In theory, it is a pretty ride. When it is foggy, the prettiness of the ride depends on one’s opinion of fog. When I blinked, the droplets from my eyelashes went into my eyes, so I had to blink more to be able to see. My hands got so cold they ached. The aching in my thighs was another thing entirely, and more or less the point of the whole exercise.
I saw glimpses of houses and trees, a few other bikers, most kids going the other way toward school, dogs and their people, momentary vistas of the creek that wound its way back and forth along the trail. On the way back, I saw a jay hopping on the ground, looking for mischief.
I have never ridden my bike that far before. I know, friends who ride hundreds of miles, that my piddly distance is just that. But I did it. I have the thighs of rubber to prove it.