Hang On

The unintended consequence of seeking permanent housing is an immediate and abrupt recognition that the space I now occupy feels all wrong. I have mentally placed myself in the liminal in-between, which is a place I remember vaguely. I can dig up the old postcards from my days in transition, but I can't remember the flavor of the food or the smells of the streets where I ate it.

It was with this disquiet that I awoke today, fuzzy from a late-night sing-along with a couple of cast members of The Glitter Chariot.

These are friends who tolerate only the briefest mention of riding bikes. What do rock stars care for riding bicycles? Not much- that is what they care for riding bicycles. Still, when my grabbers drag dirt on those days when the great questions threaten to fling me across the universe; these rock stars hold my rope.

This is why I write also of another rope-holder, one who left me a voice message on my cellular telephone two days ago. Rather than calling him back immediately, I enjoyed playing the message and laughing out loud in the car. This morning though, I called him back.

I'm going big I tell him, I am trying to buy a house. I'm going bigger than ever he says, at Black Rock Falls. Note: This is not him in the video. He makes this guy look like a klutz.

I think about the moment of commitment when he leaves the lip and flies over the logging road to the slope far below. I think about signing papers that can't be unsigned. I am in the parking lot of Munson and we continue talking. I see riders pull in, gear up, and roll out one after another, after another. I don't care. I am smiling and happy, more grounded than I have been for a couple of weeks.

I know at some point this conversation will end and I will be riding, alone and serene in the forest, so I linger- exploring every tangent and angle.

Lovelife? Whatever. Rides? Epic. Future? Mexico.

We hung up. I got out. I was relieved to find my kickers reached all the way to the ground. Perhaps it will all be OK. He told me to write more often. Good advice.

Sorry Jack, Sorry Lance, the job's been filled.


Juancho