Yesterday, like every Wednesday, Allie and I went on an adventure while we waited for Emilie to finish dance. I kicked myself for not throwing our bicycles on the rack before we left home. The kids dance in Canton which is 45 minutes from our house so it didn’t make good sense to go back and get our bikes. Allie and I went to the Heritage Park and had a great time. God I dig her.
The plan is to move to Canton when our house sells. Em and Cindy often point out that much of what we do and most of their friends are in that area so this plan is reasonable. I won’t mind the extra 30 minute drive to work (each way) but I will miss having three really nice trails within riding distance of my house. And the people in Canton are…different. They drive BMWs and wear matching sweat suites. In Brighton they drive F150s and wear jeans and tees. I’m just not comfortable in Canton.
Allie doesn’t want to move either. I was working really hard to sell the plan to her last night. I pointed out how nice Heritage Park was, although it is a bit too sterile for my taste, with the well manicured grass, trees planted in strict accordance to some carefully laid out print, and people in matching sweat suites walking their pretentious little dogs. Just then we were passed by a guy on a beautiful Niner, wearing a LBS kit, right down do his socks and helmet. Ricky racer was working hard and going slow. I could hear him breathing. He had this intense, angry race face and weaved in and out of the matching sweat suites walking pretentious dogs. Middle chain-ring on a perfectly flat, paved path? Oh please.
I don’t know if I can do this.