Funny, I don't feel more creative

So, I guess the last time I remember riding was in September. The end of September, but nonetheless...
The reason I can say that with clear conscience is because I just went for a ride. It was only 7 miles and it took me 28 minutes. 14.4 miles per hour. And I almost died three times from exhaustion.
But I suppose there is some consolation in not completely losing my Honey Nut Toasty Os.
This was never meant to be a journal of my bicycling, so I'll be starting a new blog for the technical details of my ride, but this is more than riding. There is spirit here. Religion. Nothing brings a man closer to God than the firm belief that he's not going to make it all the way to the bike shop before collapsing. I didn't even make the round trip back to the house.

Phone conversation between Amanda and me:
Me: *huff blaggle spitskin"
Amanda: I'll pick you up at the bike shop.

The journey of a thousand miles begins with one pedal stroke.
By the way, ME friend, I'm 4 or 5 miles up on you.

William James would've seen this coming.

My life is becoming too complicated to be of any interest to me anymore.

In November 2003 my motorcycle broke down. I decided that I didn't need it and let it sit while I rode a bike everywhere, no less than 20 miles a day.
I was so poor, I couldn't afford meat so my dad would take me out on Wednesdays to feed me. The rest of the time I ate rice, beans, and canned vegetables. And oatmeal.
I lived in the woods in rural East Texas with my best friend outside of my marriage. We only had *some* heat. We wore our jackets and could see our breath inside the house. It was only about 500 square feet.

If you think all of that is written more simply than I'd usually write, you are correct. You are also totally missing to point.
Pragmatism is creeping up on me again.
Thank you God.