Okay, I think I've been very patient. Hardly whiny at all.
Mostly.
Ask my wife Suzanne. She will tell you that's one of the first signs of me feeling better.
But now that I can no longer ignore the fact that it is fall - after a full three weeks of summer here in the northwest - it's ticking me off that I can't ride my bike.
I know, I know . . . small price to pay and all that.
But my motorcycle is what keeps me sane. Honestly. Riding is a form of therapy - a zen-like state of machine melded with the forces of physics into a symphony of gravity and acceleration. Punctuated only by teen-age girls on cell phones.
It has now been a little over three months since my posterior graced the saddle, and I'm gettin' a tad twitchy.
I know that I still have a couple of weeks to go before my butt hits the seat. And as I watch the days get shorter and the temps fall, it feels like I'm in a race for those last few magical days of non-rainy riding.
In the meantime I plan to start back on my regular swim schedule. The local pool has been closed for a bit and now that it's all shiny and clean, it's time to get back to my other home - the water. I won't be back to full workouts for a while, but I know swimming will be a boon to my soul as well as my body.
But still, it's not like a few hours riding around Mt. Rainier, or hopping over Chinook pass. Twisting and turning up those hills with Suzanne in the seat behind me, stopping for lunch or a picnic beside a quiet river - that's what's required to make me feel . . . normal.
That's really all the therapy I need.
