Lost Wallet But Found Some Joy
"Damnit all, where is that thing?" I'm in the parking lot of the Home Depot, searching frantically. I ransack the entire front seat area of my old Land Rover, the space between the seats, floor, dashboard- which in an old Land Rover is a pretty gross place. Then I moved on to vest pocket, pants, shirt. Mine has band aids, carpenter pencils, razor knife and some wiring for some damn thing, the dashboard I mean, not my pockets. When did I last have it? I got a cup of coffee at Barking Dog Cafe in Lyons (Come, Sit, Stay) but after that I got a little quiche- which I can eat because I drive and old piece of shit Land Rover. It's only a 1984, young by their standards. But I digress, because only I know where this blog is headed.
I called the bakery and it was there, waiting for me between the quiche and a big apple fritter looking thing. What a relief, even after the 40 minute round trip. But while heading back to get the wallet I started out all pissed off. Wasted time, look at the day, getting away from me, I had plans to run some wiring in the addition, so I could insulate, so I could cover it, so my in laws won't freeze when they visit. That's the usual path my mind runs on- gotta do this so I can do this and on and on till I can hardly stand the noise up there.
So, I said to myself, you have to backtrack, so what? Just try to find something positive about this since you have to do it anyway. It was a georgous day ("a good day for getting stuff done" my mind interjects and I tell it to go stuff itself) and the cottonwoods and aspens were going crazy with the yellow, the temperature was basically perfect ("a good day for getting..." stuff yourself). As I pull into town the light goes red and instead of waiting I pull into the parking lot across the street from the bakery, "I'll walk across". Just so happens to be the parking lot for the bike store in town. Never been in there but used to love to bike so, why not- chill out boy, see the sights, cool your heels, relax man!
"Can I help you?" and I say I'm just passing the time of day. He shows me a bike which cost more than my first car, a 1969 VW bug for which I paid $1,400- the bike was a good bit more. Ridiculous how people would pay such amounts for a bike. "Got any used bikes?" I ask. Yeah, he says, we get them in now and then. There's a real old one back there, selling it on consignment, doing a favor for a customer- which I read to mean this customer bought a bike that cost as much as a1980 VW bug or better and this guy agreed to send the old girl on her way to the first bozo who looked at it. I was that bozo. It was made in Holland, probably 20 years ago, it had three speeds- one for when the wind is at your back, one for when the wind is in your face and the third gear for those rare days of no wind at all.
I remember all three kinds of those day as a boy in Holland. There were no hills in the country but plenty of wind, after all that's where the windmills are and when I was very young I thought they actually made the wind. That bike was from a long gone era, all bikes were black, the chain, cranks and sprockets were all encased in a black metal housing that accepted oil in two spots. An exposed chain in that constant rain would never have lasted long. But that bike looked solid- worn, scratched, a bit dented, the seat was sagging, it was a bit stiff but hell, so was I. We were perfect for each other and the day began to look infinite.
I had taken a dog leg in my day, an unexpected turn when I left my wallet amongst the baked goods. All my efforts to line up my chores, get that never ending scrolling bastard of a list taken care of, they all came grinding to a halt and were left far behind as I pedalled madly away. Sometimes life can be so fine if I just get out of the way and let it. I am Wes Parker and I am at your service.
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