| Ride Stats |
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Time: 01:55:53
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Route:
Swamp Rabbit Trail
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Distance:
25.07 miles
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Avg Speed:
12.98 mph
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Max Speed:
0.00 mph
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Altitude Gain:
0 ft
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Terrain: Road: Hills
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Bike: Gary Fisher Rail Road
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Club: Clydesdales |
| Weather Conditions: |
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The forecast said 0% chance of rain until after 7 p.m., so I pulled away from the house at 4 p.m. I felt the 0% spitting on my cheek as I pulled out of the driveway. It continued to spit and sprinkle the first ten miles, but then the 0% started picking up. I ran into my riding friend Ken about 7 or 8 miles out at the Sulphur Springs pocket park. I asked him about a very odd email from our friend Don. I asked him if Don was retiring or moving away? He said that he thought that we all knew that Don was retiring. Don wrote a poem to his online workmates (he has an online job) and he sent it to us as a bonus. I'll include it at the end of this post. By the time I had pulled through campus at Furman and was approaching Travelers Rest the 0% was a full fledged rain. I stopped at Dukes Doggs for a turkey dog with slaw, chili, mustard, and onions with fries and a lemonade. Kristy and I had a good talk, but she's always sweet to talk to. When I left Dukes the rain was coming down, but Cis was at the beauty salon so I headed on home. Cis called when I was back in Greenville and I had her meet me at the zoo parking lot in Cleveland Park. I was soaked and my bike was a mess! 0%!!!
In The End
by Don Hudson
In a way I look forward to the end, I think I always have. To take a trip or set out to complete a task and when done, look back and say to myself, "Well done. That was fun."
The times as an adolescent tracing off into the woods alone or with my dog, a Brittany Spaniel, our mission to find the treasure or lost civilization.
Fulfilled, I would lie down in tall warm grass that had taken over an opening in the shadows of the towering southern pines the sun coming through.
With wind blowing briskly, blocked by the fortress of rye, its golden seeds ready to burst, I’d lie there awhile, recalling the adventure.
I would sit up, look about me, hug my dog, smile to myself and think. Well, that is over. It was a joy. Time to go home.
Hundreds of stories from my youth, from adulthood, fit within the confines of very similar settings some more elaborate than others.
One, a fishing tale, as a small boy, a boat dragged for miles over rich, green pasture land, through thick forest to reach a secluded pond, to swim, to fish.
During middle school years, a bicycle ride down red dirt roads resulting in findings of ancient cemeteries, centuries old, forgotten.
Or of discovering dilapidated houses, concealing ruined remains of lives before, old TV tubes, a hair brush, a tobacco can, a broken-to-pieces transmitter radio.
Later in life, weeks of backpacking the Blue Ridge Mountains or cycling trips across Alaska, California, Israel and many other locations; some mundane, some exotic.
All in all, these adventures motivated me, excited me, the planning of them, the gearing up, the long conversations within, the execution and finality of an enterprise.
For many of these undertakings the end came quick, sooner than expected, but still it was a time of revel, smiling and experiencing again the feeling of well-done.
Today, my wife always aghast at my preference for the emotional and moving Fall season and at my lesser fondness for Spring and Summer, though they have their places, and though they bring beauty and wonder, showing new life and sustaining it.
But, Fall always endearing, lays waste the vigor of before, showing the base, the raw of earth and of us, sensing the end and yet making plans, storing up for a new life to come.
I do, I realize now, look forward to the end, and in the ultimate end it is my wish that I am well enough, feel good enough, and have mind enough to do the same as I’ve always done.
Rise up, Go about, Turn back, Look around me and Think of this recent past and the present moment, raise my cup, hug the ones I’m with, a smile, and pronounce that this one too is over.
Let’s go home now.
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