Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Humidity watch.

I am just home now, still panting and sticky from a long overdue solitary bike ride home from the Exchange. Thunder pounds south central through the windows of Mel and Zach's home (my latest home away from home, thanks you two beauties) and I feel so good, whole. A group of us gathered today around eight bells to eat fresh garden goods and cheeses of all sorts and drink good wine together, and then to my absolute delight, we bike rallied our way to Ragpickers to see my favorite local band play. It felt so good to hog an entire lane of traffic, all eight of us riding with our heads thrown back, laughing, enjoying the surprising lingering heat of night. After missing what feels like the entire summer, this heatwave caught me offguard completely. We arrived at the venue just before the rain did and I stole glances at my beautiful Jessica Alba (we are still in love a year and a half later)in between the spaces of people's shoulders. I love that bicycle. We ducked in, through a heavy red curtain and greeted all the lovely people and drank hurried sips of incredibly nice red from the bottle. Oh, Winnipeg. The show was brilliant, as expected (and then some) and so was the heavy rain that Ainsley and I got caught in outside. Sweaty and happy and rouge-stain lipped, all of the sudden the room became too small and too hot and I left the beautiful girls and the bearded men. Ainsley and I rode home together until Broadway where we were forced to ride in opposite directions. I rode all the way down Osborne, down Pembina, down Grant with no hands, wild humidity curls, and not a care in the world. It is good to be home. Once home, I locked my girl to the fence with tender care and stood in the backyard watching the sky with amazement. Lightening blows my mind. Always has, always will.

I had no idea how badly I needed a bike rally until this evening.


  1. bike rides before and after heavy weather are amazing.

    also, what was the name of that ever so delicious wine. i need me some of that.

  2. I love the way you write and think and experience life. Your joie de vivre.