This is a story about a boy and his bike. Because it was a delightful day. Because I had to go outside, or risk growing into my office chair. Because I’ve pretty much bored myself with to tears with trying to find new ways to discuss the work and sometimes-confidence-sometimes-anxiety that comes with creating a class out of whole cloth.

But when I closed my computer today I knew I was just two lectures away from being through with this class design. I also feel like I’ve been saying that for weeks. But then I sat down and made a list — for the sake of accuracy, I was already sitting when I started that list — and realized there were several things to do. But now it’s down to three things, which is really five things, but could technically be seven things, and two of those are these last lectures. So Monday. Maybe Tuesday. Because I think I’m taking the weekend off from all of it. I think I need it.

Of course I’ll be back at it tomorrow. Or by Sunday afternoon.

Anyway, this evening I set out for a bike ride. It was a lovely one, and so I went down the road and through one of three towns in the immediate area with town as a suffix. (And two of them, while charming in their own ways, are overstating the case.)

I had the added benefit of a late start, so that everyone was already where they needed to be, always a concern in that bustling metropolis of 487 people. The English got there late in the 17th century, and I guess it has always been some kind of sleepy, especially on Friday nights.

But the views are lovely.

I turned left at the river and continued on one of our usual routes. Their good for this time of day. We are at a latitude where we are already in that dark-comes-in-a-hurry time of year. Sure, roads get predictable when you’ve been on them four or five dozen times, but you want to know exactly what you’re getting into. You want to be able to pace your ride as necessary. You want to be able to make changes if things aren’t going just right. And, always, you’re thinking about where the point is that you can have a flat or other mechanical problem, fix it, and still get back home.

You don’t want to throw in a lot of variables when you’re racing daylight.

That bridge, an overpass, has been closed for a while. I’ve been over it twice since they shut it down. I’ll just weave around the barriers and …

OK, they’ve hardened this up a bit. I could hop the barrier, but despite having gone through the barrels and past at least two road closed signs, climbing over that seems like it would remove any appeals to my ignorance.

I’m sure the bridge could hold me, but they’ve made it clear they don’t want me to go over there.

So here’s the thing. I’m 11.5 miles in. I’m racing daylight. I have, when this bridge is in service, four possible variations back home, each making a completed ride of 16, 16.5 or 20 miles. But I can’t go that way because of my pretending like road closures apply to me, too. So I have to retrace my steps. And if I do that faithfully, which I did, that of course means 23 miles.

Easy quiet roads, though, so that’s good. I had my blinkies, so that’s good. The most important thing, in fact. I did not, however, carry my headlight, which isn’t really a problem. I knew I’d be back before I needed extra light to see the way in front of me.

Anyway, this was the view behind me at one point. It’s a bit fuzzy, as I was shooting over my shoulder at about 20 miles per hour, but the colors aren’t bad. That’s one well-tended field there, let me tell you.

Only the last two minutes or so, when I was inside the subdivision, did it get dark. Two neighbors who were walking did not expect to see me. I apologized as we met. They laughed it off. My lovely bride was waiting for me, in The Pose. She was unhappy with my timing, but, then I hadn’t yet told her about those unanticipated extra seven miles. In fact, I should have just gone out 15 minutes earlier.

We have agreed upon roads for night rides, and I was only on one of them, and that right at the end, and just before it became truly dark. So as she stood there, arms crossed, making a big show of patting one arm with the other hand, she said I could make it up to her by deciding what we’d have for dinner tonight.

By way of apology, I chose the sweet-and-sour chicken.

Milder today. Just a summer day on Venus, rather than a July day on the surface of the sun. And it was, for the most part, an ideal summer Friday, passing by uneventfully. So much so that I forgot, until tonight, to finish the laundry.

Why do tonight what solar power can do tomorrow, namely, move the dryer drum around and around and make my clothes toasty and fresh?

While admiring the flowers and the weeds today, I noticed this little hydrangea. It’s smaller shrub, hiding beneath larger things. I’m not sure if I’ve seen him before.

So in our 25 month here, I am still learning new things about the place. I love that. Though, I am glad that at this point most of the things I am learning are small things. They’re more charming and less harmful. And when I say harmful I am thinking of the pocketbook.

Since it wasn’t terrible hot today I set out for an early evening bike ride. Into town, through some neighborhoods, by the park, out into the pastureland again. I eased through a crossroad that has a name for no reason whatsoever, and then up past the rodeo arena. I rode on the closed shoulder.

It’s been closed for more than a year now. Maybe it’ll never re-open again. For now, it’s a nice stress-free stretch of three-quarters of a mile without worrying about traffic. And then you turn right, and into the wind, trying to stay low until you turn left again, driving your way through a cornfield, into the woods, and to the crazy house. The guy that lives there was outside today, doing whatever he was doing, until he stopped to yell at me. Then an overpass, more woods, some rural houses, more woods, two intersections, another overpass — I’m probably doing those out of order, because I’m trying hard through there and not paying attention.

Eventually I get into another neighborhood, which yields to a park which blends into a series of apartment complexes, which heralds the stop sign and the right-hand turn. And then it is four miles of town, businesses, houses, industrial complexes and trees, before turning right once more, the last turn and then seven miles straight home.

This is my 25-mile time trial, which I have just invented. I have done it three times now — once last year and twice this summer — and today’s ride was my fastest. So, of course, I have now added a new page to the spreadsheets. One more thing to track. One more place to try to ride a bit faster, a bit more efficiently.

The real metric, though, is that I had to put my foot on the ground just twice in 25 miles. Nine turns, 11 stop signs or lights, and stopping twice, that’s the real trial.

Funny how you can come to measure your minor successes.