Rode the bike to get gas for the John Deere. 1.7 miles to the station and back, twelve minutes, Camila Cabello on the speakers because the shuffle didn’t get the memo that this was a lawn mower errand.

Three songs. One gas can. The most domestic ride of the summer disguised as exercise because the tracking app doesn’t know the difference and neither do the legs.

The Deere got its gas. The body got its miles. Everybody won.