"Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, So do our minutes hasten to their end;"

Yesterday, some people, apparently everyone in the city with a bike, rode out on the trail from Anchorage to Eagle River. It was a glorious day and a delightful ride.
Today was another pretty day, and I thought, after work, to ride around in town for awhile, but the trails were still slush and the roads, after the eleventh snowiest winter on record, were still covered in gravel and dust.
It was a brief unpleasant ride, which in times to come, I think will serve me pretty well as an epitaph. Of course, in our family epitaphs are more a pretty idea than a stone monument, since we tend to find ourselves reduced to ashes and then thrown in a lake.