Make pedaling, not books

I was riding south today on the path back from beach staring mostly at the ground just in front of my tire or even with eyes closed, holding on and trying to will the time to pass quickly so I could unlock the gate and the door and set my bike into the rack and climb the stairs and open the doors and collapse into a chair or couch or even the floor just after I feebly attempted to brush off the collected sand from my legs and arms and face and anywhere else I could without scandalizing the neighbors. Really I just need to strip naked and go nuts with a hose but there's no hose and I still have enough propriety to avoid total nudity in public. If I ever plan far enough ahead I suppose I could wear a bathing suit or something under my clothes. Once I got to McCormick place I realized the foolishness of my plan to ride all the way home - the ride up had been easy and I dislike having to take the bus home so I planned to leave early to make it back before full dark which has been the primary excuse of prevention thus far - but we had few people today and so no subs for a while and then one, sort of, for a bit longer, and then none again and I was tired. My quads were actually burning as I creaked up the non-hill around the convention center, just waiting for a jogger to whiz past me. But past the museums there's no giving up - I don't know how to get back on the bus that far south and I couldn't slow down because of the threat of darkness (already cutting it close). In some kind of attempt to give up (while still going) I finally looked up, all the way, and out at the lake and realized that in that moment with the even cotton clouds and the sun mostly down and the lake mostly placid and the strange sort of reflection from top to bottom and bottom to top that you could almost not tell where the horizon was. It was shocking for that instant before I focused and saw it, a slight variation between the greener lake and purpler sky but so so close together it was amazing - without glasses I wouldn't have been able to see it at all. The surprise held me in mental suspension momentarily, enough to conquer the not-hill and coast pathetically slowly down the other side, before the monotony and frustration of pedaling set back in. I looked up only once again, 15 minutes later and marveled at the darkened sky holding the same properties still as the water. And I saw ducklings. Maybe this ride was a good idea - I'll know tomorrow when I try to get out of bed.