The Pandemic Continues: May 2020

"It's hard when you miss people.

But you know that if you miss them, 

that means you are lucky. It means you

had someone special in your life,

someone worth missing."

Nikki Schiefelbein

Memorial Day Week-end.   Traditionally on this week-end, I pack up a picnic and my daughter and I rent a kayak and go on a 9 mile kayaking journey.  Sometimes we use the paddle, sometimes we drift.  We inevitably have fun.  This year, with COVID, it is not to be, but then the weather  may have prevented it anyway.  Each day recently has been peppered by hard, pelting rain and bold streaks of lightening. Dark ominous clouds interspersed with brilliant sunshine blue skies seem to be the norm.  The storms blow up quickly and unexpectedly fueled by the afternoon heat. The forecasters change their prediction overnight and it is hard to know what to do and what not to do.

So on Monday morning, rather than kayaking, I head out on my bike into the sunshine hoping that it lasts long enough to allow me to get a good ride in and return home before the daily pummeling. I don't mind riding in a soft, warm rain, but the rain we have been getting has not been soft and would not be safe to ride in.  I have been caught out in such rains before, and I am think specifically of one time when a tree was blown over in front of me and branches as thick as my thigh blew across the road.   I was afraid, but that fear was tinged with and odd sense of exhilaration.  Still, I am not a thrill seeker and would not chase that feeling.

I decide to do a new loop I developed that goes through Pekin and Salem if I find my legs are not tired from yesterdays ride.  I have found that it takes a few miles to know how your legs will feel, and that if you must ride, they normally give in and quit complaining.  But if you aren't on a brevet or an overnight trip, sometimes it is easier to give in to their complaining and head home.  Today, however, they ease quickly, probably due to yesterday's relaxed pace and the fact that I am not pushing for speed.

I first notice how everything has leafed out climbing Leota Hill.  It is shadowed by the branches overhead. Sunlight laces through the leaves in intricate patterns on the ground.  Right outside the trail head, where the trail crosses the hill, I once again come across hikers, this time two rather than one.  It is a young couple who are doing a through hike.  I think to myself that perhaps this is something I should do again this fall depending on what happens with the virus. For being away overnight for a few days requires a cat sitter, and thus far I have not allowed anyone into my home.  It is my safe place.  Additionally, I have a responsibility to the feline members of my household who, despite their ferocious claws, cannot defend themselves.  I think of how responsibility is a good and bad thing, but on the whole helps to give meaning to life, perhaps because it gives us at least an illusion of being important and needed.  It is a pleasant feeling to be needed, to feel that we can contribute to something other than ourselves.

I think about how I have questioned if I am over-reacting to the virus and depriving myself of fun I might otherwise have.  I miss people.  I miss hugs.  In fact, I recently e-mailed someone I respect with that very question only to be reassured that it is very real and encouraged to remain vigilant for now.  I think of what another friend said earlier, about the virus being patient while people are not.  I concede to their intelligence as both are far smarter than me.  And I suppose it is best to remain safe rather than sorry.  The pleasure of breathing can't be overestimated. I watched as my husband struggled for air and remember how he told me that it was much worse than gasping for air on a tough climb on the bike.

 I also would be loathe to have on my conscience that I passed the disease to someone who became ill.  All I can do is my part, but I can do that. No safety device is one hundred percent, not seat belts, not bike helmets, etc. but I use them.  Yes, I know God forgives us if we only ask for forgiveness, but I also believe he expects us to act with consideration and thoughtfulness for others and not to just blindly blunder ahead in our bullheaded stupidity, convinced of our own wisdom, without trying due to an expectation of forgiveness. In other words, without our making an effort to do better, is it truly forgiveness we are asking or permission to do as we desire.  So I will  proceed as I would if I were diagnosed with cancer.  I will heed the experts in the field rather than others whose background is not in this area just as I would go to an oncologist and not a friend for cancer treatment. 


I crest the hill into brilliant sunshine and think how wonderful it is to have sun despite the sweat that is beginning to drench my body.  I hope that the two water bottles I have on the bike will be enough.  I can't recall passing any churches on this route that might have spigots I could use to refill and I still avoid stores as much as possible.  Now that it is getting hot, I need to reattach my carradice so that I can bring extra water since camel baks hurt my neck.  Mentally I add this to my "to do" list along with washing all my bikes.

