During the first year of our married life, my wife and I lived in a second-floor apartment on Riverside that looked down on the Bloomsday course.
On that race day morning, we opened multiple windows and listened to the thousands of sneakers springing and scuffing on the boulevard below. It went on and on, like an invasion of land octopi. And it made for a uniquely Spokaney breakfast accompaniment.
Neither of us have ever had that religious feeling about Bloomsday that some people seem to experience.
But we will never forget that sound.