We woke to still more rain. The ground around the coach is a soggy mess and the paved roads are covered with a slick layer of mud. I was desperate for a workout so there was only one thing left to do — head the the small gym in Santa Paula. As it turns out, the gym is about fifty yards from the apartment when Jeanne and I met over 20 years ago. Small world; we cross the country twice and end up a stone throw from the starting point. Looks like we didn’t get very far after all.
The gym is small, clean and crammed with modern equipment. When I arrived people were working out out but the owner is nowhere to be found — Sunday is his day off. Well, I did my workout and left him a message and phone number. Tomorrow I’ll stop by to settle the bill. Small town. An unattended gym in Los Angeles would be stripped clean in fifteen minutes. Here, an unattended business seems normal. There really are advantages to small town life.
Most of the rest of the day was spent running errands and planning the rest of our time in Santa Paula.