The daisies are starting to bloom, but thus far the orange day lilies are not noticeable.  It should be soon.  I know they show themselves in early June, their cheerful faces turning to face the sun head on.  The daisies yet again remind me of the early days of my marriage when I would gather wildflowers for our home.  I think about club rides hopefully re-opening in June and wonder if it will happen, what they will look like, and if I will be comfortable attending them.  I wonder when brevets will re-start.  I doubt Kentucky will have any this year with the spring not working out, but I think I remember seeing that Indiana will still have rides this year.  All this riding alone makes me wonder if I should resume randoneurring.

It is an odd year, with things that change, like my kayaking trip and spending time with my daughter, with being able to hug my daughter in juxtaposition with daisies and orange day lilies and seasons.  I am lucky.  I have people to miss, my daughter, my son, his wife, my granddaughter. I have friends.  I have people who are special to me.  And though this separation seems interminable, this too shall pass.  And when it is finally safe to be around them and to hug them, I will remember to never take hugs for granted again, to notice their warmth, inside and out, and draw it close to my heart where it can reside forever, an eternal springtime to be drawn upon in times of cold and darkness. 

Orleans: May 7, 2000 (Date on photos is wrong)

"While getting lost in all those

little things that seem so important,

don't forget the little things that 

matter..."

Virginia Alison

 I get up to find that the weather is nice, though windy as appears to be the weather's wont this year.  I decide that I will ride a century.  I can't say I am entirely comfortable with this decision.  While I have not let myself completely go to pot, I have definitely put on weight and have shortened the length of my rides.  Part of this was due to concern about having a mechanical and needing to call a sag because I don't want to infect anyone if  I would happen to be ill but asymptomatic, but then I realize my daughter has a truck and my bike and I could be hauled in the back.  It would mean a long wait for rescue, but the chances of needing her seem slim.  And it might mean "the look," the look that asks why her mom can't just be normal like other mothers and drive a car or take up knitting.


 I can't remember ever calling for sag other than when I was bitten by the pit bull.  Even then, I could have limped home if it had been necessary.  I did refuse the ambulance that someone had called though nobody would ever fess up to it. My husband came.  When I am hurt, I always want my husband, at least I did once I gave up wanting my mom. Anyway, if I am hurt that badly by a fall, a bite, being hit by a car, or something else, I'll probably need an ambulance anyway.

I decide on one of my easier centuries.  I have not been to Orleans for quite some time.  I have two century routes there.  I pick the easier of the two.  I  also consider the wind and pick a route where the wind will be at my back most of the return journey. Before I leave, I pack snacks and a sandwich and hope that my water supply holds as I do not intend to stop at any stores along the way.  

I question my choice the first few miles as the route goes through Medora and I have recently visited there, but after passing Medora my doubts melt as I come across a bonanza of late spring flowers.  The river is to my left and the railroad to my right for a number of miles.  Traffic is sparse.  I stop to eat a snack at an old abandoned bridge.

Despite the beauty, I find I wish for some companionship on my journey.  I have spent so much time alone recently.  I suppose that will continue for awhile as I have no notion of returning to going shopping or the gym or a restaurant until I see where this virus goes.  I try to stay away from politics in my blog, so I will only say that I do  not trust our government to care about me or those I love anymore.  

During my ride, I think about what is important to me: God, family, friends, home, stability, love, children, safety, bicycles, pets.  A friend recently let me know he has been ill and I think how I would not know unless he was well enough to let me know.  These people are important to me, they make my life richer and help to give it meaning.  They have made me laugh and cry.  They have accepted me, warts and all, into their lives and hearts.  It is so damned hard to be so isolated from them.  And I pray that each of them knows that they are special to me, that I love them.  For this virus has magnified what is important, truly important.  It reinforces the lesson on what means the most. 

The wind picks up as the day goes on and I begin to despair of my ability to finish out this ride, but still I know I will go on, turning one pedal and then the other because that is what distance cyclists do and that is how goals are accomplished. Distance riding is largely a mental exercise and a exercise of the will and refusal to quit.  The mind tires long before the body has to stop, but the mind is a liar and tells those lies to the body.  It wants you to quit long before you really need to. I think, perhaps, it used to be easier in some ways because I needed these rides to keep up with others, to build my base for brevets, etc.  Now my main reason is that I know how easily it can be taken from me unless I continue to push and not to yield. Most of my friends no longer ride centuries, at least unless it is a tour stage, and there is no Tour de Mad Dog this year. 

