It’s been a rough past couple of days. Personal stuff, certainly stuff I’m not going to write about here, are you crazy? That’d make it worse. But then what happened was, I was hoping to at least do a group ride with some folks this morning, and surround myself with smiling faces, but I flatted just past Cece’s Hill on my way out to Nicasio to meet the group.
So I pedaled on alone, hoping maybe I’d run into someone else.
But no one was out to day. It was too cold, too gloomy, too not a day to party on the bike. So I pedaled on alone, determined to be the trooper that I am, until I neared the Marshall Wall and realized that I didn’t have the motivation to even look at the hill. If I looked at the hill, I would surely pull off to the side of the road and cry. And that would not be prudent, not out by myself on my bicycle in West Marin.
So I turned around.
Cresting Cece’s Hill, which took every ounce of motivation to get to, let me tell you, I was nearly smashed between a passing semi truck and the steep wall of rocks to my right. That’s never fun. That was very upsetting, actually. I mean, yes, I’m sad, but I still haven’t lost my will to live, come on people.
The driver behind me seemed to take pity on me and my near death situation, and gave me plenty of room all the way from the top of Cece’s Hill down to the golf course. I had no problem with this myself, but apparently, a few in the string of ten cars stuck behind this courteous driver did, because the crescendo of horns only grew louder as I began my scooting process across Sir Francis Drake to listen to some voice mail, hoping that some upbeat messages might improve my mood.
But before I could dial in, the driver in the last car of the string of ten yelled, “F— you you f—ing lesbian bitch!”
I bet you drive an automatic, I thought to myself. I didn’t say it, because with my luck, he would have turned the car around and run me over, and that would have made my day even worse.
Isn’t that good to know? It could have been worse.