Life is good again.

It rained the other day. I know, big deal. But you have to understand that smoke from the fires in California has been thick as fog. Most days I haven't been able to see Mt. Rose, which is maybe 15 air miles from my front porch. Some days I haven't been able to see the hills just a mile from the house. It's been like some sort of post-apocalyptic trial run.

There's warnings every day on the TV about air quality and particulates and ozone levels. When I get in my car to go to work, there's this fine dusting of flour-like ash on the paint.

For weeks now, I've been hiding indoors, sacrificing my mental health for my pulmonary health, so when it rained, I was absolutely beside myself. The air was clean. It didn't hurt to breath. I could see the mountains. I could see what's left of the snow field on Rose!

So the bike came down and I headed out to one of my favorite spots for a ride. Of course after several weeks of not riding, I'm horrible out of shape, but no matter. It felt so good to ride again that nothing else mattered.

My chain was skipping and I had to stop to adjust the derailleur. It didn't matter.

The dog took off down the creek and got himself stuck. It didn't matter.

I am totally out of shape. It didn't matter.

The trail was in great shape. The weather was great. I rode hard. I rode fast. Life is good again.