The departure of my son for parts distant has me thinking about passages, the meaning of life, etc. etc. One of the transitions that is scary and strange is the one in which we become the seniors. I don't mean the students just about to graduate, unless you want to get back into that metaphorical mode. I mean geezer-dom, elderly-ness, old, old OLD.
My mother died in 2005 at the age of 86 after an 18-month decline into dementia. Her final illness was terrifying and bewildering and frustrating. It was an exercise in futility most of the time. At the same time, Ed was graduating from high school and going to college, moving the first 40 miles or infinity-and-beyond away from home.(Have you seen Toy Story 3? If not, do.) I had to juggle being the parent to my parent and learning how to parent but not micromanage my almost adult child at the same time.It felt like getting the old one-two to the jaw.
When my mother died, in the mix of the confusing turmoil of emotion that included intense sadness at her final absence and relief that the excruciating drawn-out process was finally over, there was the sense that I had just taken that last step forward. Now it was me, standing at the edge of the cliff. The next step would take me over.
I wish I could tell you I had moved past that. Is there a point at which we really come to terms with our mortality? Maybe some do. Maybe most are like me, not dwelling on it most of the time. Maybe this is why I feel so driven to reinvent myself at 60. Maybe this is why I want to do something more meaningful with my time than the corporate finance stuff that took up 30 of my years. Maybe this is why I care so much less about whether everyone approves of what I do or say.
About that cliff -- the truth is, we are not lined up one behind the other. We are all standing at the edge, never knowing when that last step will be taken. I don't know if this should depress us or embolden us. Carpe diem! Seize the day. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may...
I said in an earlier post that "I am sure that there are limits to what I can actually do, but Iam not sure what those limits are. They are most certainly not as restricted as I used to think." This actually helps. What's the point of putting limits on myself that I don't have to? Life does enough of that.
Sorry about the buzzkill. Sometimes it just goes that way.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Empty Nest
My son, Ed, left Michigan this week to live in Austin, Texas. Even though he has said for years that he will be leaving Michigan as soon as he could, it is still a wrench. This is the first time in all of his 24 years that he is living more than 40 miles away, and I find that there is an Ed-sized hole in me, a sort of metaphorical equivalent to how I felt inside the first couple of weeks after he was born.
Having a baby is an interesting experience. Things happen to your body that you wouldn't have thought possible and over which you have no control. You can't do things you used to be able to do. During the pregnancy, I occasionally found myself resenting some of the restrictions that this baby was already putting on my life. I also remember those childbirth movies we saw as part of the pre-natal classes and thinking, "I'm not doing that." Of course, that's just silly. And the baby was quite welcome. But there have been moments...
The thing about gestation is that it rearranges your insides. The baby may start out smaller than the eye can see, but it sure doesn't end up that way. In the process, in between those weird Zumba sessions in your belly, it slowly shoves aside things that were pretty well settled in their locations. The baby is the boss of the local real estate. (This is true after birth, as well!) As a result, after the baby vacates the premises, everything kind of rattles around until it settles back down to at least an approximation of the pre-baby norm. I found it to be peculiar and a bit unsettling, and ultimately just the way things are.
Ed is living his life in a way that works for him. He is taking risks and handling things. He seems settled into a relationship. He has a firmly-established idea of where he wants to go professionally, which helps focus his present efforts. I am immensely proud of the young man that baby has become.
Still, I am sad, and I insist that I be allowed to be sad as long as I need to be. Support and understanding are welcome, of course. Just don't cheat me out of my passage through this transition. Soon enough, I will emerge. I am well on the way.
I think I will go online and check out airfares to Austin.
Having a baby is an interesting experience. Things happen to your body that you wouldn't have thought possible and over which you have no control. You can't do things you used to be able to do. During the pregnancy, I occasionally found myself resenting some of the restrictions that this baby was already putting on my life. I also remember those childbirth movies we saw as part of the pre-natal classes and thinking, "I'm not doing that." Of course, that's just silly. And the baby was quite welcome. But there have been moments...
The thing about gestation is that it rearranges your insides. The baby may start out smaller than the eye can see, but it sure doesn't end up that way. In the process, in between those weird Zumba sessions in your belly, it slowly shoves aside things that were pretty well settled in their locations. The baby is the boss of the local real estate. (This is true after birth, as well!) As a result, after the baby vacates the premises, everything kind of rattles around until it settles back down to at least an approximation of the pre-baby norm. I found it to be peculiar and a bit unsettling, and ultimately just the way things are.
