Before we’d even got out of bed, I turned to Rob and said, “We have to go find that crazy bike trail today.” I get ideas in my head like a little kid does and can’t be deterred. It stems from there, and 5 minutes later I’ve created this elaborate plan for an afternoon of cycling that involves chasing squirrels with a video camera, pit stops on Broadway for margaritas and chips, guerilla games of Kadima in pumpkin patches, poking around some parking lots, and [this is how I cement Rob’s participation] a stop at the wine store to pick up a bottle for dinner.
The Putnam experience on this particular Sunday was… magical. It’s even getting its own post—if you love music, you’ll dig it.
I should accompany Rob to get the wine more often there; he has this groovy card that stores points he earns toward tastes of wine. Swipe the card and a machine delivers a perfect pour. And I can’t think of a better way to taste wine than to an impressive selection of vinyl.
On the way home I shouldered a bag containing a baguette, a slice of Midnight Moon goat cheese, some aged gouda, a tub of olives, and a slice of chicken liver and truffle mousse; Rob rode one-handed with a bottle of Pinot tucked in his jacket.
Perfect, perfect Sunday.
p.s. something tells me I should be too embarrassed to post this, so I’ll probably take it down. Enjoy it while you can.
[The Hill of Death]
[The Radio Dept., “Heaven’s On Fire”]