So the maglia blanca for the Most Impressive Young Rider goes to my nephew John. Departed the neighborhood to ride around for a while and then meet my mother for lunch. I had planned on a Western Omelette, which coincidentally was my mother's fancy breakfast when I was growing up, but going in to the restaurant my Mother informed me that on Fridays in Lent we cannot do such things, setting the tone of Religious Proscription for our happy repast. I hate when proscription happens.
Rode away from lunch with a veggie garden omelette in my belly. Stopped to see the historic touchstone of the town; when I was in high school, Pat Nixon used to come and visit monthly.
Pedalled south to the Atlantic, sat and watched the waves and a few container ships on the horizon. Reversed and went back to the house I'm visiting. Back to the school to meet my nephew and ride together back to his house.
Later in the afternoon, he got together with two of his third-grade buddies and rode around the neighborhood as I played chaperone. Finally it got dark and I played the "hey-you've-got-no-lights" card and shut it down. 27 miles for the day.
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