Clouds begin to to fill the sky and I find I am chilly with my arm warmers down when they block the sun and too warm when the sun is out.  The words of a song by Mary Chapin Carpenter come to mind, "Sometimes its hard to remember how tough we are to please." I stop for a quick sandwich at a bridge that seems perfect.  One side has a concrete wall that is perfect for sitting.  The other side has a concrete wall that is taller and perfect for leaning a bicycle on. 

The wind is now at my back pushing me home and even Bee Line Road does not slow me down.  Indeed, after the last climb I keep thinking there is another that never appears.  I am cautious on the descent after crossing the highway remembering that there is a rough railroad track at the bottom.  I smile thinking of the time I flew and it caused me to go airborne.  Luckily I landed the bike and all was well.  The feeling was exhilarating.

Soon I am on Quaker Road and home draws near.  Home.  Even the word is a siren song.  My pedal strokes grow stronger rather than weaker as the end nears and I know I don't have to conserve any more strength to be there.  This ride, a  little thing, but also something that matters. 

Canceled Trips: Regret

"Maybe all one can do is hope to

 end up with the right regrets."

Arthur Miller

A nice, albeit windy, day for a ride.  I am tired from a Zwift session yesterday, and look forward to a leisurely, rather flat ride today on a real bike in a real world, even though with Corona it sometimes seems as if I am looking through a store window the way I used to do at Christmas time when my mother would take me to Cincinnati to see the  windows.  How beautiful those windows were, decorated with glistening snow and mechanical whimsical figures, evergreen and holly in deep greens accentuated by red, brilliant and cheerful matching my excitement about the holiday to come.  One year I remember a real deer in the window. A magical world, but one that excluded me.  Look, but no touching allowed.

I think of how last night I turned my calendar to May and saw where, before Corona, I had marked my much anticipated bicycle trip to Wisconsin this month.  A hoped for trip to see my granddaughter. The TMD centuries that I had hoped to ride were marked as well.  My canceled bicycling trip in Alaska that was supposed to happen this summer  also marked, though not in the month of May.  Dreams that are not to happen, at least anytime in the near future.  The words of a Joni  Mitchell song ring through my brain as they have so often lately:  "Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got til its gone."

How things have changed. Life is determined to teach me that I must flow with the tide.  I think how grateful I am that I got to ride with Greg Z. and Steve R. last fall.  I recall the delightful lunch that Steve's wife provided for us in the midst of a ride, the laughter, the beauty of the table setting, the comfort that comes from being with friends.  I miss meal sharing.   How glad I am that Amelia and I got our bicycle trip from Inverness to Edinburgh in last summer before reality changed.  A lucky decision, the one I made to retire a bit early, at least as far as travel.  What Corona will ultimately mean for all of us, nobody really yet knows.   Or for how long.  I try to be grateful I am that so far I am okay, physically and financially, at least thus far.  

I decide that I should probably think for a bit about my Mom.  She is gone, but Mother's Day approaches rapidly and I like to take some time to think about her.  I miss my Mom, but I am glad that she does not have to go through this as she did so many things in her lifetime. 

For some reason, I think of one day that she and I were on the swing set in the back yard.  We are taking turns reciting "One, two buckle my shoe."  I remember how much fun it was, just  my mother and me, swinging in the sunshine.  My mom read to me when I was young, but I don't have any other memories of her actually playing with me outdoors other than that day.  Do I not remember or did it not happen?  I know she was busy.  With five children and a busy social life, my mom had little time to sleep and less to  play.  

I think about one time when she and my father were getting ready to go out.  Mom was at her dresser and had on her mink.  She wore Chanel Number 5, elegant and classy. I remember stroking the mink covering her arm and thinking that I must have the prettiest Mom in the world.  

This leads me to wonder about what memories my children will have of me.  I know this Mother's Day will be the first that I remember since having children that I will, in all likelihood, be alone.

The road calls my attention back as a woman with a child in the passenger seat passes me only to brake and turn right in front of me to get to the covered bridge at Medora.  She obviously has no idea that bicycles don't brake as cars do, and I have to apply both brakes quickly and with force.  Shaking my head at her thoughtlessness, I move onward.

At Medora, the store is now officially closed.  Windows are draped in black plastic.  Next to it sits the long defunct ice cream store. But I do find a bait shop that has opened since I last rode through and advertises that they have chips.  I don't enter.  During this time of Corona, I am self-supported with water and a snack.  But it is good to know for the future assuming the store makes it.  My history with the town tells me that it is difficult for any business to survive.

