Monday, August 10, 2009

The Pretender

You have to come to grips with the fact that the cost of doing business on this planet, leaves a destructive wake. Every pursuit noble or otherwise leaves (for lack of a better Eco cliche) a foot print. I am very saddened by my inability to recycle the wood from my half pipe. It was another in a long line of great ideas that ended up (literally) in a pile by the curb. I hate the fact that it will likely cost more to truck this to the landfill in Jackson county, than it did to purchase it in the first place. All dreams big and small have a price tag hanging.



Wreckage comes in many forms, but in my experience the most explosive results come from the ones that start out with good intentions (now there's a great slogan for a greeting card, kitty poster, or bumper sticker). My wife asked if I was riding and suggested she tag along. I thought this would be a great opportunity, to give riding as a couple, another try. I had previously traumatized her and the elder son years before and just assumed that bridge had been burned. We cruised down the Greenway and I was mindful not to go what I considered, to be to far. At the base of the hill we drank water and chatted. She looked nervously at the climb and I assured her we would be fine. Some disharmony occurred when I was talking her through shifting to the little ring and I reached out to push the shifter, you know, to help, totally forgetting she was a novice rider. I pushed her bars set her off balance and down she went. To her credit, she wasn't mad and never showed any animosity toward her assailant. Despite all the havoc of getting her vertical, tearing the chain back into place and her tender pivot points, she really does ride well. If she ever developed the inclination (perhaps with her next, well adjusted husband) she could be a great rider.



We made it back to the car, with a little struggle, up the hills. I tried to give her a push and nearly crashed her a second time, you know, trying to help. All was fine, and I bought her a slushy (which always works with the boys after a tough ride) and got her home. No matter what happens in the future, and I hate to break the day down to the lowest common denominator, she looks great wrapped in Lycra. I will try to focus on that, when I am pining away in the home for old, divorced, cyclists.

I had a banner week. I rode five days. I feel like a cyclist again. A cyclist that has to do physical therapy exercises eight times a day, but a cyclist none the less. Even and unfortunate run in with a truck load of drunks, a call to the police, and the inevitable anger fallout such encounters produce, could not dampen my first real week back in the saddle.

To cap the whole week off, Zak and I rode picture perfect, A+ conditions at Munson. We talked about his trip out west, his future in college, his engineering aspirations, and I basked in the light of his optimism. Any sport that can allow a twenty year old and a forty six year old to hang out, has to be good for the soul......but that doesn't mean there won't be a pile of wreckage once in a while.




W.B.Z.N.

4 comments:

Ms. Moon said...

Use those boards to make a chicken coop! I'm not even kidding.
But besides that, that was a great post and I'm glad your wife went riding with you.

RickySilk said...

likes this

juancho said...

Let's recycle that ramp into a fire!

Velosopher said...

Being a therapist has taught me that I'm often unaware of the good that I'm doing. Hang in there.