Welcome to September and perhaps autumn. But not yet. Summer in DC stretches at least until the end of the month and even the nice cooler days are still the nice cooler days of summer and not the nice cooler days of fall, which are even nicer and cooler. Thursday saw rides with the Brompton and and from work and a midday Bikeshare trip home for dog walking purposes. Friday meant a ride to coffee club in the morning (I've never habitually had to ride eastward in the AM and thought nothing of forgetting to wear my sunglasses and this was a mistake) and a ride back to work the long way (up Mass) afterward and then a blissful escape ride home into the three day weekend, which soon lapses, but not before I fit in some holiday cycling, which was for leisure (and coffee).
I don't have much else to offer than this fairly boring recounting of the facts. If there was tumult, I've long since forgotten it. The one thing you learn to do quickly when you're in the habit of bike commuting (and especially when you're in the habit of writing about your bike commute) is to value the act of forgetting. If you remembered every little thing- every little bad thing especially, as those are the most craw-sticking- getting back on the bike each day would be more struggle than joy. But starting each day eternally sunshiney and spotless-like, you mind it much less and can carry yourself forward happily and let winds carry your cares away. I think it's why I don't like Strava and why I'd never record my commute. Memory, faded and jaded, is a much better substitute than recorded reality.