end of a long week

At the end of a long week, we’re working late on a project that’s been going on for a long, long time.

We’re working with the editor, making progress, and as we work , I miss one commuter boat home after the other until there’s only one left, the 8:30.

The cab takes us back from the editor’s to the agency and I trudge up the stairs, up the elevator to gather my cycling clothes, change, and pack up the bags. There’s room in the panniers, so the two bottles of wine I received for Christmas will make the trip home with me.

Fortunately, I remembered to call George, who sits down the hall, to ask him to plug in my headlight battery and charge it up. To ride home late at night is sketchy. To ride home late at night with no lights is just plain stupid.

Changed into the cycling clothes, I’m dragging, trudging toward the bike, cross-eyed tired. I unlock the bike, re-rig the headlight for the millionth time, and then throw my leg over the top tube and start pedaling.

That’s when the muscle memory kicks in, and my energy returns. At the boat, another commuter looks at me wistfully and says, “I’m thinking about riding my bike to work, too.”

In Hingham, I get off the commuter boat and discover a fine tailwind is going to push me for the 8-mile ride home. Nothing like a tailwind when you’re tired.