Today I drafted a squirrel.
Pedalling along, the canal beside me steaming tendrils into the frozen air, my lead out squirrel sat on the frosted fence ahead.
Spotting me, it turned tail and ran along the wooden rail, fluffy tail extended in a squirrely version of the superman. It must have had cold feet, its little paws leaving no prints, only the tch-tchickity-tchick of claws in the jagged ice crystals.
I closed in on that fluffy tail, but before I could look my squirrel in the eye it peeled off at right angles, flying into a tree. I hope it made the landing – the river flowed below – but I didn’t stop to check. Instead, I sprinted on, honouring my lead out squirrel’s efforts. What colour jersey for Queen of the Commute?
Letting your thoughts wander on a ride is good for the soul. What fantasies play out in your mind as you pedal along?
