Board at 17:30, muse at clouds below, review conference notes, fast forward through scenes of an in flight movie. Dinner. Blink into Brussels morning, East coast to Europe is precisely timed to skip the sleep hours, so layover nodding in comfortless chairs, small jet hop to Ljubljana, squinting mantra effort to fuse double vision, interact politely with people, wary of drinking coffee, wouldn’t want to compromise the nap reward. Text: “I’ve figured out a place to rent bikes. Where are you?” Damn. Had expected hoped pretended that Jack had changed his mind about that plan, but now would have to translate my free fall into deliberate motion.
Bag on hotel floor, pull out pedals, shoes, kit, clack through the lobby, shuffle to meet up and change the saddle height on the perfectly decent rentcrap aluminum Scott hardtail. Cheerful twentysomething hands over helmets, lets us take a photo of the trail map, talks too fast through anyway vague directions. Rowers on a lake, a castle on an island in the middle, a church, swans, ascend into wooded hills sometimes breaking enough to glimpse children’s book peaked roofs below. Now I can think, now I see where I am.