John’s e-mails tell me that Spring has returned to the central Japanese high plains we inhabit.
“Yo Kev! Weather’s lookin sweet, bro! You up for a ride?”
His enthusiasm is infective. Not that it takes much to get me out on the bike.
He talks sometimes of mountain biking the trails of nearby Hachibuse-yama, though in his voice I hear more reminiscence than actual suggestion. That’s fine with me. I run those trails on occasion, and to me there's no better way to communicate with the gods who reside there than entering their world on foot. Besides, one broken collarbone is enough.