Normal

A bit of normality helps.

The usual Thursday: before the way home from Bothell along the Burke, you eat a pot cookie.  By the time you get to Matthews Beach, the riding is smoother, the colors are brighter, and you have all kinds of great ideas for everything, few of which stand up to the cold, cruel light of dawn, but sure are fun to think about at the time.

So, it was satisfying and heartening to experience that familiar end-of-the-school week experience —even though the part where you were at school was simply a matter of feeling like a cat burglar or maybe James Bond as you key-carded yourself into the totally empty building on the completely deserted campus to slide into your darkened office for a few books and things—and honestly, look forward to what constitutes the Thursday night ride these days: getting drunk in front of a virtual pastiche of faces of friends and acquaintances; it ain’t enough to be sure, but it’s better than nothing, and oddly, nothing is better than something that isn’t possible at the present time, oddly enough.

When the apocalypse hits, if it hasn’t already, you may as well ride your bike around; you’ll notice that the converted rails-to-trail trail is crowded with more people than you’ve ever seen before.  Apparently, when the gym is closed, people decide that running is the best option, although what they’re running from is invisible; could it be the virus?

Also, day-drinking parents seem to have simultaneously come to the conclusion that the family bike ride is a good idea.  More power to them! 

And to all those little kids discovering the joys of two-wheeling, one of which is the opportunity to pedal way ahead of their tipsy mom and slalom back and forth on the tarmac, yay!

Someday, all this will be over and we’ll be able to hug each other around a fire. 

Until then, embrace the abnormal as normal.