Facing the wind, I head home picking the longer route despite tired legs.  The sun in shining and the next two days don't look promising weather wise.  Since I am not worried about pace, the wind is not a huge issue since I am not actively fighting it to reach a goal pace.  I think of how days are running into each other with appointments being canceled and not kept.  I am still adjusting to the new reality.

I think of my sister-in-law, for the 5th will be the first anniversary of the loss of my brother, Chris. How I miss him.  How hard it will be for her.  As I told her this morning, there is not a day that goes by that I don't miss my husband, but it does get better.  It is no longer accompanied by a pain as sharp as being cut by knife.

Thoughts of my husband bring me back to gratefulness that once, out of the blue, he bought me a bicycle, a gift I wondered what I would do with but have come to love.  Sometimes it seems as if it were part of a plan, as if he knew where I would go with it and the strength, both mental and physical, that it would bestow upon me.  The comfort that I would find there.  How many times during a longer brevet, being 600 kilometers in, I wanted to throw in the towel?  But I learned patience and endurance and that dark moments pass to be replaced by moments made more sweet by that very darkness.

I am home.  I greet the cats, park my bike, get the mail, and begin to prepare a recovery meal.  Counting blessings.  Yes, I had to cancel trips that I was looking forward to and I will always regret that, but at least it is the right kind of regret. 

Glorious Sunshine

"O, Sunshine!  The most

precious gold to be found on 

earth." 

Roman Payne

It is amazing how a bicycle and a good dose of sunshine can pull you out of the doldrums.  Monday and yesterday were perfect riding days, and I ride 67 miles one day and 27 another.

The red buds are receding, colors slowly dulling and fading, to be replaced by dogwoods trees.  Green has taken hold and runs riot through the forested areas.  Yellow flowers, Field Mustard, Butter Weed, and Wintercress, begin to color road sides. Daffodils are gone and the orange day lilies I love so have not yet emerged though I notice the foliage is growing tall and green.

  When I pause nearby, I see the pollinators beginning to work.  Looking down at my leg one time, I  notice a young bumblebee has settled down for a ride.  Stopping, I take a leaf and gently brush it away.  I wonder to myself if bumble bees navigate by the sun as my husband said honey bees do.  I suspect so, but I really don't know.

The bumble bee makes me think of when my husband and I first married and sold hay over at Churchill Downs.  I would go in the morning and make sales and after he got home from work we would deliver.  We would buy fields of hay or straw at times and put it up ourselves.  Once, retrieving it from a barn, we ran into a nest of bumble bees.  How we escaped with so few stings remains a mystery.  I miss those days, the way it felt working together.

I arrive in Commiskey wondering if the store will be closed.  As it sells gas, it is not a mandatory store closing, but it is such a small store.  I arrive to find it open.  I don't go in because I brought my own snacks and drinks, but I am glad.  I wonder how the closing of small country stores will impact distance riding.  By now I should have numerous centuries in, but this year is different in so many ways.

The spring is constant, however, and that is comforting.  Each spring is unique in some aspects:  some are unusually rainy or dry, some are windy and some are not, but all springs eventually melt into summer.  And spring always follows winter so long as we are alive.

The only down point either day is a dog, a big German Shepherd, that comes out in the road after me.  Since I have no chance of outrunning him, I hop off placing my bike between the dog and my body only to have the owner come to the edge of the yard yelling at me for daring to stop in front of her home.  I attempt to explain how if the dog bumped my wheel chasing me there would be more damage than if I just stop, but it never sinks in.  She struggles but eventually is able to gain enough control of the dog for me to quickly move onward.  She is yelling the entire time, face red and angry.

I thought about the stress we are all under in our changing world.  The words of a Jewell song come to mind, "Nature has a funny way of breaking what does not bend."  I hope the lady with the red face finds a way to relieve the stress she obviously is under at the present time.  We are all under stress, but some more than others, and we all have different resources to use to combat this stress.  How thankful I am that bicycling is in my arsenal.  

Today it rains and I will use this as a rest day and a day to clean my house unless I decide to Zwift, something new to me. The trainer my husband bought me in 2004 broke right before the pandemic became apparent and I replaced it with a smart trainer and started a Zwift subscription.  While it does not and never will replace cycling outside, it is less boring than the old trainer.  But, oh, how I miss my riding companions, the jokes, the laughter, the shared miles.  I remind myself it is not forever and that God has a reason for what is happening, and I remind myself to smile.  I am blessed in so many ways. 

