Slept in this morning.

Didn’t plan to but the clock on the night stant read 6:56 a.m. when my eyes popped open.  That’s more than 90 minutes later than when I usually get up.

Shouldn’t have happened.  Went to bed at 10 p.m. Sunday – much earlier than normal.

Guess I’m getting old…or tired…or both.

At breakfast at Tuggles Gap Sunday morning with motorcycle riders of the Roanoke Valley Harley Owners Group, the conversation, as it often does with older riders, turned to age.

We noted, with more than usual irony, that whoever called the time we spend later in life the “golden years.”

Yeah, we included, gold for the medical profession and perhaps a funeral parlor down the line.

Old age brings aches and pains at places we didn’t even know we had in our bodies.  Our minds wander around, looking for a lost memory.  Reflexes remain would remain distant memories, if we have memories.

Still, claims the old refrain, “getting old is better than the alternative.”

Let’s home so.

With luck, I will turn 70 later this year.  I can still use a motorcycle for much of my daily transportation and ride the tight turns on Squirrel Spur or our other challenging roads.  I can still cover courts and the board of supervisors for the paper and I will wander the vast areas of FloydFest later next month for photographic and video coverage.

I can still capture the sounds and images of a Floyd Friday night, the touchdowns of a high school football game, the music of a marching band and the athletic beauty of a cheerleader.

Amy and I will be able to tour the Parkway on our bikes or in her convertible.

Yeah, we’re getting older.

But we are also still getting around.

That is better than the alternative.