Tailwinds and someone to draft help on a recovery ride.

On the home stretch, not long after I’d thought, “must take a slow ride here some day and just photograph the birds with a real camera”, I saw this smudge of ashen fluff on the bike path. At 17.5 miles per hour, with the domestic partner drafting (and not quite used to unclipping from the new Speedplay pedals, if the scrapes on the knees I’m not allowed to photograph are any indication), I couldn’t stop to shoot it. I wasn’t even sure what it was until I heard, “Was that the Bud?” from behind me.

This little gray caterpillar, as slow and fuzzy as our Buddy, was trying to cross the bike path. I was half expecting to hear his dyspeptic grunts and snorts. It was a daunting task, even on a Monday, with relatively little traffic.

I’m rooting for you, little guy. May your journey bring you to a magical transformation: One day, slow fat, gray – soon, winged, aerodynamic, chromatic. Come see me when you’re done. Maybe this year’s journey will transform me, too.

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