Also, my humming improved.

What a bizarrely chipper mood cycling puts me in! I loathe to imagine that I'm on the road to becoming one of those hardcore enthusiasts with the neon spandex and special gloves, but who knows. I might be. I made pretty good time this morning, too. I would have arrived even sooner had the bike not tipped over while I was wrestling with the front door on the way out. The basket on the back, into which I stuff my work clothes, lunch, purse and all of the zillion items those things entail, snapped completely off and I couldn't figure out how it had been affixed to the back in the first place. I stood outside, still half asleep, staring at the fallen bike for a while before I managed to get it together enough to go back in the house and find some bungee chords. I probably could have made it in by 7:30 had I not been forced to faff around and conjure WAY too much problem-solving, analytical brain power for that hour of the morning.

Oh, and I swallowed a bug. It was on Five Mile Drive. That doesn't happen as often as you might think, especially when you consider that I have to go through some areas that are positively rainforestesque in their insectiness. In fact, it has only happened one other time--a couple of years ago, but I will never forget that day because I was cruising down Jordan Hill, which is the only truly fun part of the trip (a very long, steep decline--very "WHEEEE!" and welcoming, especially on a hot day) when a bee...a freaking BEE...slammed into my tonsils with such force that the impact killed it instantly. At least, that's what I choose to believe. I swerved madly, sputtering and gagging and amusing the passing motorists, screeching to a stop on the overpass and desperately trying not to swallow, but it was too late. I ate the bee. I was totally disgusted and shuddery for the rest of the day. However, I did not suffer any negative gastrointestinal consequences, so there's a survival nugget for you--if ever you find yourself starving in the jungle, feel free to eat bees.

This morning's bug wasn't as big of a deal. It was a little gnat or something. It wasn't actually that disturbing. I think the bee incident made a woman out of me.

Will the cycle be unbroken?

And, what ho! Cycling season is upon me. It is time once again to walk the bike up the road to the Local Villiage Grumpy-Assed Bike Shoppe (Where Your Custom is Our Inconvenience) for a once-over before I jump into another summer of swallowing mosquitoes and getting flipped off by bus drivers. Woo! It doesn’t seem like it could have possibly been a year ago since I last did this, but it has. The first couple of rides of the cycling season are always so exhilarating. Look at me! I'm health conscious! Excercising at 7 in the morning! Whilst saving the environment! I deserve accolades! ACCOLADES! It gets old really quickly, though. Old, hot and uncomfortable. Old, hot, uncomfortable and worrying. I worry about the fact that I’ve had no major spills (excepting the time during my first cycling season when I was menaced by a man with a lawn mower). Everybody who cycles between towns has some kind of horror story about being chased down by crack-smokers or going head-over-handlebars into a pile of rocks or being side-swiped by traffic. I am shadowed, everywhere I huff and puff, by the overwhelming sense that I am due.

There is a gig tonight. It’s at the pub I don’t like, the boring one, but I feel as if I have to go, and it actually will be the first viable opportunity I’ve had to get a full evenings’ use out of the beautiful camera Bubba gave me for my birthday.

I’m all about positive negativity.