I put the Alpine Bicycle on the front rack of the 104 bus and found a seat halfway back on the bus, just behind the steps that go to the raised section toward the back. I like to look over everyone. I sat there wet and cold. Should I continue with my plan to ride in the dark from West Chester to Kennett, or should I swallow my pride and call in the cavalry?
I text messaged the cavalry.
I rested at Fennario in West Chester for about half an hour. I witnessed local culture in the form of high school kids horsing around. I bought a coffee and took my position as a fly on the wall. I smiled intermittently at kids growing up. I was a happy idiot in high school, and now this next batch of idiots is reminding me to smile. It doesn't mean much. Life doesn't have to mean a whole lot. You can put that worry in a drawer and make the best of monitoring your surroundings. You can sit with scalding coffee and press pause on trying to glean anything of substance.
The cavalry drove up in a minivan. I parted the hormonal sea on the sidewalk, rolled my bicycle into a minivan, and chatted with my folks on the way to Kennett Square.