Ed is living his life in a way that works for him. He is taking risks and handling things. He seems settled into a relationship. He has a firmly-established idea of where he wants to go professionally, which helps focus his present efforts. I am immensely proud of the young man that baby has become.
Still, I am sad, and I insist that I be allowed to be sad as long as I need to be. Support and understanding are welcome, of course. Just don't cheat me out of my passage through this transition. Soon enough, I will emerge. I am well on the way.
I think I will go online and check out airfares to Austin.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
One Helluva Ride - indeed!
Last week, a cycling buddy of mine and I rode the 64-mile loop at the One Helluva Ride, put on every year by the Ann Arbor Bicycle Touring Society the second Saturday in July. They have 6 loops for interested riders of varied skills and experience -- two "family fun" rides (15 and 30 miles) and 4 longer ones (39, 64, 75, and 100). In years past, the 75 and 100 mile loops actually went thrugh hell, Michigan. This was not true this year, because of road construction. But that is not relevant for me, as there is no way I presently aspire to ride that far in one day! My buddy and I have grandiosely calling our ride a "metric century." since 64 miles is about 100k. No matter what you call it, though, it's a long way.
We got started a little later than we had initially planned, because we had a hard time getting up early enough to leave our homes by 6:00am. This would have gotten us on the trail by 8:00am, with a reasonable chance for being done by mid-afternoon.
As it was, we pulled out of the Chelsea Fairgrounds on our bicycles at about 8:45 -- heading for a water/snack/port-a-potty stop at mile 13 and lunch at Portage Lake at mile 38. The scenery in this area is enjoyable -- acres of farmland, stands of tree, very few buildings. It's such open country that it's hard to imagine you are not that far from "civilization." It isn't a solitary ride, though. Most of the time there are other cyclists around, and the SAG wagons go by regularly,just in case. (If they aren't in sight, there is a number on your wristband that you can call for help.)
When you are on the trail like this, you have automatic entry into the cycling subculture, at least for the event. It's a surprisingly diverse group of people -- young and old, obviously fit and seemingly not, cycling jersey and spandex shorts or tee shirt and cargo shorts, road bikes or hybrids, recumbent or upright, single or tandem. If you're on a bike, you're one of "us." If we stopped at the side of the road for a few minutes for a drink or just a break from the saddle, riders with always checked on the way by to see if we were okay. When we pulled into a convenience store for a cold drink, we stood with other riders and exchanged "where are you from" information. There were a couple of guys from Dearborn who had ridden to Chelsea, were riding the 100-mile route and then riding home to Dearborn.
"You're crazy!" I said. "Er, I mean, you are great cycling enthusiasts."
One of them replied, "No, we're just crazy." LOL!
This is the longest ride I have ever done in one day. One of the Katy training rides I had done and one of the days on the Katy trail itself were 50 miles each. That seem plenty long at the time and that was 8 months ago. As it happens, I started feeling quite tired about 25 miles into the ride, way too soon to be failing. The surprise for me was that my quads started burning. This was a first for me, and it hurt like all get out. I am so used to relying on my legs being strong. There were some hills that really challenged that assumption for me, and I was incredibly glad to pull into Portage Lake at about 12:45pm for an extended break that involved sitting down in a shaded area. Maybe some potassium (a banana) and other nutrients (turkey sandwich), plus the respite from riding, would alleviate the burn.
Alas, my legs did not recover during the break. As we rode out of the park (up a damn hill!), I told my buddy that I was not at all sure I would be able to ride all the way back to Chelsea. I was pretty sure I could make it to Grass Lake for the next stop (about 10 miles) and would re-evaluate the need to SAG at that point. If I needed to, I would take the truck keys and go back to the fairgrounds in comfort. I really hated to fail finishing the ride, but was not interested in torturing myself, either. On we rode.
When I had to, I walked up the hills. There was a long stretch on a service drive next to I-94 that was a series of hills and no shade (of course not!). I rode halfway up the first, then dismounted and walked up, stopping at the top for a breath and a drink. I actually waved the SAG wagon on. The next hill didn't look all that bad from this vantage point. But I was mistaken and ended up walking up from halfway again. As I cam to the top and saw a third hill ahead, I thought there was just no way I could do three. I coasted down, enjoying the wind and the easy ride, dreading the climb. Then what to my wondering eyes should appear, but the little trident spray painted on the roads the show where we should turn! There it was, just before the road rose again, blessed turn onto flat land. Divine providence? I wouldn't eliminate the possibility.
