Not only do I drive a red Miata with the license plate "B-tine", but I've put on the bumper stickers below:



The car is awfully recognizable in this little town. So, as my Dad used to say, I "gotta stay out of bars and pool halls." (At least, I can't park the car in front of a bar or a pool hall. Maybe down the street a few blocks ...)

This past Saturday I completed my fifth century ride since recoving from my illness, and the first since I put the "100" bumper sticker on the car. This century even featured bonus miles: the odometer read 103.97 miles at the end.

It was very windy on Saturday. But at least it was real hot and humid. I averaged about 15 miles per hour over the century. There were an awful lot of macho, Lance Armstrong wanna-bes who blew past me early in the day. I took special pleasure, later on, riding past several who were stopped on the side of the road, nursing leg muscle cramps, because they hadn't stopped often enough to drink liquids. (Who finishes first: the tortoise or the hare?)

Yesterday I finished Brad Gooch's captivating biography of Flannery O'Connor, who died at age 38, of lupus. Tomorrow I officiate at two memorial services, for two people who died too young. Since I have been grieving for them, Gooch's stark description of Flannery's final illness and death hit with special force -- even though I knew how the story would end.

As Garrison Keilor said years ago, our griefs accumulate.