Hi JV, things are going well here. Thanks for asking!
My wife and I helped move our son to his new student house. I reserve judgement on this new place, as it it much closer to his campus, and where he does his work-study (four minute walk, even with the worst hangover), but it is also the closet thing to a frat house at his school (which banned frats and sororities over five decades ago). With that, there is a lingering culture of elitism, and debauchery, which did not exist in his old place. I know my son. He is singleminded, and certainly not a follower, but if my college days are any indication of what he's capable of, well it could be a crazy ride over his final two years.
On the upside, our trusty Honda Civic did it's best impression of a pickup truck, again proving that this whole notion of needing a large vehicle is nothing more than the Madison Avenue brainwashing of the driving public. We moved beds, dressers, desks, and the multitude of bins, boxes, bags and whatnot that a young person expects to have within their reach at all times. In a civic. Sure, it was a bit uncomfortable at times, and my view of the road behind me was a bit compromised, but I challenge any FUV* owner to get into the tight parking spots and drop off areas the Civic gets into.
Also. We only have to gas up twice a month.
Yesterday, it was our daughter's turn. We picked up her boyfriend from an airport about two hours from here, which by crazy coincidence, is in the same city as a rather oversized IKEA. I do not shop, but my wife and daughter know I like to eat, and IKEA lunches are easy to talk me into. They also know I like to show how science and a Honda Civic, trumps ridiculously large motor vehicles, as I negotiate tightly packed particle board parcels Jenga-style into the trunk/backseat/roof/floor areas, with NASA-like precision.
Today was for me: a 2.5 hour ride up and down my trail. Okay, it may not be all mine, but it certainly was made with me in mind; a reclaimed old rail bed through the rugged rocks, swamps, and bush north of here, with a long grade up for 35k. I took my trusty old mountain bike to the 25k mark, before running low on water and food helped me decide to turn around and head home. The weather was perfect.
We talk on here sometimes about how our problems could stem from our inability to grow beyond our 14 year old selves. There is much truth in that theory, as I've seen myself in action when at my worst: searching like a 14 year old for some cheap, instant, thrills. But could there be some things from our youth that are worth revisiting?
I grew up in a small Northern town. My dad was as fond of living outside of the rural area as his children were of being right in the heart of the action. As much as I thrived on being in the city, I learned to appreciate the wild bush that started just behind our back yard, and ran for miles back through a swampy beaver dam, a high granite cliff, and to the only uninhabited slice of lakeshore on the body of water we called our own. Those days "going to the bush" would start at sun-up, and end with my mom hollering into the dusk for me to get back for supper.
When I turned 10 though, my brother introduced me to something that tore me away from my bucolic bliss: he taught me how to ride a bike. From that moment, I was unbound by my little patch of bush. I rode into the city every day, as long as the weather was good enough to get me there and back on two wheels. I rode the highways north, south, east, and west of our community. I discovered private roads, new communities, unheard of sights, and people. My bike was my way out of my bickering family, and my dying hometown (it wasn't dying at that time, but anyone with a brain could see that the good times were ending fast).
I rode until my final year of college, when I finally bought my first car (six year old 240Z; not in the best shape, but went like lightning). It wasn't until 20 years ago, when in Toronto, I decided that I wanted to ride again. By the time I got back here, I was bike commuting (before we had a single bike lane), and soon, riding a road bike to train for triathlons. I've ridden through weather that was unfit for cars. I've ridden with a broken wrist (tricky), broken clavicle (trickier), and with a rather severe concussion that came courtesy a gentleman who was clearly predisposed with an important cellphone call, and unable to negotiate a small portion of the bike lane for me, as his truck seemed to need it more.
My wife had it figured out before me. One foul +2, dark, rainy morning, as I pulled my gear on at 3:45am to head in to work, she smiled at me and said "your 15 when you ride that thing."
She was absolutely right.
Whenever my job, my family, my brain, or any other part of my existence begins feeling too fucked up to fix, I can make it all go away by just getting up on my bike, and going for a ride. Years melt away, along with their heaving baggage. When I was on the trail today, I thought a lot about how 15 wasn't all just about angst, zits, and jerking off; it was also a time when I most appreciated having my two-wheeled escape pod at the ready.
Perhaps yours is there waiting for you.