I made it to Grass Lake okay! Hooray! At this point, we were about 16 miles from the end. My legs felt better and I seemed to remember this part from last year as being less hilly, so I decided to keep going. Still, as the miles stretched out through fields of half-grown corn, there were times when I wished that those irrigation contraptions that look like a long snaky shower for the crops were operating. I so would have gone over for a soak. But it was not to be. Sigh.
I was wrong about the final miles being less hilly. As with the 39-mile loop I rode last year, the final 5 miles were mostly mental for me. I just wasn't going to give up at that point. The iced watermelon at the end was also a prize keeping me going. We rode in together, both of us digging deep for that last little bit of energy. Then we arrived, pulling into the fairgrounds just after 4:30pm. The last trident on the road had "Yay! Good job!" spray painted underneath it. Yay, and then some!
The rest is denouement. Iced watermelon, (nectar of the gods!), shower, fresh clothes, cold drink from a drive-through, and home again, picking up a steak at the Outback curbside take-away. Red meat, wine, ibuprofen, bed. Priceless.
The next day, I was able to walk without wincing. Not too shabby at all.
We got started a little later than we had initially planned, because we had a hard time getting up early enough to leave our homes by 6:00am. This would have gotten us on the trail by 8:00am, with a reasonable chance for being done by mid-afternoon.
As it was, we pulled out of the Chelsea Fairgrounds on our bicycles at about 8:45 -- heading for a water/snack/port-a-potty stop at mile 13 and lunch at Portage Lake at mile 38. The scenery in this area is enjoyable -- acres of farmland, stands of tree, very few buildings. It's such open country that it's hard to imagine you are not that far from "civilization." It isn't a solitary ride, though. Most of the time there are other cyclists around, and the SAG wagons go by regularly,just in case. (If they aren't in sight, there is a number on your wristband that you can call for help.)
When you are on the trail like this, you have automatic entry into the cycling subculture, at least for the event. It's a surprisingly diverse group of people -- young and old, obviously fit and seemingly not, cycling jersey and spandex shorts or tee shirt and cargo shorts, road bikes or hybrids, recumbent or upright, single or tandem. If you're on a bike, you're one of "us." If we stopped at the side of the road for a few minutes for a drink or just a break from the saddle, riders with always checked on the way by to see if we were okay. When we pulled into a convenience store for a cold drink, we stood with other riders and exchanged "where are you from" information. There were a couple of guys from Dearborn who had ridden to Chelsea, were riding the 100-mile route and then riding home to Dearborn.
"You're crazy!" I said. "Er, I mean, you are great cycling enthusiasts."
One of them replied, "No, we're just crazy." LOL!
This is the longest ride I have ever done in one day. One of the Katy training rides I had done and one of the days on the Katy trail itself were 50 miles each. That seem plenty long at the time and that was 8 months ago. As it happens, I started feeling quite tired about 25 miles into the ride, way too soon to be failing. The surprise for me was that my quads started burning. This was a first for me, and it hurt like all get out. I am so used to relying on my legs being strong. There were some hills that really challenged that assumption for me, and I was incredibly glad to pull into Portage Lake at about 12:45pm for an extended break that involved sitting down in a shaded area. Maybe some potassium (a banana) and other nutrients (turkey sandwich), plus the respite from riding, would alleviate the burn.
Alas, my legs did not recover during the break. As we rode out of the park (up a damn hill!), I told my buddy that I was not at all sure I would be able to ride all the way back to Chelsea. I was pretty sure I could make it to Grass Lake for the next stop (about 10 miles) and would re-evaluate the need to SAG at that point. If I needed to, I would take the truck keys and go back to the fairgrounds in comfort. I really hated to fail finishing the ride, but was not interested in torturing myself, either. On we rode.
When I had to, I walked up the hills. There was a long stretch on a service drive next to I-94 that was a series of hills and no shade (of course not!). I rode halfway up the first, then dismounted and walked up, stopping at the top for a breath and a drink. I actually waved the SAG wagon on. The next hill didn't look all that bad from this vantage point. But I was mistaken and ended up walking up from halfway again. As I cam to the top and saw a third hill ahead, I thought there was just no way I could do three. I coasted down, enjoying the wind and the easy ride, dreading the climb. Then what to my wondering eyes should appear, but the little trident spray painted on the roads the show where we should turn! There it was, just before the road rose again, blessed turn onto flat land. Divine providence? I wouldn't eliminate the possibility.
