Just Like Riding a Bicycle…

It was recently brought to my attention that I’ve not written anything about sex in a while. So sorry. And no, I’ve not given it up, exactly. You see, the wife had some pretty major “girl surgery” a few weeks back, and in deference to her tender state during her recovery (and at the insistence of her overly jovial physician), we’ve taken a little break from, err, well…you know. I think we’re at around T minus ten days or so. Not that we’re counting or anything. But, they say its just like riding a bicycle…

Ok, confession time. This post isn’t about sex. Yep, that was just a cheap marketing ploy to drag you in after my extended absence. But it is about bike riding, and life, and how the two kind of sort of relate to one another…

I went on a nice ride this morning, as I do every Sunday morning. Which, now that I think of it, used to be reserved for having sex. But that was a long time ago, and that ritual only lasted for, oh, say, a decade or two. Addicts are into ritual, in case you didn’t know. We get pretty damned cranky when our rituals get interrupted, truth be told. Now that I know I’m an addict, I’ve made it a point to replace bad rituals (no, not sex – that’s a really good ritual) with good rituals. No, other good rituals, you know? Since it’s gotten hot I’ve started going for long rides early on Sunday mornings, letting the little woman sleep in as late as she wants and then enjoy a leisurely tryst with her New York Times crosswords. Yes, we adapt with age, don’t we?

Anyway, I often ride alone, which is how I’ve gone through much of my life. Didn’t know I was alone, what with being surrounded by people who love me and all. Kind of imagine rolling down the road on a bike but with a fortress wall attached to you. Lots of weight, tough to get up hills or slow down once you’re headed downhill, and about as aerodynamic as a brick. I’m working on that…

Sometimes I ride with an old friend who is generally more interested in talking politics than he is in riding long and hard, which is ok because we both know what the deal is at the outset. He’s a great guy, in good shape despite being a bit older than me, and I try not to ride him into the ground. I do push him, though, and he’s usually only good for about half the distance I usually go. We know that going in, too, so nobody’s feelings get hurt…

Today, though, I rode with a new friend. She belongs to a group I visit with regularly, a bunch of whom have taken up riding recently. I like to think I’ve been a little bit of an inspiration to them in this regard – know they’ll all be happier and healthier for it. If it turns out I wasn’t, I’m trusting they’ll humor me in my dotage and allow me to keep believing it. I know they’re giving up smoking one after another, and that’s a good thing regardless of their motivation. I don’t take any credit for that, but am happy for them. Nothing better than a long ride or run or just a stint on the treadmill to allow the body to get your full attention regarding how you’re treating it…

Anyhow, my new friend has only been riding for a couple of months, I think she said. Quit smoking and took up riding – an excellent plan. I’ve developed the theory that it is always easier to give up a bad habit if you immediately replace it with a good one. I remember when I gave up smoking at twenty years-old – kicking a 3 pack-a-day habit that had started more than a decade earlier. Hey, I never told anyone I was a good kid. I wasn’t, believe me. Anyway, the first day I threw them away (flushed a half-carton down the toilet if memory serves), I immediately began running something like two miles a day. To the gym. Where I’d shoot hoops for an hour, lift weights, roast myself in the sauna. Nope, not a halfway guy, me. It worked. What can I say?

Ok, I digressed again. Sorry…

So, anyway, I took her on a section of the trail she hadn’t been on before, and did my best not to push her, although I think I did a bit. She’d done 20 miles yesterday, and back-to-back when you’re starting out can be tough. She did great, and we had a nice visit. Learned a little about each other and I was gratified to learn that she’s a moderate Democrat, as am I. We laughed that it just seems to never fail that if someone is happy and caring and fairly well educated, this is the camp they’re likely to be in. No offense to my seemingly happy educated friends who don’t know yet this is where you’re headed. We’re coming out of some rough times and some have developed bad habits. You’ll get there and we’ll be waiting for you…

Anyway, when she ran out of gas I saw her back to her car, reloaded my water bottles and headed out to a section of the trail I’d never been on. Turns out it wasn’t too well suited to the road bike I was riding, so I had to take it easy to save my tires. And I had to navigate unfamiliar territory a bit by feel. But I picked up familiar landmarks along the way, worked my way from lost to found, and made it back to my car, rack and home without any untoward incidents. And life kind of works that way, doesn’t it?

