So, I rode my bike ten miles through pretty heavy rain.
Actually, I rode 65 miles overall. The sheer insanity of that idea is still running through my mind, even the second time around.
Driving through that rain meant something… tying together a lofty goal, less than desirable circumstances, the possibility of failure or not finishing. And I did cross that end line. I was soaked. Perhaps in some way undergoing some sort of strange cleansing. Enjoying the way nature lets loose and I can fully experience it.
And otherwise this ride in just a small way temporarily satisfies that voice that tells me to escape. Even if I don’t actually possess the courage to run away, at least for that number of hours, I’ll ride away to the shoreline, leaving the questions behind.