I made it to Grass Lake okay! Hooray! At this point, we were about 16 miles from the end. My legs felt better and I seemed to remember this part from last year as being less hilly, so I decided to keep going. Still, as the miles stretched out through fields of half-grown corn, there were times when I wished that those irrigation contraptions that look like a long snaky shower for the crops were operating. I so would have gone over for a soak. But it was not to be. Sigh.
I was wrong about the final miles being less hilly. As with the 39-mile loop I rode last year, the final 5 miles were mostly mental for me. I just wasn't going to give up at that point. The iced watermelon at the end was also a prize keeping me going. We rode in together, both of us digging deep for that last little bit of energy. Then we arrived, pulling into the fairgrounds just after 4:30pm. The last trident on the road had "Yay! Good job!" spray painted underneath it. Yay, and then some!
The rest is denouement. Iced watermelon, (nectar of the gods!), shower, fresh clothes, cold drink from a drive-through, and home again, picking up a steak at the Outback curbside take-away. Red meat, wine, ibuprofen, bed. Priceless.
The next day, I was able to walk without wincing. Not too shabby at all.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Rails to Trails and Parks - Oh, my!
As I have previously noted, the first big, long-term goal I set for myself after I retired was to ride the two hundred miles of the Katy Trail in Missouri. This is the trip that my friend Sue spearheaded and that we trained for during the 5 months leading up to the tour. Our training rides included the three Metroparks in the New Boston area (Oakwoods, Willow and Lower Huron), the KalHaven rail-trail and the Pere Marquette rail-trail.
So far, the park ride is my favorite. It is a scenic 25 miles, with a few "hills" to give it some texture and enough flat land so that new riders are not over-taxed. Our training group, including a few drop-in friends who came along for the exercise from time to time, would meet at a picnic area in Willow. We started by riding down to the nature center at the far end of Oakwoods, then back up through Willow and onto the connector path that takes you to Lower Huron. We would ride the length of the park and out the far end onto a nice flat road that took us back along the edge of the park and into New Boston. A little way past Waltz Road, there is a little breakfast/lunch place which is a great place to take a break, about 18 miles into the ride. After the break, we would take the connector back to Willow and our cars.
By August, only 6 weeks away from our Katy trip, we were ready to do a back-to-back, two-day ride. Doug and I had run across literature on the KalHaven trail when we were at Al Petri's one day. It was described as a family-friendly and novice-friendly ride of 35 miles between Kalamazoo and South Haven. This seemed an ideal way to experience a fairly significant ride two days in a row.
One of the things you have to remember about rails-to-trails paths is that they used to be railroad tracks. This means that the grades are relatively moderate. It also means that they can be somewhat narrow in areas where the land is hilly and had to be built up to keep the grade low enough for a train to manage. (Staying on the straight and narrow has real meaning in those places.) When the train lines fell into disuse, parks were formed by interested parties to take advantage of the existing rights of way, and the trails were converted to use by bikes and, in some areas, by horses.
On a mid-week August morning, we met at the trail head in Kalamazoo and set out on the adventure. The first stretch of trail was a very pleasant downhill grade through the woods. I think it must have been at least a couple of miles of this easy going before we came out onto flat land, with only intermittent shade. One stretch of trail was really quite unpleasant as it took us close to a pig farm. There is nothing fun about being down wind of that, I can tell you.
The ride took us about 5 hours, including the lunch stop we took in the town at the halfway point. By the time we were approaching South Haven, it was late afternoon. We were all looking forward to the showers in the rooms we had reserved at a local camp ground. Doug had a flat tire about a mile out, but managed to fix it well enough to ride in. After settling in to our rooms, we all rode into town to an Italian restaurant for dinner and found out on the return trip just how dark it can be when there are no street lights. None of us had headlights on our bikes, and the road was pitch black for the last mile back to the campground. I will never ride at night without a light again.
On the way back the next day, Doug's tire, which seemed to have been fixed, blew out again as we were approaching the halfway point. He tried to fix it, but the wall of the tire was damaged and couldn't be repaired. We were 17 miles from our cars at that point. How were we supposed to get a disabled bike and its rider back to the trailhead? The most likely plan involved me staying with the bike, while Doug (a stronger rider than I am) rode my bike to the car and came back for me. That would mean a wait of a couple of hours, we figured. Could have been worse!
