Sittin’ On A Dock of a Bay

Today was errand day. Not really. There is no “day”. I wake up each morning and decide what I want to do. So every day is what I deem it for that particular time. But I did have to drop my bike off at the shop in Chiefland. It seems as if my back tire is nearing baldness. Funny thing there because the tire never had any hair. But Ryan comes down in two weeks to do Daytona Bike Week with me and I don’t want my ass end fishtailing all over Route 40. Robin and I spent the next three hours twisting and churning seldom used back muscles on the links at Chiefland Country Club and Golf Course. Now don’t go getting any ideas when you read that name. I’m the champion of the proletariat. Country clubbing is not my bag, but at $26 a round with cart, this wasn’t the coup de grace or a facsimile of Augusta National. We played just like we should have. Being that months have gone by since a club was choked by our collective paws, we vacillated between ‘not too bad’ and horrendous. But it felt good to smack that Titlest, soak up the sun, and watch Robin empty the cups with her new ball- retrieving putter. Upon our return home, back spasms that go hand in hand with the coming of spring put Robin in a lounge chair by the dock. I, in turn, decided to take a run down to the Dixie Mainline Road to see what the late afternoon sun was doing to the birding sanctuary. I wasn’t on that dock but a mere ten minutes when I decided this to be a bad idea. The bugs were biting as if I were their last meal. It wan’t the ‘no see-ums’ this time. I saw these bugs. They were big enough to carry table scraps. I thought about Otis Redding for a moment. Even he couldn’t have sat on the dock of this bay.