I rode to my sister's house last night. It's about 25 miles away. We were invited to dinner so I thought I would ride and My Handsome Prince would drive bringing our contributions to dinner and my change of clothes. Makes sense. I will never, ever, ever, do that again. It was the third most frightening thing I've experienced. First was climbing the steps of the Duomo in Florence, Second was the swim in my triathlon last year, and now riding the roads from my house to Li'l Sisters house. The route is heavily travelled and has little or no shoulder. Early in the ride, a motorist coming the opposite way, looked straight at me and flipped me the bird. I was not interfering with his way, nor was there anyone behind me. Definitely miss Italian drivers and roads in instances like that. There were several times in the ride, after a huge truck or trailer would blow by me within inches, trying not to overcompensate on my bike (BB is very sensitive), that I almost called MHP to pick me up. But, determined to conquer this ride and this fear, I persevered. I really was not observant about the terrain except turning on to my sisters road, from almost a complete stop, and climbing the shortest, steepest hill, then a lovely downhill breeze until "The Driveway". Straight up, lowest gear, out of the seat, Sambino (his new name after Italy) saying "Hey", Carlman saying "Hey", Li'l Sis saying "Hey do you remember so and so?" as I am still climbing, panting, and unable to speak. I jumped in the pool having only taken off my helmet and shoes.
Dad joined us for dinner. Typical to fashion, we ate wonderful food, drank a little too much vino, and told and heard stories. My sister and her husband speaking of their trip to Italy (totally different/separate from ours). My Dad told a story of going to see Duke Ellington with a friend whose friend was an intimate friend of The Duke. They went back stage, spoke with him, and he even gave them a private little concert. My sister and I were flabbergasted that we had never heard this story. Duke Ellington had taken their addresses and promised them Christmas cards from Europe. He died that year and sometime in the spring, Dad received a card from Duke Ellington's personal secretary, carrying out his promise. Wow.