I didn’t ride a bicycle for three days in a row.  I can’t remember the last time that happened.  But I was on a trip to Kansas City for a conference, and didn’t bring my bike with me.  I rode the bus and walked, jealously eyeing cyclists as they sped up and down the hills on Main Street.  After a truly awful flight home (Houston, you’ve got some problems), the last thing I wanted to do was wake up at 6:30 in the morning for a group bike ride.  But as soon as I put my bike shorts on under my skirt and clipped in to my pedals, I was happy to head over to Lakeshore for Tour de Lis.  It was an overcast day, and the wind was blowing, as you can see from the flag in this picture.  All sorts of folks were out on bikes: kids on teensy mountain bikes, guys in spandex down in their drops, ladies on cruisers, my riding partner, D., on her downhill racer, and me, of course, on Jack.  The streets were blocked from traffic and we all just rode in circles.  I turned to D. as we started out and said, “God, it’s beautiful.”  She looked at me funny, said it was “so gray.”  I think gray and overcast is just a different kind of beauty from blue and sunny.  I mean, Lake Ponchartrain was splashing against its banks, wiry young palm trees brought in after Katrina ripped out the old ones were swaying in the breeze, empty park benches in mud where grass hasn’t been replaced were looking out on brave swimmers and boats, and bikes were everywhere.  Lakeshore took on lots of water after Katrina hit, and like so many other parts of this city, you can still tell.  A woman at the hotel I stayed at in Kansas City asked me if the city had recovered yet.  I told her the truth–nope, but it’s still beautiful.  The city has surely made me tweak my definitions of beauty.  Today?  Absolutely, positively, wondrously beautiful.  It’s good to be home and back on the bike.