via back roads and bike paths. This morning, Pete checked the new round trip for mileage: 3.88 miles to the office. The ride to the old office was 2.2 miles, so 3.88 driveway to driveway was great news. His round trip measured 8.4 miles, but, he said, it involved a wrong turn and a 100-yard backtracking.
In the new office, my co-workers find my cycling glee at least perplexing and at most dangerous. There’s a whiff of Ladies simply do not do this. Ten minutes before I left work, I called Pete.
Tata: How’s the weather?
Pete: Clear. You should be fine.
Tata: I dunno. It’s pretty dark out.
Pete: I’ll see you at home.
I hung up the phone. The skies opened and a torrential downpour pounded the building’s metal roof. At their desks, dozens of people stood up to figure what that roaring noise was. Everyone looked at me. Annoyed, I shut off my PC, gathered my stuff and made the long walk to the front door, where I discovered the rain had stopped so suddenly the ground wasn’t even completely wet. My ride home along the river, in fresh air and sunshine, was so lovely I forgot to be mad.
It’s a freaking miracle.