Just had an hour and a half bike ride. A BIG snake crossed my path. Little frogs jumped out of the mud puddles in front of me as I approached. Something rustled in the grass next to me. No muskrats tonight, but the cats all perked up their ears and looked at me when I squeaked at them. It smelled like a cooling Fall evening in Eastern Washington, with the absolutely delicious scent of poplar pitch, and the not-so-delicious scent of fruit rotting on the ground. Old men fished along the bank of the canal. The usual group of skirt-and-dress-clad elder women were clustered closely and on their slow stroll.
As two “serious” bikers – Ciclisti Milanesi – with their tight calves, tight back ends and snug, sky-blue lycra passed me, I picked up the pace, pulled in behind them and enjoyed the scenery. As we approached an intersection, I jested to them, in Italian, that I should take a picture! They slowed to my side, I repeated what I had said, then whizzed on in front of them. They took the paved bike lane; I opted for the rugged, rutted, puddled route, and thus, encountered the leaping frogs.