a Sunday

I always watch the LA Marathon (on tv). I’ve been watching it for probably close to a dozen years or so. I really like that they stagger the elite women’s and men’s start so that they can race for the tape/cash. But yesterday I missed watching the marathon. I totally forgot about it. I guess I was a little more focused on the bike this weekend (this fortnight, really – don’t oft get to use that word). During the marathon I was on a road ride with Dan the Man.

The sun and the blue and the warm were out again. And so were all the cars. We were surprised to see a coyote at midday taking a right off of busy Foothill Blvd and heading straight up the quiet street that we were riding down – she was sprinting for the mountains – smart. Maybe we should have been doing the same – paying heed to her action, her warning. Moments later, we were back in the heat of the urban car culture and dealing with all that negative aggressive car-centric mind-stall. Mind you, this was a quiet little foothill community we were navigating - it should have, could have been a serene stroll of a ride but for the honking and veering and squeezing and trying-to-get-first-to-the-stoplight (and the superfluous cup (wax paper bucket) of soda flying out of a Prius(!) window) - hilarious and pathetic, really. So much for “Sunday drivers…”

Later, I rode off into the sunset to that hip little reservoir community, over all the potholes and broken glass, under train tracks, over bridges, under freeways, over cemented river channels, into the evening through alternating dim streetlight and darkness… and then suddenly, the town fell asleep and all was quiet as I glided along through the cool, quiet night toward home with tired legs to dream about running…