Dissatisfied with not really having done anything, I put the one-brake bike in the back of the Caliber and drive up the Saddle Road, between the Maunas. On Sunday, people were riding the flaking road to Mauna Loa and I thought: that’s an idea.
Yesterday it is pouring in Hilo, and misty and cold here. I thought the sun would be out, and it comes after napping with the bike for two hours.
It’s hard. A muted shuffling sound comes up and I realize it’s the flakes of pavement separating from the lava, each ragged fragment like a scab.
It is very, very quiet. The sky reminds me of Canada, or Texas in the clear winter. This is what the Mars robots must see, feel.
Inhaling deeply doesn’t get you much.
The windsock still rotates when pushed. It’s true of everything.