Pacific Grove, Califonia 


Early this morning, I was cruising along on my bike, trying to think of a missive to write, blanking in and out, and trying to dodge my current political hangover. After about a dozen miles and several hills, after I exhausted my anger and anxieties, after I gave up trying to keep up with the woman on a Cinelli who left me in the dust, after I soaked in the beauty of the ocean and sucked in a thousand breaths of the fresh morning air, I felt a shift, like a drug kicking in.

My lungs were open, and my joints warm and loose, but the real change was the lightness. Everything seemed lighter. The hissing tires, clicking gears, and purring freewheel scratched a deep itch. There was nothing between me, the bike, and the road and nothing else on my mind. I rolled through a corner and up a slight hill, and there’s the ocean with the sun rising over Monterey Bay .… And I thought––oh, there’s my missive.