My new blue-and-silver Trek 7000 hybrid is exactly the same as my old black Trek 7100, only the bolts and tolerances are tight and it's prettier, so it's solid and fast on the road. (No front suspension; I like a rigid fork and no squish.) I won't mind riding it until next Spring, when I get a road/touring bike--and then we'll see what happens in the Winter. My fantasy is a mountain bike with big studded ice tires. Low gearing so the back wheel doesn't break away from the ice when I hit it from a stop, low center of gravity so I fall over less, low-pressure tires so I'm wearing snowshoes, not stilettos.

The big leg muscles love uphills the first day back, love straightaways on the second, aren't thrilled about anything on the third. Then they start coming back over the next week, getting pumped and hard in a thin line from kneecap to hip flexor. The thin line of hardness is in direct opposition to the force applied down at the pedal; the muscle around it stays softer at first, but the line spreads very slowly aroundwise. After about a month of real pedaling, the whole front of the leg is finally curved and hard.

The butt also likes the first day just fine, but every time you get back on a bike, there's a 3-day butt break-in period--especially if you have a good saddle. Those big cushiony ottomans we like when we don't know anything yet aren't good for repeated riding; they make you sorer over the long run because there's lots of squish in there to add to the pressure between you and the seatpost. Good saddles are harder, and they support your sit-bones, not your whole enormous out-of-shape ass, which makes them more comfortable in the long run--but not until the butt break-in period expires.

I rode for a couple of days last week, but then came the weekend. So this is effectively Butt Break-In Day One. Again.

When everything's in good repair and I have no meetings in the city after the day job, I ride 6 miles twice a day. There are maps of the New York State Bike Routes in my bicycle stuff storage drawer. You can get all the way to Montréal. Maybe in 20 years when the boys can go too, if my legs still work. If not, they can haul me behind in a trailer. (Note to self: Google rickshaw distributors.)

Until then, it's short trips and short writing. Words start coming back in a thin line that runs from nouns to verbs, and which widens slowly over the next month to include more than just declarative sentences. The spark comes back--the word you didn't know you were going to type until it's on the page, the period you type instead of continuing the sentence. The snort as you rearrange the punchline so the funny word comes last.

Short jaunts. A 650-word op-ed piece sent off the Times (thanks for the prod, you know who you are). A 7,400-word short story revised and sent off for comments (thanks for wedging it into your schedule, YKWYA). A 6,400-word parody written and sent off to a non-paying website just for the fun and weight training of it (stay tuned for the link--and thanks for the spark, YKWYA). A press release for CREDO's first festival. The current novel opened, dusted, word-tinkered, saved; the Wikipedia consulted for hospitals and orphanages, rural California, 1958. Something better found instead.

Due at the day job in 45 minutes. 5 to shut down and pack the panniers, 40 for a leisurely ride. Short jaunts. Take it easy.

Maybe there'll be some young guy on a mountain bike I can beat up that last hill.

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