I have a new painting idea that I want to start, a way to pass time that also started right before the pandemic hit.  With each one, I learn something new it seems.  And it helps to pass the time.  My most recent was plagiarized from Jay Lee's "Red Umbrella" painting.

  But soon I will be back on a bicycle.   Nothing could ever take its place. 

Pandemic Blues

"Never to be lonely like that--

the Early American figure on the beach in 

black coat and knee-breeches,

 scanning the didactic storm in privacy."

Adrienne Rich 

Today has been a struggle for me from the very start.  For some reason, the pack that is isolation has seemed much too heavy for me to bear.  And the above words of Adrienne Rich, read long ago in a college class, pass through my brain. Today I am lonely. I try, but those that have gone before pass through my thoughts in a constant stream and I miss them so badly.  Today it is not much fun to be me.  I would give anything to sit down next to a friend on a curb during a ride, to hug hello or goodbye, to be touched.  I want to see my granddaughter.  I am missing watching her grow.  She will not even know me.  I miss my daughter and my son.   I miss going to see my sister and brother, and I worry about them for they are at much higher risk than I am.  Will I ever get to see these people again or will they or I be struck down?

Recently they put up tents in town to serve various purposes in the midst of the pandemic.  Will I end up there not even being able to say good-bye to those I love?  Will they end up in someplace similar where I can't reach them to care for them, to be with them?  It is all so troubling.

 I let myself mourn for the world and the changes we are all having to go through as I work towards acceptance that what Dr. Fauci says is probably right.  Life may never be the normal that it was before.  I cry. I cry until my nose runs and my eyes are red and I let the sadness flow out. My tears feel mixed with blood from a leaking heart.  My very heart  aches.  I want my big brother.  I want my mom.  I want my husband and how it made things better when he said they would get better even if they really wouldn't because he was there, always he was there.  I want all the pets that have been dear to me but have passed.  But with death there is no do over, and I remind myself that is why I isolate.  Not so much to protect myself, but to protect others. I want to be a good citizen. 

Though I do not want to, I do the on-line Pilates class and that Tabata Pump class that Chrissie is now putting on Facebook.  I find that even my bike holds no allure.  I tell myself that if I don't ride, I can't sit and sulk and I must clean the closet where I keep my riding clothes.  Maybe I'll run across the wool arm warmers I have misplaced.  And so I clean.  And I do find them.  But I finish to find the sun is still shining and so I give up, grab the bike and head out.  Tomorrow and the next week are not supposed to be so nice for riding.  If I don't ride, I will be sorry.  I do hate to waste a spring day.

Despite my initial reluctance and a body that is relatively tired, I soon find my rhythm.   I decide I will not ride far or at a fast pace, but will just enjoy being in shorts and a jersey on an 80 degree April day.  All around me there are red buds in full bloom.  Salem Road has been freshly paved.  The sunshine puts a new slant on things and I am reminded to be grateful.  There is still beauty in the world. Perhaps, I think, we needed this virus as a wake-up call, to remind us of what is really important.  Regardless, I am spent.  Sadness still courses through me, but my tears have dried and I know I can move forward and put one foot in front of the other, at least for today.  Thank you, bicycle, yet again.  You are my hero. 

Leota Hill

"Every spring is the only spring,

a perpetual astonishment."

Ellis Peters

I am tired from a night of restless dreams, tossing and turning, and a full day of exercise yesterday, but the sun peeks out and calls to me.  Spring, I have learned, passes all too quickly. And, as Peters notes, it is always a perpetual astonishment.  I head out knowing that I will see something that is new and fresh and not there the previous day.  And so, as I have oft done before, I put my leg over the bike and head out so as not to waste the day. 

I don't feel up to fighting the dog on the way I would like to go, so I head toward Salem up Leota Hill.  As experience has taught, legs that object and say, "You're kidding, right?" the first few miles gradually loosen up and give in and stop complaining.   As I climb, I notice that the red buds have started to bloom.  Some are still buds, but some have burst open treating me to various shades of pink and purple.  My God, they are beautiful.  Soon dogwood will follow, but not yet. Dandelions, bright yellow, emphasize the deepening green in the lawns that I pass.  I am undone by the beauty around me and so glad that I came out to ride.