As it happened, though, a very kind soul hanging around the sandwich shop where we had eaten was headed to Kalamazoo and offered Doug a ride. Off they went, bike and all, while the rest of us took to the trail for the final leg. Sun, shade, sun, pig farm (ick!), and finally the welcome shade of the woods leading up to the trailhead. Oh, yes, remember the lovely downgrade we started with. Payback time. But we could all smell the barn by then. We just wanted to get to the cars and get off those bikes!!! Doug was there as we rode into the parking lot, waving us in with a smile.
It was a trip with its ups and downs, literally and figuratively, challenging and empowering. It strengthened our riding skills and group esprit de corps. Things I could not have imagined myself doing a year ago I had done.
Look out, Katy, here we come!
So far, the park ride is my favorite. It is a scenic 25 miles, with a few "hills" to give it some texture and enough flat land so that new riders are not over-taxed. Our training group, including a few drop-in friends who came along for the exercise from time to time, would meet at a picnic area in Willow. We started by riding down to the nature center at the far end of Oakwoods, then back up through Willow and onto the connector path that takes you to Lower Huron. We would ride the length of the park and out the far end onto a nice flat road that took us back along the edge of the park and into New Boston. A little way past Waltz Road, there is a little breakfast/lunch place which is a great place to take a break, about 18 miles into the ride. After the break, we would take the connector back to Willow and our cars.
By August, only 6 weeks away from our Katy trip, we were ready to do a back-to-back, two-day ride. Doug and I had run across literature on the KalHaven trail when we were at Al Petri's one day. It was described as a family-friendly and novice-friendly ride of 35 miles between Kalamazoo and South Haven. This seemed an ideal way to experience a fairly significant ride two days in a row.
One of the things you have to remember about rails-to-trails paths is that they used to be railroad tracks. This means that the grades are relatively moderate. It also means that they can be somewhat narrow in areas where the land is hilly and had to be built up to keep the grade low enough for a train to manage. (Staying on the straight and narrow has real meaning in those places.) When the train lines fell into disuse, parks were formed by interested parties to take advantage of the existing rights of way, and the trails were converted to use by bikes and, in some areas, by horses.
On a mid-week August morning, we met at the trail head in Kalamazoo and set out on the adventure. The first stretch of trail was a very pleasant downhill grade through the woods. I think it must have been at least a couple of miles of this easy going before we came out onto flat land, with only intermittent shade. One stretch of trail was really quite unpleasant as it took us close to a pig farm. There is nothing fun about being down wind of that, I can tell you.
The ride took us about 5 hours, including the lunch stop we took in the town at the halfway point. By the time we were approaching South Haven, it was late afternoon. We were all looking forward to the showers in the rooms we had reserved at a local camp ground. Doug had a flat tire about a mile out, but managed to fix it well enough to ride in. After settling in to our rooms, we all rode into town to an Italian restaurant for dinner and found out on the return trip just how dark it can be when there are no street lights. None of us had headlights on our bikes, and the road was pitch black for the last mile back to the campground. I will never ride at night without a light again.
On the way back the next day, Doug's tire, which seemed to have been fixed, blew out again as we were approaching the halfway point. He tried to fix it, but the wall of the tire was damaged and couldn't be repaired. We were 17 miles from our cars at that point. How were we supposed to get a disabled bike and its rider back to the trailhead? The most likely plan involved me staying with the bike, while Doug (a stronger rider than I am) rode my bike to the car and came back for me. That would mean a wait of a couple of hours, we figured. Could have been worse!
As it happened, though, a very kind soul hanging around the sandwich shop where we had eaten was headed to Kalamazoo and offered Doug a ride. Off they went, bike and all, while the rest of us took to the trail for the final leg. Sun, shade, sun, pig farm (ick!), and finally the welcome shade of the woods leading up to the trailhead. Oh, yes, remember the lovely downgrade we started with. Payback time. But we could all smell the barn by then. We just wanted to get to the cars and get off those bikes!!! Doug was there as we rode into the parking lot, waving us in with a smile.
It was a trip with its ups and downs, literally and figuratively, challenging and empowering. It strengthened our riding skills and group esprit de corps. Things I could not have imagined myself doing a year ago I had done.
Look out, Katy, here we come!
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