Marin headlands

I’m spending a few days at the hostel at Fisherman’s Wharf. Going to wind down the trip a bit, ease off the daily cycling marathons. I met up with Shawn last night for dinner and a movie: Ender’s Game. Shocking story, even after all the years since I read the book. The horror of taking an intuitive, compassionate boy and turning him into a war commander.

Today I ride over the Golden Gate Bridge and up the ocean drive over the Marin headlands. A short ride, by my standards. Breathtaking views of the bridge and San Francisco. I’m finding my way around the city now, along the waterfront, over Crissy Field. I’m riding harder, faster. It’s fun to field the lightness of the bike, unloaded, combined with the lightness of my body.

I’m still finding my voice. Motivating myself to write. To express. To tell my story. Finding the courage to reveal what is inside my mind, my heart, my soul. So long on the road, feeling the motion, the constant transitions, making camp, then breaking. Talking to everyone, every one I meet.

I fear the end of the trip. Will I have a let down? A withdrawal? Retreat back into my shell? How will I see my town, my friends, my business upon my return? Will I feel accomplished? What insights will I bring with me?

Enough of that for now. Gotta ride down the headlands mountain road. Taking in the sweeping vistas. Feel the glee of riding across that wondrous bridge one more time. Smiling at the cyclists I pass, the tourists, the locals, the travelers at the hostel. Smiling at myself, at my insecurities, at my fears. I have a few more days in the city. Resting. Reflecting. Remembering.

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