the windows are open, despite rain all day and promises of more rain. i got soaked again on friday morning, soaking sopping wet and filthy from all the grit thrown up by my tires. i was so wet it didn't matter anymore. the rain was warm and i let it drip in and out of my mouth, playing leapfrog with the buses.

i'm still probing out to find the limit. the long ride this weekend was hard. i fell behind the group, last but for the co-leader acting as sweep. getting father back, i struggled harder and got more scared and angry and frustrated and the pain became a barrier instead of a challenge. the sweep pulled in front and let me draft behind her till we caught up, and after that i fought like the devil not to fall off again. so now i know what it feels like to ride when i'm tired and hurting and still keep up for 60 miles.

we ate lunch at a harbor park in westchester. there were two huge swans. i watched one awkwardly lower itself into the water, clumsy, wiggling its butt for balance and pushing its belly forward until it was able to paddle, smooth and dancer-like again. juvenile seagulls tussled and screamed at each other and the swans went by worrying patches of muck with their bills. i ate my lunch savagely with both hands, picking up the lumps of egg salad that fell with my fingers. i kept apologising for my manners, but i couldn't seem to stop. the days i go out with the group are complete: morning, noon, afternoon. when i'm riding in the line my thoughts don't stray far from the moment, and when i make it home afterwards the hours that remain in the day are a gift.