Sometimes the hardest step of your journey is that first one out the front door. My first riding trip of the year started off a little unsure, a little rocky, a little second guess-y.
As I rolled away from my house on Friday morning, I wasn’t armed with much of a plan other than go west and south, which is pretty easy when you’re floating on a lump of land in the Atlantic Ocean.
I decided if I didn’t know what to do or where to go, maybe just playing a few of the greatest hits would suffice. It’d feel familiar enough to keep me comfortable but also still on the precipice of beginning something new. Besides, if I had a terrible day, I could just go back home.
Here’s a little clue for the next installment: I didn’t go home.