Our outing to the coast was a terrific ride. We made it back to Tignish just in time to attend the blueberry social at the community center. While trying not to eat more than our share of home baked desserts we watched a cast of young and old belt it out in song, instrument and dance.
The next day, as we rode east along the hard packed gravel trail, Eivind and I discovered that we both had the same song in our heads. It was a George Jones tune that a young boy had performed the night before. It was called "Choices" and the words seemed to speak to me:
I've had choices since the day that I was born.
There were voices that told me right from wrong.
If I had listened,
No I wouldn't be here today living and dying with the choices I've made.
Right or wrong, good or bad, it was definitely a string of my own strange choices that had brought me there to pedal through that pastoral setting on a fake leather couch. Given the perfect sunny weather, I wouldn't say that these were choices I all together regretted.
Meanwhile, Eivind was singing his own version of the song. He couldn't quite work out the lyrics. He didn't realize it was about choices. He thought it had something to do with horses.
That the lyrics to this song had registered so spuriously in his Norwegian ears was a cogent reminder of Eivind's innocence in this affair. But whether he lamented his choices or cared more about a secret passion for horses, one thing was clear. I had a kindred spirit in Eivind. Who else would have put up with what we were faced with in the following days?
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