Ride your bicycle.

It’s 721pm, and I’m talking to my parents. I’m in the paid campground promised by the beet harvest honchos. My van is plugged into electricity with my long orange extension cord. I have wifi of a unique and wild strength. There are showers, bathrooms, washers and dryers. Tomorrow, I plan to eat sandwiches. I ate one sandwich today.

I see that everything is fine. I see that any battles which I need to fight can be won even if my only weapon is the same time that sometimes seems so endless. Ride your bicycle.

I dismissed this town almost upon arrival. It seemed ripe for dismissal, but I don’t want to step into that role. I don’t like those shoes. I want to be one who dismisses geographic locations with at least a basic understanding of them. I saw kids in the school band learning how to march. I’ve seen that this is a town where you can catch a freight train like SEPTA. The grocery store is Dale’s. Both gas stations also rent movies. The streets are at least twice as wide as I would ever expect. It might not be worth an entire damn, but I have yet to declare it with any force.

Two wheels, a meandering pace, and a lot of sideways glances are the keys to open up a door and see a new place in a different light. It’s fall. The calendar didn’t decide this, but clear as anything, this is the first fall day I’ve seen this year. The sun is warm, and the air is cool. The night goes from cool to cold. The storm yesterday dropped a lot of leaves. The air has gone from soup to ice cream.

Ride your bicycle. If you have never experienced the satisfaction of rolling any distance on a bicycle, there can be only one reason. You must need a tune up. Send me pictures, and I’ll send ideas. I got a blanket for a dollar, and it is worth every single bit of a full, uncontested damn. Let’s all get rolling and fall down in the grass.