How I roll

Life for me is a soft tug-of-war between solitude and sociability. I've heard it said that if one is recharged by being around others, one is an extrovert, and if one is recharged by being alone, one is an introvert.

I guess I'm half and half.

I had the loveliest day yesterday, perhaps because it contained both good alone-time and good together-time. The first part of the day was a slow curve into wakefulness. I don't like to leap into consciousness. My friend's new baby always wakes up cranky, as if the process of moving from one state of being to the next is distressing, and I feel the same way.

It takes some hours. The cat gets fed while I'm still mostly asleep and can barely walk because my calves have tightened themselves into rubber bands overnight. Then there's the snoozing. Then there's the waking up from a tangled dream. Then there's stumbling around making coffee. Then puttering and chatting with Kitwich.

Then I hung about musing gently about where I'd ride.

Then a sudden burst of packing and pumping (air), and I was off, rolling gently toward Brighton Beach. It's not always magical at Brighton, but when it is, it really is.

There were the Russian elderly, with their intensely characteristic faces. There were the young people playing volleyball in their bright colors, so handsome they looked like Baywatch East.

Every direction I turned my camera there was a short story unfolding, most of them narrated in Russian. I loved the two ladies on the bench - one with cherry-icee hair and one with bright lavender.

I asked this couple for permission to take their picture and they wanted to see how it came out. "Look how cute you are!" I said, handing them the camera. They were snuggling on that bench like teenagers.

There were two guys walking together, pulling a lot of beach equipment behind them - chairs and umbrellas and surfboards - the white one was deeply sunburnt and his friend was too dark-skinned to show any sign of sun. Ebony and Ivory go to the Beach, I thought.

Later, riding home, the friend I'd arranged to meet called and invited me over for dinner. We went out for beer, to a new bar (I'd been there once before and liked it), and there was plenty of room for us to sit, and just enough people for it to feel like we were Out.

She got tipsy, and I had some of that good stout, and we talked about life and art and the difficulties of managing both of those together. There was a bike rack out front, and a bouncer keeping an eye, and it felt so welcoming. We thanked him when we left, and he gave us a brilliant smile.