Like most kids, in these parts at least, I grew up on a bike. Okay, well, not really. Actually, I was one of the late bloomers, having suffered a couple of nasty wrecks when I was 5 or so, following inappropriate directions from an older brother who I now know was dead set on killing me in the nest, but which I didn’t realize at the time. As a result, I didn’t get into riding in earnest until I was probably about eight, but then I focused on making up for lost time. I got to where I could ride a wheelie on my old sting-ray for blocks, and pretty much nobody would race me. I bought my first 3-speed with my paper route money when I was about ten, then moved up to a Dawe’s Galaxy British touring bike when I was twelve or so. It cost me $300, I remember. My mother raised holy hell and my Dad said, “He earned his money he can spend it however he wants.” Thanks, Dad. And boy, did I ever put some serious miles on that thing…

Then…hmmm. Now that I think of it, I quit riding bikes about the time I started thinking about sex. I got so busy then with sex and drinking and drugs and music and acting the fool, riding a bike never again crossed my mind. As a matter of fact, prior to a couple of years ago, I think I only took one semi-serious ride on a bike when I was about 30, outside of demonstrating techniques for my daughter who turned into a serious kid rider in the neighborhood for a short while, and my son who never did get the hang of it and can’t ride to this day. Interestingly, she’s an excellent driver, while he really, really needs to live someplace with efficient mass transit. Am not sure whether there’s a correlation or not, but maybe…

Anyway, my thought between the correlation of bike riding and life goes something like this:

We can choose to ride alone, or with friends. For most of us its probably best that we do a little of each. It doesn’t seem right to drag someone, particularly a novice, down a path we’ve never been before, but even more wrong to not ever explore something new. They call it getting in a rut for a reason, and any cyclist who has been around awhile knows what I’m talking about, and how much this is something to avoid. When I first started into my spiritual studies, I remember an author suggesting that the best route is to travel a path that someone has been before, because it’s been proven. And I’m comfortable riding in someone’s wake for a bit, but can’t buy into the notion that this is by definition the best route to the destination, nor even that his or her destination is the right destination for me…

When we’re not riding alone, it is good to ride with old friends from time to time, but also with new friends. They say that familiarity breeds contempt, but I’m not sure that’s always the case. Sometimes I feel like talking politics, and sometimes I know he needs to. And sometimes old friends will find a shaded trailway out in the country the ideal time to share some current pain or achievement. Riding with new friends, though, gives us a chance to expand our horizons – to learn new things about others we didn’t, and in the course of that maybe learn a little about ourselves. It allows us to empathize with where they are in their development, perhaps assist in some small way, to be reminded of where we are in our own and how we got there, and to take stock of whether that’s where we want to be…

And while we’re riding through life, we learn how important it is to keep our eye on the road, but not to become so fixated on the course we fail to appreciate the pair of mallards wheeling in for a silent landing on the mirror surface of the river, the squirrels chasing each other merrily up a tree, the beauty of a thunderhead towering against a crimson sunset or the shimmer of the first break of dawn in the east as we set forth to beat the heat of the day. We learn to appreciate the power of the wind, fighting us or helping us along, and to take advantage of the long downhill to gather speed without losing control, with the momentum from the plunge and our weight on the pedals pressing us up the next challenging climb, adjusting our efforts and gearing and breathing to make the summit and see what lies beyond…

And then, of course, there’s always sex…

Anchors aweigh

To "weigh anchor" is to bring it aboard a vessel in preparation for departure. The phrase "anchor's aweigh" is a report that the anchor is clear of the sea bottom and, therefore, the ship is officially underway. ~Wikipedia~

So, following my wife's birthday dinner last night, my youngest was in our room jabbering about whatever it is he jabbers about when he's half baked (I tend to only half listen, and in this case was half paying attention to the conversation he and she were half having while I was half reading a book and half watching television - one of those evenings, you know...), when he suddenly stopped, grinned that goofy grin of his, and stated laughingly, "I have a job." The half realizations of the half stoned...

