It's so easy to be lazy in the real world.
It's past 11 and I'm still sitting on my Thermarest in Vermont, staring at a computer screen and the walls of our family's cabin. Usually by 11, we would have already biked anywhere from 50-90 miles, and eaten breakfast, lunch, and lots of reduced-fat chocolate milk.
And so today, I plan on both practicing my flute (because I have to EVERY DAY so I can get back to a semi-normal level before school starts) and going for a bike ride.
My aunts and grandmother and cousins are leaving today, so presently there is a lot of commotion with packing and kids not wanting to leave (there has been some kissing of the cabin walls and refusal to part ways).
I (stupid STUPIDLY) forgot one of my bike shoes in Louisiana, so I have to also go down into town (again - was there twice yesterday - ugh!) to see if the bike store there will lend me some toe clips...really dorky, I know, but the alternative is to buy new bike shoes, which seems completely superfluous.
Yesterday, I biked with my running shoes resting on top of the SPD pedals and it's just not-fun. Climbing up hillish-mountains in Vermont with only the down stroke just feels like both hell and a waste of energy. A great workout for your calves, for sure, but kind unnecessary as well.
So as the sun comes out, I'll meander (in my car) down to Manchester and get ready for a bike ride; it'll be a route I did many times last summer, but I'm looking forward to it feeling like a completely different experience - one with a lot less groaning and more grinning, I'm expecting.
Yesterday was the first time I'd been on my bike since the wheel dip last Sunday and it was amazing. I felt at home on the bike, and was just so grateful to have such wonderful memories of the past 2+ months.
But today before the bike ride, I'll get my flute out and play. It's kind of fun getting back into shape, actually. Everything is really slow and calm and you can see huge progress each time you take out the instrument.
The phone up here in the cabin has been out for a week or so, and we're consequently completely, 100% cut off from society. Sure, I can walk 10 minutes down the road to check my voicemail and hope that I have enough service to download email, but really - we're all alone up here, with no internet, TV, or phone (cell or otherwise). I don't feel stuck; it's really refreshing - it makes the times when I do have connection with the outside world mean so much more. I don't just sit around and refresh my Facebook account over and over. Instead, I ride my bike through the hills, stop at the waterfall, and jump in with my bike shorts and sports bra. If the mosquitoes weren't out by the millions, I'd say it was (almost) perfect.
And here's the 'almost' qualifier: Every time I'm up here in Vermont, I want to share the experience with someone. This place is such a part of me that I just want the important people in my life to understand. That feeling of yearning to share is so strong that it almost overwhelms my own enjoyment. Not quite though; Vermont is seemingly impossible to ruin, and I still have almost a week here before I have to face true reality.