As I climb, I notice a hiker crossing the road to reach the Leota trail head.  I can't see her head because of the large, black pack she is carrying, but I know it is a women from the curve of her slender hips.  I warn her I am coming up behind and on her right and she looks back.  She is in her thirties or forties, fine featured, medium length hair pulled back.  When I ask, (from an appropriate distance and without dismounting or stopping) she confirms that she is doing a through hike.  She says the hills are starting to get to her.  I tell her she will be fine.  And she will be if she truly wants to finish the entire trail.

When I pass the trail head at the top of the climb, I stop to remove a layer and to take off knee warmers as I have overdressed.  I am at the mouth of the trailhead.  She has climbed the short hill further in and is crossing over to go on to the Elk Creek trail head.  I spend a bit of time thinking that maybe that is something I could do while isolating, then realize that these are not the times to hire a cat sitter. I think for a bit of the through hike I did with Diana and how I enjoyed it though we did not camp. Her husband picked us up at the end of the day and dropped us off where we had left off the following day.

I think about isolating and wonder how long it will last.  The longer it goes on the harder it gets, and I don't delude myself:  for this to be successful it is not going to be for only a week or two. I grieve for my friends.  On a day like today we would be riding together and laughing and joking enjoying the beautiful spring weather.  Sharing.  I truly miss that and I truly miss them.  I miss Paul and Amelia and Lynn and John and Mike and the others.  But I will be a good citizen.  Because I love these people, I would not risk harm to them through my own selfishness.

I fear to go too far from home because if I would have an issue, how would I get home.  I don't think I have the virus, but I did have to go to the store last Tuesday.  So, between that and being tired, I head home getting in about 30 miles.  That is enough.  There is grass to be cut before the next rain comes in later in the week.  I remain grateful for my bicycle and the release and freedom it brings.  Ride, but ride safely.  Perhaps there is something to be learned in solitude that I am meant to learn, even if it is just a greater appreciation of friendship.    

March 2020: Isolated

"I've found that there is always some

beauty left - in nature, sunshine, freedom,

in yourself; all these can help you."

Anne Frank

I have stayed active since Corona hit.  I do a daily morning Pilates or stability ball workout and then follow it with a walk, hike, or a ride:  sometimes even doing both a ride and walk.  Occasionally I add hand weights for what always has been and remains a weak upper body.  And for two days in a row, I have managed to nab a touch of sunshine on my ride though one day it meant leaving the house quite early and while it was still quite cold.

The world is screaming spring.  Daffodils pirouette in the wind, their brave yellows accentuated by the deepening green around them. Oh, how I love the greens this time of year, so fragrant and deep.  I have longed for green for months.  And the yellow, so fleeting but so yearned for. Other, small flowers thrust upwards. And so life goes on.  Isolation is wearying when one lives alone and I miss having someone to share things with, but as Ms. Frank notes, "there is always some beauty."  Oh, the magnificence of the human spirit in some people.  It shames me.  How, I wonder, did a child come to be so wise?  Circumstances? If so, surely the seed was there ahead of those circumstances.

The squirrels seem to be unusually busy and plentiful.  Important squirrel business, I suppose, as yet another crosses the road uncomfortably close to my front wheel.  Five deer cross in front of me.  Robins squabble over territory and mates.  Peepers call out in longing lonely following a long winter hiatus.  Life moves forward.  Nature seems unaware of the heavy cloud hanging over humanity at the present time.

For some reason, I think of something my daughter once told me during a time of great sorrow and great regret:  "Animals forgive us and don't hold grudges.  It is one of the things we are supposed to learn from them."  I hope it is true for we have not been kind to them or to their world. While at times the cats I live with are a nuisance, isolation, like loss, has made me aware of how much I treasure them.  It is nice to have something to hold on to, something to be responsible for besides myself.

Who knew the world could change so drastically so quickly?  I have canceled one trip in May where I was to meet with friends and ride bicycles and will likely be canceling my much anticipated Alaska trip.  But while I grieve the loss, I realize how lucky I am that thus far my family has not contracted the virus.  I am lucky I have a home and food and think about the poor people in Tennessee who recently lost so much in a tornado.  And I still have my bicycle and still can ride outside, something I have read has been restricted in other countries in an attempt to contain or slow a virus that is determined not to be contained.  The words of my mother whisper through my thoughts as I reach home:  "This, too, shall pass."