Oh tra la. A day off from riding is a fine thing indeed. I mean, if you really think about it, 18 days is a lot of days to be riding a bike, many hours in each day. Our conversations have gone from somewhat modest to sort of modest to devoid of any hint of modesty whatsoever. We've now been together enough that not much of anything is hidden. We talk about sore butts. We compare ointments and bathing strategies and seat adjustment alterations. It's quite something. The day off is a good thing, if for no other reason than to put us in the midst of people around whom we ARE more, shall I say, discreet. (Not much, but somewhat.)

I spent this morning at the Marfa Public Radio station giving an interview on their Talk at Ten morning program. Marfa has 2000 residents but seems much larger. There is fine, fine art here. Site specific installations, courtesy of Donald Judd. Very good dining. A laundromat/coffee shop. Incredible scenery. Clean air. Dark night skies. I like it very much. Very.

Many on my ride can't wait to leave Texas. I don't feel that way. Rather, I could come back. Probably will.

Most of my ride friends are up at the McDonald Observatory right now. I'm sticking close to home, enjoying this magnificent afternoon with clean air, occasional bird calls, brisk wind (but who cares - I'm not riding today) and not much else. We're staying at a lovely Lodge built by the Civilian Conservation Corps. What a good thing that was. How fortunate we are to have these sturdy, artful places in this country.

And today, talking with Rachel, the interviewer, about ovarian cancer, I am reminded of the gift I get to have, simply that I am alive, that I am healthy, that I am physically able to do this ride, that I am able to leave work and trust that things there will be just fine. That I have someone to care for my home, my pets. I am reminded of how fortunate I was, 20 years ago, to have had symptoms, to have paid attention to them, to have had access to care, and to have been diagnosed in Stage 1. What a remarkable thing. After that, a 90 mile ride is a cakewalk. Almost.

I'll be in touch tomorrow.