On Friday, work took the day off to go to the beach. Since work is infested with hardcore cyclists, some of us chose to bike from Los Gatos to Santa Cruz. Since I enjoy cycling and am generally up for anything that won’t kill me, I jumped on the bandwagon and drove myself to Los Gatos with my bike wedged into the back seat.
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Recently, I moved from Minnesota to California. You might already know this. You might also know that I drove my car and a load of my stuff myself. (the other four thousand pounds came via professional movers. Noah drew me a map, and drew a heart on the back of one of my hands and a smiley face on the other.
I called Radio K to request “Minneapolis” by that dog, but I didn’t get to hear it. So long, city.
I made it a point to call my mom and let her know where I was every time I stopped, and sometimes in between. I called the Keathlys, too. Sometimes I called and left messages on Sarah’s voicemail, even though it would be weeks before she would get back from Norway to hear them. The green fields of Minnesota gave way to golden South Dakota. I made it to the Badlands and called again.
“It’s beautiful here. I feel better,” I said. Both things were true.
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