Every day a little something more.

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About a month ago I decided I better get my heart beating faster at least a couple times a week. I dusted off my bike, a Breezer most excellent and suitable for a sixty year old, and began taking morning rides along the bay shore. This morning I was out and peddling before dawn. I keep an average speed of 8 miles an hour – poke slow as some say – yet I sweat and and my heart beats hard enough for me to feel it. The view I get as I effort along is one of the best in the world. Elegant egrets dipping their beaks into the glassy bay water selecting their morning morsels, Emeryville skyscrapers boasting LED signs: ART HEALTH, reflect the changing light, miles across the water San Francisco stands proud on its peninsula, connecting to Marin by way of the Golden Gate Bridge. Marin seems to always get the first direct rays of sun. It shines yellow in an otherwise gray-hued expanse. This is one side of the world I could look at forever.
On the other is 880. The roar of traffic, even at Six thirty in the morning allows me to sing at the top of my lungs and still not be heard. The cars, trucks & busses, so many shapes and colors speed toward their occupant’s work days, headlights beaming, windows rolled up tight to keep the incessant speak of NPR audible, and my off key rendition of an old Sonny & Cher toon out.
I love these mornings. The ridiculousness ness of racing the dawn, the traffic and the days of of my sixtieth year. Today the little something more was noticing the calm this ride brings to my thoughts.

The Author

Quintessential Berkeley Homemaker

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