tired & unsociable, and mementi mori

I'm not good at keeping friends, so when a woman who is a long-time friend celebrates her 65th birthday, and we've been remiss in going to visit her over the past year or so, you can be we'll put in our appearance. In this case, though, the party was in the Catskills (she and her husband split their time between Manhattan and a country home outside New Paltz), two-and-a-half hours drive away, and my excellent wife had to work her second job the next day (and she is due there at 7:00 am). So it meant we wanted to be sure to leave on time.

I decided not to do a group bike ride on Saturday, to be sure I'd be home in time to leave (on a group ride, the possibility of someone having a flat or mechanical breakdown, which might lead to a late return, is substantially higher). So I went out on my own instead, and did 36 miles, including climbing Coppermine Road, at an average of 18.1 (which is fast for me). I was feeling my legs later in the day, including at the party.

I hate parties; I'm generally no good at them. I don't meet people well unless I'm doing something with them (like pedaling, although choral singing and swinging hammers for Habitat for Humanity have also proven successful). Yesterday's party was an exception: we met some of the husband's old high-school friends (and they must be in or near their 80's) and had a wonderful time with them. I finally remembered some rules of conversation (like, when somebody asks about your kids, ask about theirs), and we were having a nice time before it was time to get in the car and return. (My wife had a suggestion that I come up with a list of conversation topics. It's a good idea, but I also need some kind of algorithm to know when someone is trying to start a conversation with me, and a few steps and suggestions about how to get the talk going; I know of at least twice this summer when I didn't realize people were interested in talking until days later, when it was too late.)

Couldn't sleep, though; woke up about 3am and watched the clock change off and on until my wife's alarm went off. My legs were tired! I wanted to do a group ride, and saw one with a leader who doesn't let the group get too fast. He wasn't at the usual location, and another ride went out of there, which was faster. I kept up, but I'm hurtin' now. I feel every day of my pushin'-60 years.

Also, it was cold today. I had two long-sleeved layers on top, and it wasn't quite enough. Autumn is coming, and, with it, the end of the riding season. More and more, these seasonal endings are reminders to me of mortality: how many more seasons will I have? How many more autumns? How many more rides? How many more parties? How soon before friends' funerals are as frequent as their celebrations?

Short week ahead; one of my Wednesdays off, plus the Hill Slugs have a ride scheduled for Saturday, and Sunday is the Princeton Freewheelers picnic. I blew off the picnic last year, not wanting to have to speak to people with whom I didn't ride much; I'm hoping to do better with meeting them this time.