Riding Alone
I saw the old man on the tandem bicycle again this week, as I hurried through the neighborhood that marks the beginning of the end of my regular route. I suppose it’s his neighborhood, because that’s where I always see him, pedaling slowly on a bicycle that appears to be decades old, although well maintained.
He was wearing his usual uniform: blue denim jeans, a long-sleeved cotton dress shirt buttoned all the way up, flat-brimmed baseball cap set firmly on his head – I can never make out the logo on the cap – and department store sneakers.
As I ride, I wonder about the old man, alone on a bicycle that was not designed to be ridden that way. How did he come to have such a bicycle? How long has he ridden it?
And, the hardest question: did he once have someone to ride it with?
Did he and the love of his life once share the excitement and anticipation of buying a new bicycle, of having the freedom to travel together with visions unimpeded by a cage of glass and steel? Did they go for long rides through the neighborhoods and the countryside, observing the details of stationary life while not being bound by them? Did they bask in the shared accomplishment of riding a mountain pass, or through long hot stretches of rolling hills, or past sun-baked windswept pasture?
Do those memories soothe and console him…or do they haunt?
I wonder. Did he ever ride silently up front, wondering why God gave him such a blessing as a lover and friend who would be a teammate like this? Did he comprehend the exquisite nature of those moments together, or was he unable or unwilling to differentiate them from the rest of the hours in his day? Or was the silence spent wondering why she wasn’t pedaling as hard as he was, why she wasn’t pulling her weight as a good teammate would?
Did he ever speak to her with words of encouragement and praise, or did he speak sharply, demanding that she justify her shortcomings, using curt phrases that in any other context pass without notice but which, when honed with the razor edge of familiarity, slice through bone and sinew and heart? Did he ever realize that her only desire, the one thing that energized and propelled her in that setting, was to not disappoint him?
And if he did realize that, did that realization come before she was no longer there…or after?
I wonder.
And I pedal harder, as if doing so will clear the sweat that has unaccountably obscured my vision.
A picture so beautifully painted with words, Eric.
Posted by: Your mom at June 24, 2006 01:51 PMSweet. Wonderful observations and a reminder to those of us who still have (we pray) many years with our beloved, to savor that time together. :-)
Posted by: Gwynne at June 24, 2006 09:11 PMPoignant. Well-written.
Posted by: mis_nomer at June 25, 2006 12:08 PMSuch tenderness is almost too hard to read.
Print and frame this post for her with an appropriate photo.
Posted by: Phyllis at June 25, 2006 03:21 PMLike poetry, Eric.
I thought of this posting yesterday, when I went out for a ride around the neighborhood with my wife. Sometimes, especially when she's not feeling very peppy, I become frustrated with her (from my perspective) snail's pace of 8 mph or so. Yesterday was one of those days.
But the funniest thing happened. Right about the time I was starting to get a bit snarky over her seemingly random stops and direction changes, I recalled the image of your old man on his tandem.
Did he comprehend the exquisite nature of those moments together, or was he unable or unwilling to differentiate them from the rest of the hours in his day? Or was the silence spent wondering why she wasn’t pedaling as hard as he was, why she wasn’t pulling her weight as a good teammate would?
I took a couple deep breaths, clicked down a couple cogs, and rolled along at near stall speed; and when I couldn't manage that, I started doing loops and double backs—but I didn't complain. Instead, I just enjoyed the fact that we were able to share a ride together.
So, yanno. Thanks.
Posted by: Foo at June 26, 2006 07:26 AMBeautiful. Really beautiful.
Eric, you have the gift of writing and better than that, you share it with others. This piece is very touching and when you have been married a long time (more than 50 years) you will find it means more.
Blessings
Posted by: allie at June 26, 2006 09:17 AMIronic what Foo said. My hubby and I also went for a nice leisurely bike ride together yesterday and it was one of the best times we've had together in a long time, made even more special by those words of yours. Thank you!
Posted by: Gwynne at June 26, 2006 10:18 AMFolks, I appreciate so much all of your kind words. This was hard to write, but I found I couldn't not write it, if that makes sense.
I'm especially gratified by Foo's and Gwynne's comments about the timely application of the reminders I tried to convey.
I try not to abuse the privilege of your readership by doing too much of this introspective stuff, but I appreciate your indulgence for my occasional lapses.
Posted by: Eric at June 26, 2006 11:07 AMAbout the publisher
Random Abbye photos...
"Glove Box Stories" is Back!
Eel on a Wheel
Meteorological Musings
Random Thursday
Is stupidity the Net effect?
More Invaders
Back Yard Birds
Book Review: "The Year of Living Biblically"
Sometimes, you get lucky...
June Sunset
It's Official...
Google's new favicon rocks the design world
Give the Gift of Flame
The Incredible Shrinking Math Skills
The Neighborhood:
West Texas Blogs:
[Midland unless otherwise indicated]
Other Texas Blogs:
The Business:
The Church:
The World:
The inner workings of a Fireant...priceless.
Good stuff, Solenopsis invicta Buren!
Posted by: Cowtown Pattie at June 24, 2006 01:45 PM