I don't know what exactly I was crying about. Sure, it was partly Alfie, but I don't pretend to think he knew what was happening. I was terrified to leave, even though I've been loathing Philly and its summers off and on for years now. I'm not unlike the rest of the city, I guess, booing its teams when times are tough. (But don't get me wrong - go Red Sox!)
When Alfie left the window, probably distracted by a gnat or the urge to groom himself, I told Aaron we had to leave before he came back. So, we did, and I collected myself along the Schuylkill path.
Now, we're 94 miles from home, stealth camping near the train tracks by the Susquehanna River in Columbia, PA, home of the National Museum of Clocks and Watches. (Sorry, Dad, I ain't carrying no clock around for you.) We had a pretty tough day out there. The hills rolled and rolled. The bikes are heavy. But we had a good dinner at George's Italian and Pizza Castle, a little stroll along the tracks and river, and we're feeling good. Aaron reports tomorrow will be even more brutal with hills, but we're not planning to go as far. I'm hoping we can happen upon some fireworks - and just as I type that, we see a glimmer through the trees, across the river. Now, it's 9:22 and I don't expect we'll be up for more than another hour or so. As you might guess from my morning meltdown, I didn't sleep so well last night.
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