It was unusually early for my ride. The darkness was trying to lift off the sleeping earth, but no sunlight touched ground. As light slowly revealed itself as fog, we were many miles from home. Isabel seemed to like the moist world. Fog had settled on her mirrors and on her once shining chrome. Enveloped, her purring seemed deeper, more throaty, maybe even dulled. Even our speed slowed. Everything became a languid and muffled thumping potato-potato-potato and we never wanted to go faster than forty five or fifty. And we didnt. A nice slow clip showed us sixty miles of woods and fields, interrupted by only a handful of men, rising early and moving at our pace. Soft and peaceful. The mighty sun eventually intruded on the scene but by then we were home and clean. And now I am prepared to greet the twenty-five fresh Ashbrooks and their parents for lunch. A new day for the new year.