Mexican Mocha

 Mon 2/11   

     Tea on front stoop, no sign of birds, frost on the pavers and on the bus.  Dressed simply but warmly, I will make a return to the winter trail.  More piping hot tea in water bottle holder.  The foothills are crystalline, and around me fall shiny, iridescent flakes, which seem to spring out of the clear, moist air, not from somewhere above.  At the 1^st bridge at Legacy, I encounter a middle-aged man who seemingly camped somewhere nearby.  Jax-style pants and large backpack.  I’m probably mistaken, as he has a large camera with telephoto lens.  He asks for the time – 8:30 I think – and a check reveals 8:30 exactly.  The thin film of snow on the trail is broken by only 3 or 4 bikes before me, but probably some went before the snow.  Just before the 2^nd bridge I see an older gentleman with a Sheppard, pointed and paying close attention to the stillwater beyond the willows.  We hail each other.  Don’t turn right to head up behind the Museum, stay straight and curve beneath the tracks, then under College, up behind the Engine Lab, down again and under the 2^ndbridge,  then up and slowly behind Aztlan, noting the trails for the first time across the river.  How many years have I been on this path, never noting the trails on the other side?  There is a large construction lot now across from the cement truck depot.  The road is nice here now.  No homeless in the homeless park.  All the construction workers along Riverside looks cozy and quite used to the chill.

     Stop in Café Ardour, and wait until condensation clears from glasses.  Mexican mocha and banana bread call out.  Say hullo to a friend.  Read from Edward Lewis Wallant’s The Tenants of Moonbloom.  There’s one or two sentences that stand out on each page.  I’m at the very beginning.  I’ve missed the bookclub discussion, and this is my penance.  Peddle to the Larimer County office to obtain new registration for the bus, now 11 days beyond the grace period.  Mud has been splashed on the tags as to not draw suspicion, although this likely draws suspicion, with mud only splattered on the back of the bus.  Everyone with a diesel engine must pass emissions annually.  “This is one of the lowest particulate readings I’ve ever seen,” said the gentleman who performed the test this past weekend.  But why put so much stock in a particulate reading?  I want to get it checked for NO_x, SO_x, and CO₂, both on diesel and veggie oil, just to see what I’m really putting out.  An extra 26 dineros for going past the grace period, and I'm on my way.  This place is supposed to be slammed on Monday and Friday mornings, but the wait is scarcely 10 min.  Now the long, cool homestretch down Howes to the oval, and I am winded from lack of peddling in this weather.

     Work.  Exercise, then read Kirkegaard.  Work.  Begin the night trek home.  Veering onto West Elizabeth and heading down to Lemay, it occurs to me how nice this road is.  It's wide and mostly still.  There's new bike symbols painted on the road every so often.  Coming back from the movie store, a ghostly gentleman accosts me as I ride up the hill back toward Elizabeth.  He looks like an old golem.  He sounds like Jimmy Stewart, and addresses me directly, admonishingly - "That light is not adequate.  You're going to get hit by a car." - he warns.   I hold my hand out in front of my front, blinking light.  He's right.  It's going dim.  I also couldn't find my headlamp.  He's right, I am going to get hit by a car, red blinky behind me notwithstanding.

     It's a long ride, back to Remington, but the lights of Old Town are welcoming.  It will be back to the Veggie Caravan until I can fix the light situation!