By all the measures I've adopted to gauge milestones in my life, I think I've officially reached one. Probably a big one. My wife and I are both gainfully employed, very nearly debt-free, and have manged to raise two wonderful children who are both college graduates, both now gainfully employed, both healthy, neither in trouble with the law, burdened with unwanted progeny or encumbered in complex relationships. We have helped them build sound vessels in which to navigate the tumultuous seas of life, and they are pulling slowly away from the dock to which they've been tethered for more than two decades. Admittedly, they're still puttering around the harbor and tying back up to our craft from time to time, but like baby birds testing their wings, they will continue to flitter further and further from the nest, and soon we'll see them disappear over the horizon, headed off on their own adventure, setting their own course and guiding their own vessels through life. Fair sailing, sweethearts...

To complete this tortured analogy, I think we need to imagine ourselves players in Kevin Costner's Waterworld. You see, our "dock" is in fact nothing more than another slightly larger, slightly more solid vessel, bobbing gently on the sea of existence, anchored well but affixed firmly to nothing, for there is nothing firm to which we can or should seek to affix ourselves. And the anchor we chose to let down more than twenty years ago to stabilize ourselves while we engaged in the boat building and sailor training business is one that can be drawn up at any time. And now we are very nearly at that point where we must decide what our next destination is, hoist our sails, head our bow quartering off the prevailing breeze, and get underway. The only other choice is to sit in this same spot on the vast infinite sea of life, bobbing up and down gently at times, and storm tossed at others, but always at the mercy of whatever intentionally or unintentionally floats our way. And that would be a waste of potentially favorable breezes, no?

There has lately been a lot of talk in the news about Abby Sunderland, a 16 year-old who was raised on the water and whose parents launched her on a global circumnavigation that came up short when her mast was snapped by a giant wave. I feel sorry for her and for them as regards the aborted voyage, but am happy for both that she survived and is coming home safely. What a splendid adventure, and all I can say to the critics is, "Shut the fuck up!" My god, to have raised such a brave and competent young lady and entrusted to her such a spectacular journey speaks volumes on the positive side for the whole family. A 16 year-old young woman is in the prime of her life - Joan of Arc was heading toward leadership of an army at this age, for goodness sake. Abby's skills were certainly sufficient to the task she chose. Bad things happen in the sea of life, and even more so on the actual ocean, where giant waves not only snap small craft masts but swallow whole enormous vessels full of experienced sailors. That she was able to survive this lesson and have it inform the balance of her existence is a wonderful gift that most of us never experience - certainly at so early an age. It didn't kill her, so will make her stronger...

I pray that my two young allegorical sailors don't make the avoidance of challenge the cornerstone of their lives, but rather seek adventure and new experiences and to suck every morsel of living they can out of the brief years they've been allotted. I want them to keep their vessels solid, practice their craft and hone their skills, learn to read life's rips and eddies, understand the stars and and tides and currents and prevailing winds. I want them to chart their own courses and steer their own vessels and appreciate the diverse cultures and experiences that will come their way. And most of all, I want them to keep us posted from time to time on their whereabouts and conditions, to know that we will do the same, and that they are welcome to rendezvous from time to time wherever we happen to be in our travels, and to tie up or sail alongside for a bit if they are inclined. And if they get caught in a storm, lose their sails or masts or lines, and find themselves foundering, to know that we'll get to them if we can, and help them refit, stock up provisions, and get back underway. Because, after all, that's what we sailors do...

So, anchor is stowed and we're tacking to port. Let's do this thing...