I know it sounds weak, but to get from my house to the trail is a huge hill. It's not that big of a deal, but, for some reason, it's what keeps me from getting out of the house, sometimes. At the end of a 26-mile long bike ride, a lot of times I'm not up for climbing a mountain and my ankle can't do it yet. I wish it could, but it can't. When I attempt hills, my ankle gets all funky again.
Silas fits perfectly in Tobbit for that 1.5 miles and then I can ride to my heart's content.
It's been especially good because I can't really walk right now, but biking doesn't bother me (as long as it's flat). I'm stoked.
On Sunday afternoon, my dad and I hit the Burke Gilman together. He's got an old bike that runs smooth and would make the hipsters jealous. We would be biking over the river and through the woods to Grandfather's to deliver some flowers to him for Palm Sunday.
On the trail, I frequently see dads and daughters and wish that that was me. I'm not a dad, but I am a full daughter-to-boot.
It was pretty blissful having my dad with me, just as dapper as I had hoped it would be. We got the nursing home in good time and made Grandfather cry - he cries at a lot of things like when you mention you've been practicing your musical instrument or say that the church wanted him to have flowers. He insisted on cleaning my sunglasses.
We hit the trail again and made a quick stop at the newish 192 Brewing Company where Dad treated me to a local stout and we talked about important things.
192 Brewing Company has a pretty sweet location and is a great summer/spring setting. It used to be a plant nursery. It's still sort of in the works, a bit mish-mash, but collectively it makes for a convenient place on the trail to stop and get a drink, or a destination with a reward after biking into town and back. The fence is usually packed with bikes.
I'm grateful for the time I got with my dad.