Reporting and writing stories is kind of like mining -- you can chip away for hours and not find a gem and at the end of the day you're left with some flakes and glitter but no big diamond.
I left the news mines rather empty-handed, but then a different kind of rush ensued.
I hopped aboard my road bike for a pedal-powered commute home, gaining 1,141 feet in elevation and joyfully catching a tailwind up the 10 miles along Alta Drive that's the meaty part of my ride home of 12 miles and change.
The wonderful thing about pedaling home is that while motorists curse each other and swap the middle finger salute, bicyclists are automatically buds by virtue of knowing what it's like to be a bicycler in a country dominated by a motorized vehicle-centric culture and infrastracture.
About two miles into the ride, I met up with this fella and we easily traded greetings and smiles.
Then, a mile up the road this fella came roaring past me. This young buck works at Zappos and was also cycling west on Alta Drive, all up hill.
How did I know he was a Zapponian -- check out the main sponsor on his kit.
My handlebar gadget said it was 89 degrees when I left the edge of downtown.
But amazingly enough, thanks to a dipping sun and a rise in elevation, the temperature fell to 75 degrees.
That's what bicycling will do for you -- take you from one world and plop right into another one.
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