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exhausted, not from physical effort but the sort that comes from emotional drain, a tube holding a fly-fishing rod is tossed on a bed that my mind longs for. in the corner a familiar friend stands majestic. gloss paint glistens under the soft glow of modern fluorescent bulbs. black bar tape has replaced the pink that i always insisted upon when i was younger. age has a way of fading marvellous frivolous things into much more somber tones. the saddle on my best of all friends makes me smile. how i always long for time there when activities pull me away. most people get exhausted from long days in the saddle or steep mountain climbs, i’m just the opposite, those days revive me. a gentle brush of top tube with my left hand as i place a coat neatly in its place in closet. being tidy is one of my better traits.
a glance at a clock, that once set on the family mantle of my grandfather’s home, tells me that there is a lack of time to complete an evening ride. recharging of the batteries will have to wait until first morning light.
with a chirp the iPhone in the rear pocket of the outdoor pants i am wearing tells me some one is seeking attention that may not be left in my tank of human interaction.
“Rachel, my darling. The time spent with you this week has meant the world to me! Watching your hands work fly-rod and line makes an old man feel like a giggling school boy again. Thank you for being the wonderful perfection that is you”, reads the as always well penned text from my father. i too loved the week we spent fishing together. but my energy is yet still faded and all i can muster for a reply is, “love you”. he won’t mind nor be surprised. my dad understands that a week without silent solitude is a lot for me.
morning light shakes me from my dreams and brings me back to reality. beside me on the bed rests fly-rod safely in it’s case. my mind slightly refreshed, begins wondering through the events, rivers and then settles on the trout.
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as pedals begin to spin, i smile wide. as great as whipping a fly-line overhead beside the most amazing man i know is, i am truly most at home on a bicycle. miles of tarmac pass with ease beneath rubber. to my own surprise mile twenty ticks on the Garmin fastened to handlebars. a block more and a cobbled driveway leads winding up a hillside to a home with nearly full glass front, built to allow stunning redrock views. with a click shoe disengages from pedal. just as a garage door opens revealing a meticulously clean parking area and landcruiser from many decades ago with paint that looks so fresh it is a wonder it isn’t dripping on the spotless floor.
stepping out of cycling shoes damp socks allow the cold feel of stone flooring. without words my mother kisses my forehead and hands me a fresh cup of espresso. a hallway leads to study where fly-tying gear is in one corner and crammed bookshelves the other. without looking up from his work a tall fit man says, “did not expect to see you so soon!”
“dad, thanks for taking me fishing. hope you know how grateful i am for all you do”
“i do now. rache, thanks for being you.”
a leather chair welcomes me. for a few hours i listen to my father tell the stories of adventures past. he speaks of politics and even religion. i say little as always but give him my full attention. i eat lunch with my parents, mom asking about our week of adventure. dad gives the full account while i add little moments of detail.
back on the bike, it occurs to me that sometimes it’s not where you are going that makes bicycles amazing but instead their ability to help one appreciate where you have been.
short version is, i rode to see my parents today.
a glance at a clock, that once set on the family mantle of my grandfather’s home, tells me that there is a lack of time to complete an evening ride. recharging of the batteries will have to wait until first morning light.
with a chirp the iPhone in the rear pocket of the outdoor pants i am wearing tells me some one is seeking attention that may not be left in my tank of human interaction.
“Rachel, my darling. The time spent with you this week has meant the world to me! Watching your hands work fly-rod and line makes an old man feel like a giggling school boy again. Thank you for being the wonderful perfection that is you”, reads the as always well penned text from my father. i too loved the week we spent fishing together. but my energy is yet still faded and all i can muster for a reply is, “love you”. he won’t mind nor be surprised. my dad understands that a week without silent solitude is a lot for me.
morning light shakes me from my dreams and brings me back to reality. beside me on the bed rests fly-rod safely in it’s case. my mind slightly refreshed, begins wondering through the events, rivers and then settles on the trout.
as pedals begin to spin, i smile wide. as great as whipping a fly-line overhead beside the most amazing man i know is, i am truly most at home on a bicycle. miles of tarmac pass with ease beneath rubber. to my own surprise mile twenty ticks on the Garmin fastened to handlebars. a block more and a cobbled driveway leads winding up a hillside to a home with nearly full glass front, built to allow stunning redrock views. with a click shoe disengages from pedal. just as a garage door opens revealing a meticulously clean parking area and landcruiser from many decades ago with paint that looks so fresh it is a wonder it isn’t dripping on the spotless floor.
stepping out of cycling shoes damp socks allow the cold feel of stone flooring. without words my mother kisses my forehead and hands me a fresh cup of espresso. a hallway leads to study where fly-tying gear is in one corner and crammed bookshelves the other. without looking up from his work a tall fit man says, “did not expect to see you so soon!”
“dad, thanks for taking me fishing. hope you know how grateful i am for all you do”
“i do now. rache, thanks for being you.”
a leather chair welcomes me. for a few hours i listen to my father tell the stories of adventures past. he speaks of politics and even religion. i say little as always but give him my full attention. i eat lunch with my parents, mom asking about our week of adventure. dad gives the full account while i add little moments of detail.
back on the bike, it occurs to me that sometimes it’s not where you are going that makes bicycles amazing but instead their ability to help one appreciate where you have been.
short version is, i rode to see my parents today.
