Going to the Well

It means different things to all of us. For some it means going to a place that has limited resources. For some it’s going to a better place. For some it’s going to a place for inspiration or energy.

When I was learning the “particulars” of road cycling up in Flagstaff the Wolf would regularly put on “clinics” for us younger riders. Meaning that we would try to impose our youthful exuberance on him. Turns out the Wolf was just waiting. Patience does come with age you know. After we had “shown our cards” he would in a not so subtle way show us the error of our ways. I think if you have ridden enough you will know what I am talking about. Young punk kid thinks he can out ride old man. Old man gives out beatings like you breathe air. Enough said.

In my long winded story (I am getting to something here) we used to do this “going to the Well.” Or if you were the Wolf we were going to have lunch with Lucky. (Lucky was the white lab that guarded the gas station) Really he just laid around waiting for you to pet him. I was talking with an old friend of mine Dr. R up in Montana. His name will not be revealed less he lose his license. But we were reminiscing about old times. We probably haven’t seen each other in 7 or 8 years. But in an instant we were taken to the “Well” and we both had the same experiences will going and trying to get home from the “Well” with the Wolf.

So whatever your “Well” is I hope you make it there, and coming back is mandatory.

Happy fucking Friday.


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About Snake

Tucson, Arizona, USA

9 thoughts on “Going to the Well

  1. The well is too far from here. It always has been. It always will be. I’ve never raised my voice about it. Or, perhaps not to the level of my own satisfaction. That’s just how it is sometimes. Grumble. Grumble.

    Thus, I will instead tap the well down the street. At the bar. My attempt to comply with this while maintaining some sort of personal satisfaction in reverence of the suffering.

    Don’t worry. I’ll get there. Somehow. one stumble at a time. I’ll find my well.

    Happy Friday indeed.

  2. I don’t think I will ever pedal my happy ass from Flagstaff to Clint’s Well again for the rest of my days. And I’m strangely comfortable with it.

    But it was fun while I was doing it. At least a couple of times.

  3. been there – the hill from long valley to the high point by Happy Jack {which has a cool looking new telescope!} is really loooong. the Wolf put the hurtin’ to me while telling me he actually liked riding to Wind-slow & making it a loop better….

  4. its simply terrible when the well is empty… today is friday and I went to the well and it was bone fuckin dry… My partner on the ambulance was so far gone he made me wana cut my wrists like his wife did last week and now I have 14 hours before I pull another 12+ hr shift…

    If anyone wants to helps me find the key to the gate I’m ready to accept.

  5. The Wolf…I met him in Benidorm, Spain at the training camp hotel. He would just sit at the breakfast table and eat melon all morning, then whomp on me and the Brits all day on the rides. His wife and daughter came out to visit and we rented a car and drove up into the mountains so they could see where we rode our bikes every day.

    Then his daughter told me that he was afraid to come back to the United States because he was Canadian with no papers and after 9/11 the crackdown meant he wouldn’t be able to slip in or out anymore.

    Last I heard he took top-5 at Master’s World’s for his age-division. No idea if he’s still married.

    His daughter was in San Francisco learning how to be an opera singer.