hot hot hot

Today I saw a real life Lil’ Sebastian.

Matt yelled out “pony!” as we passed a fenced pasture but I knew what he really was. He was a miniature horse. Now here I would say for dramatic emphasis that I nearly fell off my bike from enthusiasm but that wouldn’t be very uncommon. With a bike loaded unevenly and my already terrible balance- falling off didn’t happen rarely enough to justify a truncated sentence. And after a five word sentence the structure might’ve been too repetitive. That’s the post for today, since writing about writing is easier than writing about anything else. No. Let me relay some descriptive words. Earthen walls of leafy green corn stalks held sway over miles of solitary backroads as we passed “”Smallville”-esque landscapes that I was sure held some adolescent alien in their confines. Like the waves of Moses’ parted red sea, hills of irrigated farmland stretched above us in seemingly undulating layers as we fought through a relatively warm starting day. I’d like to say the heat created illusions on the pavement but it wasn’t that hot, and it’s supposed to be hotter today. 10 minutes later up a small and steep hill down another backroad the landscape changed into Mystic Falls with shady tall trees giving welcome relief from the sun’s sights. Biking till just before the sun set, the group found ourselves in the extended room of a nice couple in Hamburg, PA (Trish and Tom)- owner of two rowdy and massive 160 and 180 lb mastiffs named Dharma and Blue…they’re big on Halloween decorations and I snagged an old pumpkin stem from their grounds. Now speaking with them in the extended room, I can’t bring myself to characterize them. Maybe recounting a person’s person requires a slight removal from reality. Arlinda compared Trish’s smile to the sun. She’s a cheerful collector of flea market smily-face trinkets. Tom is 7 years older and is the first generation of his family that doesn’t speak German. Today we’re still heading towards Danville, some town that may or may not exist because I haven’t checked it on Google maps and am entirely unsure of it’s spelling. There should be a ghost town on the way, concomitant with what seems like an industrially dead stretch of America (Tom says most of the new houses around here are owned by New Jersey commuters). In any case since 60 miles seems like a stretch for this group of 3 bikers and one professional clutz- we might be sleeping in a ghost town tonight. All the wishes, dn.

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