It’s not as fun when we’re not together

I woke up and Dena was standing above me dressed in her rain-riding gear. “There’s coffee, it’s yummy!” “Are you out of here?” “Yep, see you on the boat.” “Yes.” The kiss, the door, silence. I (James) drag myself out and pump the first two cups in before the crust of another sleepless night in this fucked up place has left my limited vision. The last of Cryptonomicon is coveted. When I’m alone in this place I feel attacked with no armor, so I’m out. With the bike and trailer packed I step out into the winter streets, into the rain. Before I’m even out of the community property I feel alone, it’s not as much fun. It’s not as much fun because when I’m by myself I tend to immerse myself in my week, in my past and before I know it I’m pushing myself to the limits of my abilities. In no time flat I’m drenched in my own viscousness, heart pumping, burning. I opt for the back country trail and almost immediately regret it but push on, I do. The snow is almost gone but what is left is thick and hard on a bed of cold wet earth that sucks my wheels deep in its grasp.   The trail that we have come to know so well is unrecognizable in its present state. The trees have fallen over what was once a manicured urban refuge and the sludge is so thick in places that it can stop a biker cold. When I stop it’s a surgical procedure to remove the bike from the sucking mess. After a while I regain  the machine of the ride. The legs, the lungs, the heart, the perspiration, the twin jets of steam ejecting from my nostrils, all in sync, all a[…]

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