Moving at the rate of a turtle

Wayne and I are going bike riding this afternoon.  Now, I admit that Florida is nice and flat, unlike the hilly landscape in the Pacific NW, where I learned firsthand that riding a bike can be brutal. So taking up bike-riding here in Florida sounded like fun. Here I wouldn’t need to worry about battling those dreadful hills, pumping my legs for all they’re worth, sticking my butt in the air and struggling to breathe.  Wrong!  What I didn’t count on was the Florida wind. So here I am, on my new bike, peddling to save Dixie, giving it my all, moving at the rate of a turtle. And once again my butt is in the air.  Sigh.