A Motorcycle Trip���Denied���And Rediscovering My Front Yard

Ah, Friday! It is a beautiful day. I am thinking of riding through West Virginia! After starting work extra early this morning, I manage to finish up and be on my motorcycle by 3:15.

But today, that is still too late. Traffic is at a crawl. I need to go about 35 miles west of my apartment to break the grip of the DC Metro Area and be free to roam. But it is slow-going today. Very slow. When I am not sitting still in the middle of three lanes of west-bound traffic, my speed is averaging maybe 10 to 15 miles per hour.

After a draining, aggravating week at work, this won���t do. The heat, exhaust fumes, and finger-flipping, horn-blowing drivers has me so annoyed that by the time I would break free, I would be too agitated to care. So, I turn the bike around and head home. I can try later tonight or early tomorrow morning.

But my mind is too wired to sit at home and wait so after parking the bike, I start walking. The weather is fantastic. Bicyclists and joggers abound. I walk to Ballston and then on to Clarendon (in northern Virginia) as the last golden hours of the sun intensifies. All the swanky places have patios full of good-looking people in their best casual, yet classy summer clothes, wearing designer shades, laughing over sparkling glasses of good wine, colorful martinis, margaritas, mimosas and mugs of craft beer. The warm breeze is touched with the scent of blooming honeysuckle, fresh baked bread, spices, and grilling steak, lamb, chicken, salmon, and pork.

Though I am not��one of these hipsters, I have gotten to know them over the five years I have been here. They have fought through high-pressured jobs and confining cubicles all week for this Friday evening. These bars and restaurants are expensive, but they can afford it. Mostly, they are groups of friends and co-workers meeting for happy hours that will go on all evening long, but there are also couples meeting from dating sites, trying not to get their hopes up while secretly praying they meet the person that will finally save their lonely soul. Too, there are people rediscovering their significant others and giving themselves some well-earned credit for making it or at least staying in the game in this very competitive, mad, fast-paced region of the country.

As I walk by, I remember the��times I have been at one of these tables with endless combinations of friends, co-workers, and girlfriends over the past five years, eating whatever the latest��happy hour specials happened to be���raw oysters, steamed mussels, bruschetta, imported olives and cheeses���while��getting drunk on Belgian beers, sangria, or shots of��whiskey.

Tonight, I am alone. I can saddle up to any one of these fancy bars and strike up a conversation with the bartender or whoever is on my left or on my right, but I don���t.

Not tonight.

I stop at Trader Joe���s and pick up a good bottle of wine and some damned fine looking pork chops. Back at my place, I��spice and cook those pork chops to perfection��and wonder what tomorrow will bring.

With my��motorcycle and two free days ahead of me…anything can happen.