. . .and it really bothers me.
It happened after I got home from riding down Hwy 1 to Half Moon Bay, a round-trip just short of 70 miles, barely any of it flat. As is my wont I was slow up hill, fast down hill. I rode with two young women, young enough to be my granddaughters! They kindly waited for me; I knew the way, they didn't. (I'm still wired from the last part where I nearly rode the freeway where Alemany hits Hwy 101 on my way home and did some tricky maneuvers to keep Death at bay.) I fed Sibyl and went to get in the shower, but a really big black spider was in my way.
I have a long tube with a cap on it that I use to catch spiders. They never see the tube coming, and once they go inside it I flip it up, just so, and they slide to the bottom. I put the cap back on and take them out the front door, remove the cap and with a snap of my wrist - voila! they're in a better place.
But today I forgot to take the cap off.
Squished the big black spider.
The reason I feel bad is because I identify with the fickle finger of fate, capable of wiping any one of us out in an instant, a la squished spiders or ants, etc.
Like today, coming off of Devil's Slide into Montara, a cretin in either an SUV or pickup truck came as close as possible to my left arm as he could without actually hitting me (too many witnesses to blatantly knock me off the road). This is not unusual behavior from a certain segment of our society and I'm used to it (one must always hold one's line; a wobble could be fatal). Happens all the time.
The ride was spectacular. Really first-rate. Perfect weather: not too cold; not too hot. Great company (thanks Adrienn and Marion). Good riding at a good pace. I wouldn't even mention the jerks except that it relates to why I feel so bad about killing that spider. I really do. It's like I've messed up my karma, or something, and now I have to find a way to fix it.