Just Between Us Girls

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When I started cycling with Bill, Bob, Jeff, and Jim last Summer, one the first things I found interesting about it was being treated like I was one of the boys. It was a bit of an adjustment the first time Bob stopped his bike abruptly, hopped off, and then headed into the woods to go to the bathroom. Actually, whenever this occurred during any ride, I really wished I was one of the boys if only so going to the bathroom in the woods could be that easy for me!

As time passed, Bill and I ended up riding together more often, which was the obvious cycling conclusion given that we both lived in the same town. At a certain point, it appeared that our rides were not only about cycling. As we rode, we talked a lot and covered as many topics as we did miles.

Among other things, we chatted about the PMC (by the way, you can still donate to Bill’s ride if you’d like to!), unemployment, kids, our quirky cycling friends, and relationships, which Bill referred to as “emotional entanglements” today. Some days, it seemed like our rides were much less about cycling and much more about socializing. A 35-mile bike ride for us was like the lunch that two old friends arranged when they hadn’t talked to each other in while.

This seemed especially true on days when Bill prefaced a conversation with, “Well, just between us girls.” The first time he said that, I laughed out loud. I knew then that while I was one of the boys, Bill was also one of the girls.

I have a lot of lovely friends; they are all unique and special, much like my vintage finds. Friends are the perfect accessory. Your you wardrobe is not complete without one of them dangling from your arm (i.e., being together), occupying a place at the top of your head (i.e., thinking about them), planted firmly in your ear lobe (i.e., talking to them), or pinned to your chest (i.e., loving them).

As I rode down the rail trail with Bill today, he was my cloisonné bracelet when he wasn’t my rhinestone clip-on earrings. I had been fretting about something for a while, which I shared with him. He simply said, “Just think about the statistics.”

I never thought about statistics; I always thought with my heart. Just then, I saw percentages on each and every tree that dotted the side of the trail. I thought for a moment and then said, “You know, you’re right!”

Suddenly, my fretting was over; when faced with statistics, it was easier to remove the emotion that had been haunting me for too long. I learned the truth at 48; indeed, some of life was just really about statistics. Thanks, Bill. ♥

Happy weekend, everyone. ♥

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