February Blues


What a lousy month this is. The temperature hovers around freezing, it gets dark way too early, the landscape is blandly absent of color, everyone is sick, and it is often too cold to ride my scoot.

Today, I missed a whole morning of teaching due to a sinus headache, and as I lay there in pain and fits of nausea, all I could think about was getting on my bike and riding.

I finally got my leather over-pants back from my second tailor, so I can be protected from the wind. I bought a second Under Armor shirt to wear over the old one, adding a layer for warmth, and all my other gear is very well suited to the colder weather, but I'm sick, and, even if I weren't, I would still have few places to go - places that I would want to see are all a day's ride away.

Complain complain complain.

The older I get, the more I want to ride. I think this is my midlife crisis residue. When I was a kid, I'd ride with my best friends Chris and George, and we'd go far and wide, even trekking 20 miles into Boston on our ten-speeds, taking the Camridge route, passing over the bridge by the Museum of Science. The three of us would ride to Peabody, Wakefield, Salem, and even all the way to Rockport. We were always out on the road, with me in the lead, Chris loyally behind, and George always so far behind that we had to stop and wait for him so he wouldn't get lost. I really came to miss those days, and that is why I got my scoot. I wanted to get those feelings back again, especially that feeling of being an explorer, out there in the unknown, finding things for the first time. I wanted this back, but not at the cost it would be today: 1. danger of cars going past at 65 miles per hour on roads that have no space for bicyclists, 2. The pain in the ass of riding someplace very far away and realizing that I had to ride all the way back, and finally, 3. the damage it does to a person's knees. No, I wanted the joy of discovery and the exhilaration of the wind in my hair, but not with all that work and apparent danger.
So, I've been riding for nigh on about 2 years, putting over 10,000 miles on my bike, but mostly alone. The discovery is still great, but there is no one to share it with. Those I've found out there on the road are more into the bad-boy image than that of exploring. I haven't found my Chris and George to share the journey.
I just found out that Chris had died of a heart attack in June of 2007. It hit me pretty hard, even though we had fallen out of touch years ago. It was always nice to know that he was out there somewhere, living his life. I thought that maybe someday we'd be friends again one day, and maybe even share the road, but now that is never going to happen. I hope he always knew how special those times were for me, and that I always enjoyed his company on the road.
I miss you Chris . . . and you too George, ya goof.
"We'ah goin' 50 miles pin-ahouah!"

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