At or on around 4:30 is when Robert gets home from work. I typically have an ear for the sound of his bike. I have not been intune with that instinct for several months. I did not turn it off. It just went away. As my solitarie time ends near, I have found these last few weeks to be the most difficult. Communication is low, staggered at best, and unpredicatable. The race really is harder once you curve around the last turn and can see the finish line. In my case: the finish line was in sight, I was sprinting toward the end having found an ounce of unspent energy, only to watch the finish line get moved back a few hundred yards. This new finish line left me winded, aged, exhausted, with side aches, tired feet and sweat dripping off of me. Today I noticed that as the traffic flow increased at or around 4:30 I found my eyes looking to the street; my ears listening. My heart skips a beat as a motorbike cruises by. As if Robert will magically appear, riding down the street about 4:30. I know his bike sits in the driveway, covered and locked. There is a difference however between knowledge and feeling. I am ready to again imbrace my instinct of listening for Robert's bike.
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