The helmet, the shoes, and the bike.

Got home at a good time. Not too early in the afternoon, but not too late either. Played with my daughters. Dinner was a bowl of chili. It was good.

A shot of Pelinkovac, a can of beer. Then helmet, the shoes, and the bike. Bell. Sidis, and Fondriest. The door, the resounding click as I step in to the pedals. And then the wind in my face as I set sail.

I miss this.

A lap around the block, maybe two. Just a bit, my dear. Just a short while together. Before the books. The books can wait. The bastards. They can wait.

And they will, you know. They are always waiting. It’s like rust, it never sleeps. They call it “learning.” Shit. It’s a racket. There is always more one can do. Always one more resource to utilize. Always something I should be reading, something I should be reviewing, something I need to know.

The City smells of orange blossoms tonight. Mark once dated a girl who spoke of the Phoenix Springtime in that manner; oranges, blossoms and renewal.

The whole city smelled of orange blossoms, she said to me once. Mark roared, with this head back and balancing a bottle in his lap, she’s my woman! They were a good couple. For a while, anyway. Then his Art consumed them, as it would, I suppose. What else could it do, sit idly back and let her take him away. No. Art would fight. And Art did. And Art won.

I miss that guy sometimes. No so much his Art, though.

I pedal circles. Or, try to anyways. The legs remember, true, but they forget a little too. I see young couples in the park watching their children play. A girl turning into the drive way of her family’s home on her purple bicycle. Her tires are white. I like them. Her backpack sits up her shoulders, full of books. Dinner is already on the table, and she is late. I see the tanned Latino men arriving home in their trucks. Hard workers, that lot. Any man who says a Mexican is lazy is a lying son of a bitch. Those guys bust their asses. Each and every day. Then they come home to their kids who run across the lawn to greet them like conquering heroes.

I pass young Turks on their skateboards. They smirk at my helmet. It’s OK, you know, I don’t mind. I was once like them. Young, bullet proof, immortal. Now I am old and broken. I’ll keep my helmet, thank you very much. Waking up in the hospital once was enough.

Enough for a lifetime of surprises.

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About big jonny

The man, the legend. The guy who started it all back in the Year of Our Lord Beer, 2000, with a couple of pages worth of idiotic ranting hardcoded on some random porn site that would host anything you uploaded, a book called HTML for Dummies (which was completely appropriate), a bad attitude (which hasn’t much changed), and a Dell desktop running Win95 with 64 mgs of ram and a six gig hard drive. Those were the days. Then he went to law school. Go figure. Flagstaff, Arizona, USA

12 thoughts on “The helmet, the shoes, and the bike.

  1. Hey man, don’t get too caught in the b^llsh*t of the institution. Just remember why you decided to go and where you’re going to take it. Your vision is your key to what you should learn and what you should let go. Keep up the good writing.

  2. Nice. Had that same ride a couple of weeks ago, here in Fresno. Almost out of here, and I’ll be back in the Game soon enough.

    This is inspiring me, so what if it’s dopers galore:
    http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-EsWJgU9GmA

    OT: anyone done the Kokopelli Trail from Fruita to Moab? looks like it’s gonna happen this June.

  3. dave k— I have guys who did the Kokopelli last year and totally had a blast. That TdF video is cool too.

  4. great post man. rode around town tonight taking in the orange blossoms myself. i don’t even want to do my tuesday post because everybody should read this first

  5. Excellent!

    Soak it all in.

    Real life as opposed to all the shit served up all the time on TV.

    Good on you.

  6. fuckin’ poesy, man. Nice werk. Get r’ done. Pedal circles for the squares.

  7. Fondriest. That’s fixed, right jonny? If you’re having trouble telling circles from squares, I know the bike will get you where you need to be. Mine always shows me the way. Couldn’t ask for a better coach.