We were less than halfway into our bike ride. Just past the bike-ride-glee and well before the bike-ride-pain.
Along the path came jogging a 65ish-year-old man in his matching running suit (you know the kind — elastic at the ankles, wrists, and waist . . . a strip all the way down each side . . . and just enough rustle to be incredibly loud in the middle of a barren path) and neon running shoes and squared off ball cap.
He was moving along at a mighty clip, sailing past us while I climbed back on the bike after a photo op.