Over the river and through the woods. I'm pedaling sleepily on my Dolce. Without any coffee in my system. Marshals in bright vests are staggered along the loop, whistling. Call and answer. This is exciting!
And then! And then!! A flock of colorful cyclists passes me. "Passes" isn't the word! It's one thing to see the Tour on television, narrated by some old British bloke. Another thing altogether to share a road with this fast flock -- and know that I could never keep up!
I understood this morning, why dogs chase trains. Why lions chase gazelles.
I am La Noisette. My voice is a billowing curtain in a window of The Mayor's Hotel, which is not a real hotel, but rather a diary and palette. When I'm not writing (or riding), I'm running Redbeard Bikes with my husband, Ilya. We are a big little bicycle shop in DUMBO, Brooklyn.