If you want to write, write.

If you want to ride, ride.

It wasn’t supposed to rain.

That’s not what my phone said when I asked the guys if they wanted to go for a ride.

The phone lied.

We left the shop and entered a light drizzle.

The closer we got to the coast, the more it rained.

What the hell was I thinking? This is 50k. In the wet. I’m going to be cold. I’m going to be chaffed. What the hell was I thinking?

I hadn’t been on a ride that long on gravel in a long time.

Zeke and Barry made trails together and would blast away on epic mountain bike adventures where they would ride all day. George ate up kilometers on his bike. Rohan? Well, Rohan was a bit of a horse. Though he hadn’t been riding in a long time, going fast was muscle memory to him. He caught wind of the salt air and bolted.

At first the pace was punishing - especially along the highway as we rolled out of town. The cars were too fast, many and close for my comfort. The rain made everything hard to see through. My shoulders tensed, bristling against the environmental insult to my c…