Antidote

For a cold, a head cold, a malaise, an ache, a croup, a crud, junk, phlegm, snot, weariness, the antidote is a 16-miler, a slow-n-easy 16m during soccer practice.  Without having done it, I wouldn't have breathed in the honeysuckle.  I wouldn't have spied the huge, puffy cumulus cloud resting atop a green, hairy land.  I wouldn't have traversed the rocky road of Blowing Tree.  I wouldn't have viewed Weicher Creek Pond with its sunlit silhouette and high grasses.  I wouldn't have looped and looped and looped Addington/Bristol/Wesley/Haviland.  I wouldn't have gotten to that point that, instead of thinking of things, job, family, food, fitness, people, music, age, I just thought of riding.  I wouldn't have heard the Velvet Underground's "What goes on..." live on the iPod.

I wouldn't have done that, and what a pity that would have been.