Maybe he is there

I spent the afternoon driving a route for our motorcycle ride on Sunday for Adamshine. Within two hours I was frustrated as the route we had planned was not safe for bikes...and I refuse to put anyone in a dangerous situation. I was driving circles trying to rewrite our route.

I came flying down a hill, irritated as it was my third "go" at trying to make it work and I was running out of options. It had been starting to rain, and I was drained.

The sun had tried to peak through...but not enough. I was feeling defeated.

As I came down the hill a James Taylor song came on. One I hadn't heard in years. I instantly felt my attitude change a little...and then I saw it.

Cascade.

I know that road like the back of my hand. I blew past it because I was trying to finish the route. I got to the next road we were supposed to turn down...and for the 40th time today...gravel. Road work. A big old NOPE in the bike world.

So I turned around. I went back to Cascade. And guys...the sun came out. It started SHINING.

I went down the road...and stopped on a bridge.

I lost it. Tears pouring.

The waterfall where I spread my father's ashes is just off of Cascade Road.

The route works through that road. It's the only one that isn't destroyed from winter plowing.

Today I was supposed to be on that road. He tried to tell me and I didn't listen.

So maybe he is there. Even when I fight it.

For the first time in any moment I can remember...I have to say thanks dad. I didn't expect that today. And it has me feeling things I had buried years ago.