Hello –

Snow, rain, wind, wet roads, dirt, grud, in general messy conditions for cycling but where else would you rather be that riding your bicycle in late November pedalling away the fatty bits. Hey, we all have fatty bits. They’re hard to eradicate because they multiply like rabbits in a warren. Give them an inch of waist and they’ll take two, then three, then four and before you know it there’s an extra notch in your belt. The fatty bits are everywhere – torso, legs, and arms. Some people even have fat heads. Scary!

Here’s a bit of whimsy by way of a poetic statement of gratitude for all that is and for all that came into being for reasons we don’t know or understand; but, as a consequence of their ‘being’, we should marvel and be grateful. I’m an atheist but I, too, marvel and sing, in my fashion, a ‘canticle’ of thanks for my own existence and the wondrous world in which we live. A glass or two of Cabernet Sauvignon takes the mind from the atrocious Christian denouement awaiting the damned. Enjoy, and revel in the moment; may the moments be continuous, memorable and many!

So, here’s the Important Stuff – Tentative Plan:

When/Who: November 28/20: ArnpriorCycling
Start: 10:00 am start from Sweet & Sassy
Where: Westward
Description: 50-70 kms
Coffee Stops: None
Weather: Sun and cloud 0-3 C
Wind: West 20 kms/hr

Okay, stay fit, firm, fine – always.

– arnpriorcycling@bell.net
– Twitter a@arnpriorcycling (private)
– IG @arnpriorcycling (private)
– WP arnpriorcycling.blog


I pick an orange from a wicker basket
and place it on the table
to represent the sun.
Then down at the other end
a blue and white marble
becomes the earth
and nearby I lay the little moon of an aspirin.
I get a glass from a cabinet,
open a bottle of wine,
then I sit in a ladder-back chair,
a benevolent god presiding
over a miniature creation myth,
and I begin to sing
a homemade canticle of thanks
for this perfect little arrangement,
for not making the earth too hot or cold
not making it spin too fast or slow
so that the grove of orange trees
and the owl become possible,
not to mention the rolling wave,
the play of clouds, geese in flight,
and the Z of lightning on a dark lake.
Then I fill my glass again
and give thanks for the trout,
the oak, and the yellow feather,
singing the room full of shadows,
as sun and earth and moon
circle one another in their impeccable orbits
and I get more and more cockeyed with gratitude. bc