The happy babble from the stoker’s seat reminded me that I was decidedly not solo on this particular climb. Whatever minuscule quota of lung-sucking-quads-on-fire-No-Talking time I was allocated had apparently expired. On the steepest part of the corner I interrupted her.
Like any good affair, we showed up suspiciously disheveled and slightly concerned about how we might smell in public places, invented excuses for why dinner might be late and showed up at teachers conferences a bit overly clean and Daysi’s hair suspiciously wet.