Crap bike journal, strictly for my own record
I met Bill, a 92 year old Southern gentleman who treated me quite scathingly on the phone, but when I walked in his house he was all smiles. “Is that your car with a bike rack?” I said yes. He most innocently forgot how he spoke to me on the phone the night before.
“I don’t mean to brag, I hope you don’t mind if I brag.” I quickly learned that “I don’t mean to brag” would be the refrain of his poetry. “I really don’t want to brag, but let me tell you, I’m 92, and I still bicycle.” A 92 year old man with a bicycle. My ill feelings toward him dissolved.
He loves talking about his favorite bike trail. Each time I visit he tells me the same story. When nonagenarians tell me a story, I sense that it’s a farewell song. They don’t waste time discussing things that do not matter. So I let him tell me about his bike trail. He forgets words and he pauses often, it takes him forever to complete a sentence, but I don’t supply words because even the pause is a part of his song.
He was none too pleased at learning that I had been going to a different bike trail. “That is not a very safe place for you to go alone. There are some bad people in this world.” His frown was genuine.
Bill drew me a map of his trail today. “You must try my trail and look at the lake I like.” As he labeled the streets he drew, he closed his eyes and paused. I saw that his heart was longing for the trail. Although he claims he still bikes, I don’t believe he biked this summer, as he attends to his bedridden wife 24/7 now and he seldom leaves her bedside. They outlived their children.
“You must be very, very careful when you cross the intersection, those motorists would run you over,” he warned me and wrote “caution light” on the map because he couldn’t remember the term “crosswalk button.” Step by step he explained to me how to use the “caution light” before crossing the intersection as if I were a 7 year old girl. I promised him I would be very, very careful. He was satisfied, got up, and went to his wife’s bedside to tell her that he drew a bike trail map. “I don’t mean to brag, but it sure is a good map.” His wife smiled.
I finished working around 6 this evening and immediately went to Bill’s trail. Without using GPS. I had his map.
The evening heat was oppressive and I was relieved when I saw that the trail was not challenging. I should have known that Bill can no longer take chances and he must choose the path wisely.
I cycled slowly. Saw the lake Bill mentioned. I was overwhelmed. The summer has started dying and the wildflowers lost their freshness. I am sad, because I don’t know how to detach myself from other people’s situation. I am sad because I know the terror Bill and his wife face daily. I know their house is filled with silence and quiet anticipation of the inevitable. All I can say is I am sorry, I am sorry for my powerlessness, I am sorry I have no power to alleviate your sorrow and terror and isolation. I am sorry.
