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…

Sex & Cooking

How do I let you people talk me into these things? What? I didn't? A cheap ploy to attract readers? I never...

Okay, yes I did. And so I will. The simple fact is that I do both. Enjoy both. Occasionally excel in both. Sex & cooking we're talking about here, remember? Most often, I'm sure, I'm just barely above average at both. See, I'm just like you and told you that from the get go. Didn't I? Well???

I'm really letting this blog thing drive itself a bit, being all Tao and Zen and into therapy and recovery and whatnot. It is seldom that I know when I start where its going to wind up, but on this one I actually had a few thoughts prior to pitching the notion, so this could prove interesting. Also, while its not exactly intentional, I'm pretty sure you're going to at some point pick up a recurring Mars/Venus theme over the course of my ramblings. No, I am not a misogynist and am getting tired of hearing that. If a woman is a bitch she's a bitch, just like a guy who's a bastard's a bastard. Get over it. (By the way, who else knew that the term "son of a bitch" was just about the worst possible thing a Native American could call someone? They had no worse words for another human being. That's what I heard somewhere, anyway...)

Point being, I love women, don't hate or revile or mistrust women any more than I do men. Recognizing that generalizations are always dangerous and inaccurate, I am willing to say that I generally have very little use for men, the majority of whom (here in Texas and the U.S. anyway) are generally shallow, narrow minded, dually focused (sports and sex), and of no appreciable value to society that I can see. Does this make me, in fact a misandrist? Hmmm...

I've only recently come to question why I have for so long held women in higher esteem. I really hope its not just about sex. Very disturbing, that. Anyway, the fact that I consider and called the "ladies" who bedded down with married Tiger "hos" doesn't mean I hate women. I just think they're hos, that's all. Pretty skanky for the most part, too. Hustler fare, if you know what I mean. What the hell was he thinking? Not about cooking, that's for sure...

Okay, fine. Here goes...

First, it is my observation that men and women approach both cooking and sex very differently. Some of this is societal - women are "expected" to cook, ergo its a chore and who wants to do chores? I know very few women who claim to love to cook. I know a number of men who love to cook, myself among them. Why? Partly I'm sure because we don't have to - its voluntary, unexpected, not demanded. I mean, I may be a little strange in this but I've actually shoveled dirt for a living, dug ditches and such, so, as a result, I really don't enjoy doing it now, even in my own yard. The wife digs (little holes for little plants) and I cook. So, lets accept that men who love to cook, as likely as not, don't have to, and that women who would prefer not to cook take this position largely because they're expected to. Cook that is. Some people like to live in the box, and some outside of the box. Nobody, however, likes to be put into the box. Do we?

And regarding the mess? We men would love to be able to cook without making a mess. The point of cooking, however, is to interact with the food, feel the the ingredients, revel in the stirring and sifting and chopping and dicing and mixing and tossing and smelling and tasting and all the other wonderful activities that constitute joyful food preparation. If the object of an activity is "to not," as in, to not make a mess, then you bring a very negative mindset to the whole effort and really kill the whole spirit of festivity. In an ideal world, the meal that results from our unbridled zeal will be wonderful and splendid and tasty and hearty, and all recipients will so enjoy it that they will gladly join in afterward to clean up the battlefield. In an ideal world. While the chef takes a nap on the couch...

In our house, the wife handles the baking. I can't do it. Baking has too many rules, precise measurements, meticulously orchestrated sequences of events. You have to hold your eyes a certain way and control your breathing and don't shake the stove or cut a fart or do anything else to disrupt the machine-like flow of predictable events. No wonder women are devastated when their souffle falls or cake collapses or filling doesn't set or some other catastrophe results despite all their precise efforts. Trying on bathing suits is tough on self esteem? Spend a day baking! Jeesh! Hell, when our chili is off or the steaks aren't exactly right, we just toss half a beer or a splash of bourbon on it or in it and the other half in us and call it good. Life's too short, people...

