What a great day to hike, I thought. I have things to do here, so I'm not leaving the island, but I could hike right here. All I need is my body, my boots, and some water. And so I embarked on a mission to town.

Town is 3.8 miles away. I would estimate a total elevation gain (not net, but total) of about 600 feet. Most of it is in the first stretch, up out of my Cove, and up Cove Road. (We are clever about naming things here.)

Sweat, sweat, sweat, and did I mention sweat? It's a cool 70 degrees, but muggy as all get out. This is not typical for this area. Pretty much it's damp when it's cold, and relatively unhumid when it's warmer. This summer has been anomalous in that regard; plenty of muggy to go around. Ugh.

But I had my iPod and my quick-draw finger to banish anything yucky that came up on shuffle, so I kept on keepin' on. Up the Cove curves. Down the hill to the hostel. Up the hill past Little Miss Thing's house (did I see The New Man's car parked there, huh?). Down the hill past Tita's and the airport. Up the hill past the first rental I had on the island, with a pit stop to pet Toughy, one of the landlord's cats and a co-inhabitant of the house while I lived there. Up more, to Bank Road (I believe named this because it's the road that passes the bank), past the fire station, and back past co-housing to the post office.

I checked my storage unit to be sure I can move out by the end of the month. I'll find a place for that stuff. I'll sell what I can't store. As Jimmy Buffett sings, "But now times are rough / oh I got too much stuff / I can't explain the likes of me . . . But there's this one particular harbour . . ."

I'm in my harbour.

I picked up my newly tuned bicycle at the bike shop, and bought a new helmet. I had forgotten to bring my crappy $5 one that I bought years ago from the fire station, and besides, it's old and it's crappy. Time to take my cranium seriously. Crossed the street, took some cash out of the bank, and headed to the Thriftway, hub of island life.

Oh, my. I had forgotten that Saturday is Hell Day uptown. (On the Island, "uptown" means the town on the island. "Over town" means Seattle. It's hick, but I say it.) Farmer's Market. No parking. Tourists everywhere. License plates from places that shouldn't even know about this island. I'm not xenophobic, just crabby when "furners" come here and are disrespectful, demanding and oblivious to the very pace of life that attracted them to our quaint little isle. Slow down, people. Sip your lattés. Take a fucking load off.

I rambled around the Thriftway for a minute, trying to find my hormone cream. They don't carry it. So I bought frozen corn (good in fajitas) and some cilantro (ditto) and went back to my bike. I met up with a local lawyer who lives near me and bikes everywhere. Most fit guy I know, seriously. I tried to make lame conversation, and between the two of us with our awkward social skills, we determined that straight back down Cove Road was the most direct way home. I knew there were killer hills no matter which way I went. I took the shortest way.

Back to Cove Road, up hill past the airport and Tita's, down past LMT's, past the hostel in the dip and up the last killer hill until...Whee! down Cove Curves right and left and right and left and right and left, onto McIntyre, and out onto the Westside Highway. One more right, and I was sailing down the little cliffside road to home.

And now that I've jaunted about 9 miles, it's time for a shower and a much deserved lunch. Something with corn and cilantro, no doubt.