Rotating my feet circularly while my abnoxious yellow mountain bike propelled on the semi-dusty plain of Missouri's semi-famous Katy Trail is what occupied my late morning to early afternoon trot. Fortunently, many current meteorologist's favorite game of creating out hand paranoia ended today when this lame exercise ended up resembling nothing more than a bunch of old fashion turkey jive.
What is all this wordage leading me to? Is it saying that some lame 47 year old rock star critic wanna-bee turned late blooming weekend athlete? I do not know, but let me rewind a bit more than 24 hours. My bike [aka ; Elvis] guided myself and my two children along this jaunt. At least this journey was "an easy" 13 or so miles.... take that back reader gazin' upon this rant. My daughter Shannon at least claimed to have a hard time keeping up the peddling at certain strategic times. What could we do as our bikes/our legs were working in sync with our noggin, concentrating upon putting a check next to the box of our latest goal.