Man Time

Saturday had all the ingredients for an epic adventure. We planned a ride to OMSI with our riding buddies Max and Seth, came across the Christmas Steam Engine, crossed paths with a biker gang, managed a 3 hour ride on a day that never reached 40 degrees and the hip didn't even give any grief adding to my optimism for the coming winter.

Playing at OMSI was great, but as soon as Seth and I floated the idea of leaving to the boys, their only question was, "Can we see the train again?"

I was hoping we could drag race the locomotive but by the time we came across it, the crew was on lunch break. This worked out for the best as the boys were able to check it out up close as the engine rested, hissing slowly and letting off steam as if the old, cast iron beast was merely taking a nap.

Saying good-bye to the Steam Engine was more difficult that leaving OMSI. But 10-minutes down the road, Gavin was fast asleep in Thomas. We split off from our buddies while G was still lights out. I opted to ride through nap as he wouldn't go back down once woken up. It's been months since I've done a ride more than 2 hours so I was happy to keep rolling as long as I could.

Finally as my legs were turning to mush, we came across the Toys for Tots Motorcycle rally at a busy intersection. The bikers all started revving their Harley's and yelling out how they liked our ride. Of course this woke G up, and asked if we rode to California, thinking he heard Stu on his Road King.

Rough Spot

The first time down a rough road, you're overwhelmed by every bump and hole and uneven patch. You swear you will never go down that road again, but in life you go where the race takes you. The second time through you know where the big holes are, the highest spots you may trip on and the lowest that you can sink in or buck you ass over tea kettle. You avoid those, but the rattle from the constant pounding grinds on leaving you fatigued and near empty from the ordeal just the same. Season after season you maybe get better, maybe just thicker skinned. More efficient in ignoring the white noise of metal scraping against stone and bodies landing in a muted thud in the manure and mud. You find a rhythm to fight against the pounding. You stay on the ridge, but the beat down remains every time through.

Then it ends as abruptly as it began. You arrive on the tarmac, the smoothness a near silence. Almost with weightless ease, life is a vacuum. Within the confidence of your accomplishment, the aches slowly gain volume. The crosswind becomes a steady gravity and then life punches you in the belly again with the harshness of artillery. You justify the crumbling walls as just cracks in your foundation, desperately trying to hold together with a veneer of calmness.

Under the gaining fatigue, the safest line, the crown of the road, requires too much effort. The low tracks with their unexpected drop offs and fallout of ancient stone surface is easier if not more harrowing. You take the low line only when the desperate path of soft shoulder diminishes, regardless of the risk. In the back of your head you tell yourself that maybe the risk will end your race prematurely, ending the suffering abruptly. But that permanency has haunting repercussions longer lasting than the moment the decision to unpin your number was made.

We don't quit. We fall and get back up. We stay in the race. We get through the shit. In the moments when life quiets down and becomes calm, we check our wounds, reflect. We look to the group around us for protection in the wind. We eat and we drink and prepare for the next rough section knowing we made it through the last.

I already miss the brief acknowledgment, the glance of eye-to-eye respect upon the exit of the rough sections. I wish I offered you even more protection from the wind so you could better regroup between the the rough spots. I wish you were still in the race, but I will remember you for the sections you led through and the family you loved.

Happy Birthday

It would behoove me not to publicly wish the lovely A, my bride of 14 years a happy birthday. But I'm a day late. Not that I forgot; no of course not. I was busy pampering her, allowing her to relax, being a good husband. Besides, public accolades can be embarrassing. She is a humble woman. A Lady.

Today in contrast, is the 57th birthday of Le Blaireau. My adolescent hero and one of the toughest Mo-Fo's to ever pedal a bike. So I wish them both a happy birthday as well as satisfying and enjoyable years to come. Despite their differences, I admire both for their strength, determination and resiliency. And my guess is that A is a much better kisser.