And sex? Don't get me started. Okay, so we've already started. Deep breath...

Men and women are different. Okay, there, I said it. And men are to cooking as women are to baking. (That's a junior-high middle school math allusion for those of you thinking it had a slightly familiar ring.) We all approach everything we do from our own self-conscious perspective - its unavoidable, and not necessarily selfish. We men are like a steak or a chicken or a pot of chili or a fresh salad. There's nothing complicated about a man and, from a qualitative standpoint, man sex is pretty simple. For the vast majority of us, the worst sex we ever had wasn't bad, and the very best was about 2.5 times better than the worst. We're just that way - uncomplicated. Toss us on the fire, flip us every once in a while, a dash of this and a dab of that and everything's good.

Women, on the other hand, not so much. Outside of the space shuttle or the CERN particle accelerator, women are just about the most complicated contraptions on the planet. So woman sex is like baking. A lot like baking. Much of the cause of this is that 80 percent of a woman's sex organs are between her ears, the balance distributed equally between the sweet spot which bears no further mention (except to say its complicated as hell too!) and about 72 other spots on her body, the vast majority of which most men don't even know exist. (This complex configuration is, of course, the exact opposite of a man's, which is simple to the point of imbecility - hence requiring virtually no effort to deliver the perfect repast - from the man's point of view.) This marked difference means that, in woman sex, almost all of the sifting and stirring and mixing and seasoning and all of the other things that it takes to pull off the perfect meal (metaphorically speaking) are ideally performed in all sorts of places besides the one or three where most men are inclined to focus their attention. And very, excruciatingly contextually dependent. And ladies, you don't exactly come with instruction manuals or cook books or how-to classes, ya know?

Now, now friends. Don't be depressed or distressed. There is good news for those who've hung around this long. Men can and do in fact learn to cook without making a huge mess, and to clean up after themselves when there is one. We can also learn to bake, and a lucky few may even learn to enjoy it (although I've never personally met any.) And women, you can learn the joy and abandon of cooking spontaneously, tossing in a little of this or that just because it sounds interesting, despite the fact that it's not in the recipe, or maybe getting totally wild and pulling the first ten things you find out of the fridge and pantry and making a meal of it with no recipe at all, because you're not afraid to fail, because there's no such thing as failing. Who needs a recipe anyway, remember? Add a little Tao to our cooking - go with the flow. Enjoy the process and don't be overly hung up on the final result. And for both, start with a clean kitchen and finish with a clean kitchen...

And as far as the sex goes? Just keep trying different recipes, different ingredients, different techniques. Men, work a little harder to be more complicated, sometimes our simplicity makes us seem, well...simple? And remember that women aren't actually trying to be complex, they're just that way. Keep in mind that a positive and giving attitude goes farther than just about anything towards making sure the oven is at the right temperature, the ingredients are properly mixed, and the meal will be enjoyable to all. Ladies, open up and lighten up and enjoy the experience without trying to make it fit a recipe or agenda or schedule? Remember, who needs a recipe? Again, go with the flow. And don't be shy about directing we poor simple men through your complexities. Remember, most men really do want to be, metaphorically speaking, great cooks or bakers.

Finally, I would encourage everyone remember two simple maxims. First, nobody has a good time if one party is trying to bake while the other is trying to cook, at least in the conventional kitchen. Not enough cooking implements, room, counter space, etc. If you try it, you'll likely have a poorly prepared meal and too much angst for anyone to consider either the cooking or dining experience enjoyable. And secondly, a meal is not complete until everyone has been served and filled to their individual satisfaction. So, with that...

Bon Appétit!

Author's Note - This is a blog, not a magazine. If I ever do outside research, it is unlikely that you'll know. If I ever cite specific facts or figures, they will be properly attributed. Ergo, it is safe to assume that whatever you read here is fully and completely the product of my twisted little mind. Hope you enjoy!