We all did the Chilly Hilly.

Early Sunday, a few thousand people up for a 33-mile ride around Bainbridge Island, which is hilly, of course, with some of the hills being both long and steep.

A bunch of us rode the ferry together and we laid the bikes flat on the floor of the car deck, one after the other.

A thousand people in sausage-wear is always a surreal site, like some clunky alien invasion.

Cleats are forbidden on the passenger decks. Those of us who followed the rules walked around in our socks.

Pam and Steve sang pop tunes, such as Prince's "Kiss" and some crazy thing by J. Lo.

One guy had a King Charles spaniel riding in a soft black bed on the rear-wheel rack. It was the cutest dog ever, sleeping with one arm hanging out the back and his cheek resting on the edge of the bed. His fine white hairs blew in the breeze, and if another dog or cat came into view, one eye would open lazily to confirm his senses. His name was Casey. All of us rode more slowly just so we could watch the dog for awhile.

It was easy, you know, as far as the first 33-mile ride of the year can go when you haven’t ridden in months. I’ve ridden this route before when I thought I was fairly fit and felt more tired at the end. I can’t claim to be out of shape anymore; I am in good shape. Anything beyond this is icing.