Dear Melody,

As you know, the sun decided to make an appearance early this morning, kicking the early weather predictions in the teeth. I believe you had some hand in this event. How? I don't know, but that is what I believe. You wanted and perhaps needed the morning to unfold as it did as much (if not more) and I.

And unfold it did . . . temperature, sun, all the elements doing its part to present to us the ideal conditions for the inaugural run of the season.

Two cups of coffee, a bowl of cereal later I was ready. And there you were, readied days before in preparation, waiting patiently, confidently.
More confident than I, truth be told. Even though the run was nothing too complicated. Nothing too twisted. Nothing too involved. A small errand, an easy jaunt a bit over two miles, round trip.

Easy. Peasy.

Well, as it turns out not quite so easy and I have no idea what peasy means, if it even is a word, but it was nowhere to be found in the jaunt either. My knees crackled, my breaths shortened, and my back protested, but onward I pedaled, your shiny confidence urging me on.

Still, I must confess, my mind spun with alternatives for the return trip while securing you to the corral after the first leg. But, after I emerged from the post office, the parcel I'd gone to pick up safely packed in the bag, secured to my back, I noticed the wind velocity had lessened, the sun shone brighter, the traffic had eased.

Again, I know all that was your doing. You're a mighty force, my lovely blue machine.

So, thank you for being the strong one; for easing me up that slight incline, for steering me toward the softer, less pot-holed roads, for not mocking my ever so inelegant wheezing, the deafening noise of the crackling knees. Thank you for holding fast to our near snail's pace even as I ever so briefly, entertained of idea of being offended by the jogger in the pink fluorescent top out running us.

We made it back to the homestead, much as we left; you confident and me, achy but happy. You are parked in your usual place--anxious to weave your magic for the next clear day--for our next opportunity to be as one, again and again and again.

I am so grateful to have gotten this inaugural run under our collective belts, so happy it went as well as it did.

And so again, thank you for being there for me and being ready to go on the whims on the wind and the knees.

You are so lovely, my might blue machine.

Love,

Deborah
♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥  

O Say Can You See

Brin had to be retired. We missed the naked event again this year, but she was beyond the point of caring.

It's just as well, as we weren't the best fit.

There is a new Brin, though I don't think she'll be called or known as Brin. Her personality has yet to be revealed and so her name awaits.

I can tell you that the entire year while contemplating a new Brin there was much back and forth (in my mind) about the kind of person powered vehicle to acquire.

Mountain, cruiser, hybrid, or . . .  trike. Yes, trike. I will be 53 years old in a few weeks and while in OK physical shape, there are days where those fifty-three years . . . well, let's just say, gliding through the streets with care and ease (never reckless, daredevil like abandon)  is quite the trial. That said, truth be known, I never really seriously considered an adult tricycle. Partly because of storage issues but mainly because, frankly, I'm just not there. Yet.

A couple of weeks ago while out on Brin in what will be known now as our last hurrah, we came across a fellow rider on a contraption  . . . that can best be described as torture on wheels. 

W. T. F. Seriously? Then, I learned that an outfit in town has units available for rent. I repeat, W.T.F.

That expressed, the rider Brin and I saw did seem to be having a wonderful experience. She exhibited a fluidity that was worthy of marvel. However, that mechanical device, not. for. me. any more than a unicycle would be on my list of possibilities.

I chose a mountain bike. Not because I anticipate going off road anytime soon but because the wheels  and frame wide and sturdy and I need wide and sturdy. Plus, some city streets are well, rough.

The new (yet to be named, we'll call her Brin for now) is tricked out with the former <Brin's accessories; basket, lights, and the like and is ready to roll. Hopefully over the next five or so days we'll both get quite the workout and her personality will become clear(er).

In the meantime, marking the calendar for next year's naked ride. Let the training begin.
 

Culmination or Gay Themed Week in Review

The week began with a trip to Chinatown, where I met up with some lesbian adventurers to partake of a Chinese dim sum brunch. It was my first foray into the land of dim sum and I found it to be both adventuresome and fun, much like the company.

After work on Tuesday I trekked to the north end of town to attend an open mic hosted by a local bookstore. The event, booked as an annual pride celebration featured some GLBTQ authors. A few of the dim sum adventurers were in attendance as were some others from the group that I had yet to meet.

Among the notable lines were, all I want for breakfast is coffee and sex, coffee and sex, coffee and sex and Do I touch her deeper than the surface of her pleasure?* We heard one author pondering what she'd do if she had a Harley and yet another read from his book detailing his stripper days . Needless to say it was both adventuresome and fun, much like the company.

Chicago's 40th Annual Pride parade was held this past Sunday. Yours truly was one of the tens of thousands in attendance. I was to meet with one of the women from the group (we'd arranged the get together following the reading, while schmoozing and noshing on pita chips, hummus, grape leaves and wine) who has attended the last several years, securing the 'perfect' parade viewing spot. There was also talk of a trip to the beach.

As it happens I didn't meet up with my new friend J until after the parade, but never fear. I was in the company of some fabulous folks who shared Bloody Marys, vodka and cranberry concoctions, and more. We danced, laughed, competed for beads and other parade 'swag' and had a party hearty good time.

I met J after the parade. We walked about the neighborhood still buzzing with energetic gay pride-filled folks. After a bit of dinner and a little more walking to further soak in the ambiance we parted ways, both looking forward to the next opportunity to meet.

Though I never made it to the beach, the parade and all related experiences capped a week of amazingly true adventures of this nearly 49 year-old, rather newbie lesbian.

*oddly enough there was no microphone at the open mic, so I didn't hear all the introductions, otherwise I certainly would credit the two authors referenced here.