This particular Saturday, we went for a bike ride down to the Platte. Craving a bike ride in early spring is like wanting water after a night of heavy drinking; this insatiable urge that, when satisfied, leaves you with the most distinct promise of months to come, reminding you at once that the worst is over, and the grass will soon turn green again, and night will fall much later, and you should remember to buy scissors next time you're out because you own too many pairs of pants and you'll soon need some decent shorts.
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