blog (January, 2004)
The Old Woman and her Tea
Saturday afternoon, the way home from Phoenix: big snowflakes drop-kicking me in the eyes,
zooming and wanting to punctuate this then, while still abuzz aglow --
rather than now, when it's faded and I'm tired bored slightly hung --
but, home, I dry-cleaned lubed my cycle and joined in, a bit belatedly, to X-mas party prep.
SO rewind to Phoenix Coffee, over two large dark and rich, finishing The Old Man and the Sea. Brew and book both beautiful.
And pain does not matter to a man.
...
Besides they do not bleed much. There is nothing cut that means anything.
-- Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea
Not stoic nor heroic, but both. He Persists. I admire his rejection of hunger, his hermitage in old age and sea.
Finished, and about making my way out of the caf� I was stopped by Old Woman and her Tea, who saw my helmet and commended me for riding in such weather. Said she cycles a lot herself, but not in this.
We chatted about our machines and where we ride them. I gestured a few blocks away to my judy, straplocked to a post. Complained of the constipated traffic and consternated population drivers potholes chuckholes phone poles car horns road block.
A sandwich was toasted and delivered to her, standing, and she invited I join. We found her table, sat across it and talked over her Tea.
Introductions. Her name sounds just like verily and I loved with how much sweet sincerity she spilled "I say unto thee" for what must've been the thousandth time in her (I'd guess) seventy years.
Her mouth pedaled and she spoke me on a wonderful bike ride -- I took notes on the route and can't wait until spring for the ravines, waterfalls, wells, the perfect picnic and place for postcards. Twenty-five miles through my Cleveland eastside backyard. She painted words around everything I'll see: a bridge with flowerboxes, a Mediterranean house and its owner, the rolling hills and history of the picnic-place land.
She's a Carmelite nun in a monastery just down the road, and how lucky, I, to share near an hour of her day off.
She told me she praises while she rides. She drips love and language, making tough finding herself time between paragraphs to nibble at her portabella and turkey toasted.
Conversation wandered to her life as nun, inspired by St. Therese of Lisieux, her peers and idols, theology and Catholicism, and God as personality, personal God. Her additions to my read list: works by St. John of the Cross and Thomas Merton.
I promised I'd come soon to Sunday Mass at the monastery and visit.
Verily, I look forward!
an' we love to take a biath
Last night, for the morning's planned Bellefaire JCB Biathlon, I prepared performance enhancing substance (Fair Trade Organic from Timor) measured for more punch with Brewed Fresh Daily's suggestions. Thermos-full and empty mug, a bottle of water, two apples and a banana placed surrounding my alarm clock for help in the morning..
Alarm sounds, dreamsequence interrupt, stretch my legs and "this could be ugly," I think, but push on and help myself to most of the goodies I left out.
My warmup ride to the race was quite shorter today than yesterday, and made even shorter in meeting another rider en route who'd been to the race before. He shared some tips with me, as I'd never raced on bike before, and showed me around to get registration and gear in order as I slugged a tug more black gold from the mug I'd toted along. The event turned out to be quite a grander ordeal than I'd expected; many racers, and not just a few of them serious looking.
~17:20 on the 3 mile run was a mediocrity much easier to swallow than my performance in the 5k yesterday. I was happy to be on the roads this time, rather than wet grass, sans spikes.
Two miles into the run, the three runners in front of me were led to make the turn back toward the staging transition area too soon -- at the point where the walkers were to make the turn -- not those racing biath. Dude next to me yelled at them so, but they continued on, and the poorly informed flaggers turned us in the same direction, until a cop car flew down and set us right.
If I am correct in thinking the three in front of me will be unfortunately disqualified, I was first coming into the staging area, and feeling pretty good. Not so serious a race as I'd thought. I corraled Judy, my bicycle, away from the tree I'd leaned her against, helmeted my dome, hopped into the saddle and began the more unfamiliar portion of the race.
A couple stronger riders passed me within the first couple minutes, then four more when I stopped to rework Judy's chain, which slipped off when I threw her in high gear on a downhill. I maintained a quick pedalling cadence and a decent speed, lost a few more places and gained a few. Don't really remember. I counted it in my favor that everyone who passed me had clipless pedals, tight biking clothing on, and nice zoomy bikes. I was sponsored by Mesh Shorts, Tank Top, and Sneakers.
Good times. I mean, the experience. I don't know about the time. Afterward, I gulletted some fruit and bagel slices from the post-race picnic, and headed off to yoga class to try and get some of the kinks out.
familiar faces at the races
Out to the farm today to run with Case Cross Country in their preseason scrimmage. Our alumni squad put up a good fight -- perhaps beating one of the college teams there? I'm not sure how respectable I consider my 19:01 5k, but I rode my bike a good eleven miles out there so's I'd have an excuse for mediocrity, and I stand by that.
On the ride back I saw a sign for a nearby biathlon going off tomorrow at 8:30am. We'll see how my legs enjoy standing up in the morning, and what mood the clouds are in...
lazy weekend, rally-cap
I'm sitting on the living room couch, listening to the wind, thunder, last guttural raintricklings, and Pat Metheny on guitar, waving goodbye to another weekend.
This one was vastly unproductive compared to the previous. I did make my first trip to Cleveland's West Side Market, see my second Indians game, grill and gobble my first Walleye, (jowls, eyes and all,) and (got) bumped and clubbed at a couple night spots on the near West Side... but accomplished none of the things I'd set out to. Meh.
The bike shop sez the seatpost is stuck in the frame, which adds doubt to whether the thing is worth repairing, so there's a small blow to a piece of my current best-laid plans.
Small insects are feasting on my arms and lower back chauch.
I slept with Faith, and found a corpse in my arms on awaking; I drank and danced all night with Doubt, and found her a virgin in the morning.
-- Aleister Crowley, The Book of Lies
Found at Ming the Mechanic and Future Hi
Tomorrow is another week. Actually, today is another week. Goodnight!
unlazy weekend, lazy recap
After a full weekend, I'm back to navigating cubicles, clutching coffeemug.
Friday night: good {food, wine, conversation} until all hours.
Saturday morning I spent some time renewing work on a small software project I've let slide. Threw some clothes on around noon and brought my old mountain-bike to Bicycle Boulevard for repairs and tune-up. I've been excited to start riding again -- to and from work, mainly -- but hesitant to bite the bullet and replace many of the broken components. In the afternoon I struggled through a run, gave myself a haircut, then played some poker, and finally out to the Tremont district on Cleveland's near-West side for another eat/drink/talk evening.
Sunday morning I woke early and headed to the Atma Center for my first structured Yoga (Satyananda) class -- free! Then, strawberry picking out east a bit, jammin' on the one in our soggy basement, and the nightcap, a sunset fishing outing on the edge of Lake Erie.