Exactly

Back during the years of the Obama Presidency, when I was a wee lad in my fifties, it was rare that a Point83 ride wouldn’t have me finally arriving home around 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning.  

There were many miles to pedal and several watering holes to get to before the night was over; sometimes not one, but two outdoor fires, with often a final one after the bars closed at the beloved Fremont Firepit where people would pass out or nap for a bit before their eventual wobble home.

Ah, youth!

These days, by contrast, I’m satisfied with an evening that hits all the high points and checks the requisite boxes: some sort of street-level nonsense at Westlake, a ramble along the waterfront, a new parking garage in which to quaff a (apparently stolen) cold one, a massed-up bridge crossing, a very quick, but highly-enjoyable conflagration, and finally, a single bar, for just a little bit.

Back home in bed well before midnight, but it’s plenty.

And these days, who needs a full 327 words?  About half that is fine.