This month’s fill-up:

That’s a pretty decent price, after the grocery store points discount. And filling up every month or so is a lot better than doing it every Monday, or even more frequently, like the bad old days.

Naturally, after buying a tank full of gas, you go out for a short, 20-mile bike ride. It was 10 miles out and come back. I jumped out for a small lead at a stop sign and worked as hard as I could on the generally uphill progression. I was all proud, until I got to the appointed turnaround and The Yankee was just 20 yards behind me.
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“How’s your ride?” I asked.
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“Good, slow, but fine,” she said.
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I’d been working so hard. This was my first ride of the year which felt good — I’ve been nursing some aches and pains. The weather was delightfully mild and it was the best stretch of riding so far of the year. Slow, she says, because she’s so ridiculously strong.
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So we head back. I take the lead. There’s a train track running parallel to this country road we’re on. I can hear a train blasting its horn announcing itself at intersections to my right. Briefly, just in front of us and then behind us. If I hurry, I figured, I can safely beat it. I knew the intersection with the tracks, of course. It’s at a good clearing and it has great lights. No gates, but you can see off to the side enough to know whether you should jump the tracks or stop. I had an ear and eye off to the right and my legs and lungs were doing everything else. I beat the train. After the tracks, there’s a demanding little hill. One of those that you think shouldn’t hurt, but it can really do some damage. It can be an emotional ascent. I’ve seen it happen. Anyway, I topped that climb and The Yankee dropped me, hard and convincingly.
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So that explains my view the rest of the way back:

After, she said she was just read to be home. So clearly I have to ride better.