Wherein I Dodge The Fashion Police and Stay Warm

It was cold this morning. OK, cold for here. I know better than to whine to folks up north about cold.

As he loaded the bikes on the back of the car the Boy glanced my way.

“You look like you’re going to the North Pole,” he said.

“Well, it is cold.”

I do not like to shiver and had armed myself against that possibility. On my feet, socks and sneakers; higher up some snuggly grey knee-length sweats; higher still a pink, long-sleeved t-shirt under a red fleece jacket; a beige, hand knitted woollen scarf wound around my neck, and the lovely pink caubeen my daughter made me for Christmas wrapped my head in a warm hug.

He was wearing thin grey sweats and a t-shirt. Yes, a T-shirt. Brrr. But he’s a big bird now, so I refrained from suggesting he might be glad of another layer.

Unloading the bikes at the trailhead, he remarked

“Brisk!”

“Yes,” said I pleasantly from inside my cocoon, “isn’t it though!”

I did have the grace to feel slightly ashamed that I had not spoken up about another layer, but we do have our manhood to defend, and we can’t have mothers treating us like children, now can we?

Biting breeze notwithstanding, the Boy soon disappeared down the trail, and I was left to piddle-peddle along at my own meditative speed.

It occurred to me that if Brad should spot me on the bike trail, Angelina’s days might be numbered. As it was, some professional looking bikers---you know, the ones in the spandex and the helmets, nearly fell off their machines when they saw me, so smitten were they. But I pedaled on regardless, heedless of their admiration.

It’s lovely out on that trail early in the morning. As I have said before. Nothing but trees and fields and crisp blue air. An environment conducive to working out the kinks in your head.

I watched a large majestic bird --- a hawk maybe, or an eagle, drifting on the air currents, dipping down towards the fields then lazily soaring upwards again. And I thought, if I have to come back again, I want to come back as such a bird.

And then I saw what he was circling for. A poor bunny or squirrel had met his waterloo across a field, and some buzzards were busy cleaning up. Nature’s sanitation crew, doing what has to be done, but creepy and ugly looking birds. I went back to contemplating my noble eagle’s lazy maneuvers. And soon my cell phone was ringing and it was time to turn homeward.

The Boy rode twenty miles out and back. And me? Maybe ten. And both of us were fine in our respective gear.

It was a great way to start the day despite the chill!

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