This morning at 8:30, shivering in the chilly breeze, we headed north on the nearby White Pine Trail to take a thirty mile trip in preparation for our traditional 35-mile ride to Millennium Park on Labor Day. As we approached Cedar Springs, we lost track of mileage partly due to some storm damage with limbs apparently obscuring the mile markers. So we went beyond the town, John insisting that we must have already passed the 15-mile marker. I accused him of trafficking in wishful thinking, a character flaw that is not becoming. He retorted that I trafficked in linguistic eccentricities and exaggeration. As we were arguing about our respective characters, we both at the very same time spotted mile marker 17. We turned around and headed back to Cedar Springs. Here he is in front of one of his favorite breweries. Below, I'm posing alongside a front yard I can only envy.
