Not Again

"Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake."
-Wallace Stevens

Each Tuesday evening during Summer there is a motorcycle convention at the far end of our local park. We stumbled upon it last year. When Spouse and I first happened by, it was a good deal of fun to us: leather-clad bikers regularly stream in from distant locations to greet one another in the midst of motorcycles and live music.
We could not always make time to go for a walk, and as a result our strolling routine was sporadic and unplanned.
Spouse and I began after some time to notice a strange pattern that unfolded over the course of last Summer: invariably, when we did set out for a walk at dusk, we would realise that it was Motorcycle Night- again- and that our opportunity for a quiet time and leisurely pace had been jeopardised- again.
Such an outing is all well and good in its own right but when one wishes to glide peacefully through a park and finds instead a thriving group of visitors, and when one has to suddenly navigate around an excess of joggers, children and dogs, it undermines the quality of the walk.
Spouse and I would look at one another, cry, "not again!" or "it's not Tuesday, is it?" and promise to be more wary of the schedule next time, sigh, and then proceed to worm our way through the plethora of people and cacophony of guitars.
As the Summer wore on, it became less of a joke and more of a frustration; we never intended to throw ourselves into the mass of motorcycle enthusiasts but somehow, without meaning to, Spouse and I found ourselves at the park only on Tuesdays. Not every single Tuesday- but each intermittent trip to the park incomprehensibly fell on that day.
This year, we seem to be struggling under the same spell that afflicted us last year. It has happened three times in the last six weeks. Yesterday was not one of the exceptions.
"Let's go for a walk," suggested Spouse last evening.
So we did, and we were surprised by the motorcycles once more as we attempted to discuss the theme of simplicity and which corner of the world to move to next, wholly engrossed in conversation.
Perhaps it is that last which sweeps our mind clean each time. Perhaps it is the need for being outdoors, and being propelled by fresh air as we talk about essential matters which causes us to be genuinely astonished at the surplus of motorcycles that pass by.
We are absent-minded about the day of the week because we enjoy walking for pleasure and because we like to discuss significant things that at times negate the need for schedules, appointments and avoidance of certain events.