The Sunset Ride

Mailboxes lined up at entrance to camps.

When we stay overnight at camp I steal moments of alone time. Nothing like a short jaunt, after dinner, just before the sun sets. It's that in between time when I'm restless; dinner dishes are washed and it's too early to go to bed. My in laws are parked in front of the TV; kids are on digital devices; husband deep into a project or ensconced in a chair with a magazine, too relaxed to head out with me. 

On this evening I spied the warning signs along the path.

And relished the ethereal light. Leaves dotting the cement portion. There are other folks who ride in the evening also. Like me they ride by themselves. We are solitary souls, seeking the last rays of sunshine, together.

Turnaround point is the entrance to the causeway.

The sun dips lower. I love the sound of my tires rumbling over the bridge; they rattle, pleasingly so, as boards rock within their framework. It's become the Winooski River Bridge alarm. If a person is standing on the bridge, staring at the lake, their peace is momentarily interrupted by the clatter of a passing cyclist.

There are other riders that momentarily pause at several of the overlooks, waiting for their own personal view of sunset. At the camp, if my timing is right, I roll onto the deck and plant myself westward, enjoying a quiet calm before mother nature lends her spectacle. Then all is right in my universe.