THE RITZ RIDE

Every year, I do this ride.

Last summer, I did it twice.

I don’t know what day it will be.

I don’t know what ride it will be.

I cannot plan it.

But I do know it will happen.

It kind of comes out of nowhere.

I do not feel it when I leave.

I feel it when it is time to turn around and head home.

I do not turn around.

I keep going.

I keep going in any new direction.

From this point on, it is all ‘fresh.’

At around seven o’clock, I begin to look for the next town.

When I get to the town, I find a place to stay.

Nothing fancy.

I do not need that.

Preferably a Motel.

A Motel I can ride my bike to my door.

I get my key and leave my bike in my room.

I head to ‘The Depanneur,’ get a six-pack, a bag of plain Ruffles, and head back to my room.

I shower and wash my clothes.

I don’t wear ‘the kit.’

To be honest, I wear golf fashion.

(Post to come on that one, totally untapped.)

While they are drying, I have my beer and chips.

Then I head out ‘on the town.’

The ride home?

Part II?

Haha, I will leave that for a later post.

‘The Ritz Ride’

Insert butler emoji here.

‘There is another way to ride.’

THERE IS ANOTHER WAY TO RIDE

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