Being that he suffered a senior moment, the Fat Cat decided to squeeze in a ride with "The Old Farts." The Old Farts organize a congenial little affair that meets in Star City every Thursday at 4:45. It is billed as a ride for those over forty. Three riders made it out for this edition. The Cat was assured that the sweltering heat had suppressed turnout. It was, indeed, hot.
I'll tell you what; these Farts are on to something. There was no flagellation of self or others. No one tried to rip off the legs or tear out the lungs of anyone else. That is not to say that they couldn't have. One of the riders was also on the Sunday 70 mile slug fest a few days ago and acquitted himself just fine. It's just that this ride seemed more about enjoying the afternoon. I guess the sentiment was best expressed in the overriding gist of the route haggling. Of paramount importance was which roads would be the shadiest. And, find the shady lanes they did with knowing expertise.
The Cat followed as the group spun its way along ribbons of asphalt that stretched across undulating waves of tall grass and under interlacing canopies of green leaves. The high sun pushed and peeked through the verdant tunnels, painting the roads with shifting abstractions in light and shadow.
The near biblical rains this spring have really dressed West Virginia in her finest. The landscape is blanketed with life. It's so lush. It brings to mind the rain forests of Brazil. The moisture thick air and the haze hanging amongst the treetops only heightens the fantasy. Wow, it sure is nice to save some oxygen for the senses. All that and home by dinnertime! Thanks, Seasoned and Wise Gentlemen.