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Matthew Allard is a writer and an Internet geek. He is the author of two books, To Slow Down The Time (2010) and Pops and Clicks (2013). One his short stories has been adapted into a short film.

He likes music and headphones, coffee, photography, vintage cameras and film, illustration, graphic design, architecture, cycling, tattoos, yoga, and beer.


This is his blog.
I went for a solo ride today. Though it was hot and sunny by home, it was 10 degrees cooler and foggy at the water. There were a few other cyclists, some joggers, and mostly fisherman by the channel bridge. I stopped riding and decided to walk out the cement aisle that borders the channel. Sometimes a white sailboat would drift by on the cold wind, and it was nice to hear the foghorn’s steady call drifting through the air.
I walked out as far as the cement would go, long after the paved portion turned rocky and mean, pocked with shallow green pools of water and algae scum. The foghorn continued and I could hear it only sometimes because I was listening to Daughter on my headphones. I often do things alone and enjoy that time to myself to think and obsess, but I did become sad. I liked being at the sea and I didn’t mind that the sun wasn’t shining, so I can’t explain. Or maybe that’s something easier held back. In any case, I felt lonely returning, from the bad rocks to the more solid and groomed walkway, to the bike path by the bridge where I’d locked my bike. I got upset and I rode home slowly, my hair a mess from my cycling cap.

I went for a solo ride today. Though it was hot and sunny by home, it was 10 degrees cooler and foggy at the water. There were a few other cyclists, some joggers, and mostly fisherman by the channel bridge. I stopped riding and decided to walk out the cement aisle that borders the channel. Sometimes a white sailboat would drift by on the cold wind, and it was nice to hear the foghorn’s steady call drifting through the air.

I walked out as far as the cement would go, long after the paved portion turned rocky and mean, pocked with shallow green pools of water and algae scum. The foghorn continued and I could hear it only sometimes because I was listening to Daughter on my headphones. I often do things alone and enjoy that time to myself to think and obsess, but I did become sad. I liked being at the sea and I didn’t mind that the sun wasn’t shining, so I can’t explain. Or maybe that’s something easier held back. In any case, I felt lonely returning, from the bad rocks to the more solid and groomed walkway, to the bike path by the bridge where I’d locked my bike. I got upset and I rode home slowly, my hair a mess from my cycling cap.

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