Double agent

I lead a not-so-secret double life.

For 23 years I’ve played out my hockey dreams every Sunday morning, from early October through to early May or late April. On the road, not the ice.

It’s an adult continuation of the game I played on the street as a kid. Same hodgepodge of ratty equipment, same plastic orange ball from Canadian Tire that stings like the dickens when it gets cold.

October to the end of April is road hockey time. The season culminates with the Stanley Stick championship.

The weekly games last a couple of hours and take a physical toll. Especially as my legs get older.

So Sunday afternoons are usually spent relaxing, or enjoying some family time.

But this past Sunday, after I lamented my sub-par performance that morning, Princess of Pavement suggested I take advantage of the spring-like weather and hop on my bike and ride the morning’s demons away.

It was a bold idea; I’d never before done the “double.” Never thought I had it in me.

But with Little Ring soundly napping, and P of P giving me her blessing, the opportunity to get in a Sunday ride was too good to pass up.

I didn’t push it, kept to a flat route of about 35 kms. And once I found my rhythm, the legs remarkably good.

A little afternoon delight of the cycling kind on an unseasonably warm Sunday.

Not sure if I could have gone dancing that night though. That would have been the “triple.”