Loyalty leaves a permanent mark

Way back in February my son said he wanted to play baseball. He’d never played baseball before, so I wanted to make sure I got him into a league that would teach him fundamentals and also be fun. I was lucky enough to make the deadline—just barely—for Coach Pitch Little League at Trenholm Park. Over the past five months, my son has worked hard, learned a lot and fallen in love with baseball. As a reward for his hard work, a few weeks ago his team won the championship of his league. He was a solid player for his team and it was a huge thrill for him to be part of it.

Since then, he and the other kids chosen for the Trenholm All-Star team have been practicing almost every day in the hot sun preparing for the South Carolina Little League All-star tournament. The tournament ended today for the Trenholm All-Stars with a loss. Throughout the All-star preparation my son didn’t miss a practice, played hard, improved as a player and had fun. During the tournament he didn’t play a single inning; he knew he wasn’t going to. He was an alternate for the team. He couldn’t even sit in the dugout during games because of the league rules. Still he was there every game, warmed up with his team, cheered them on, and took a knee for the post-game talks from the coaches. Not once did he complain or get discouraged—sure he told me he wanted to play but he was never angry or bitter about it. He accepted his role, learned, and had fun.

I’ve told him how proud I am of him for the way acted. I know the coaches saw it and I hope they say something to him too. The world around him places such a high value on individual success that sometimes anonymous dedication and commitment to the team go unrewarded. Like most of us, I like a star but I know that loyal teammates make loyal friends and those loyal friends have made all the difference in my life. And that's the lesson I want my son to learn from baseball—loyalty leaves a permanent mark.

Must be doing something right

OK, so last year at this time I got sick and it took all summer to figure out what was wrong. A year and heart surgery later I’m fine and it’s all behind me. Hospital, schmospital.

Friday evening I was getting ready to head out in the morning to give a couple of talks for Day of Discovery at Etowah. I’ve given talks for the day for the past 5 years running. It’s become a summer tradition and a nice forum for me to talk about things I am working on…and to keep local interest in the site high.  I spent all week—really all week—getting the talks together. For some reason it took forever to choose the topics and then it still took a couple of days to get the talks together. By Friday morning they had come together nicely and one of them might even be something I turn into a publication.

Friday after lunch I dropped our car off at the shop. It needed an oil change and a belt before I took it to Cartersville and before my wife headed out on another adventure with the intrepid (and famous) photographer Jan Banning. Earlier my wife had actually cleaned the car out and ordered a replacement rearview mirror. About two years ago, the driver’s side rear view was taken out by a crazed buck in rut. Several months later my wife put a new one on with the help of YouTube and our friend Johann. Not a month after that someone sideswiped the car while it was parked and cleanly removed the new rearview. It has been missing since last October. A new one was finally on the way to go on our newly cleaned, repaired, fueled, and serviced car.

When the car was ready, my wife took me to the shop to get it. She asked if I needed her to stay and follow me home but I told her I didn’t. Driving home I intentionally picked a route that let me cross busy Millwood Street at Maple where there is a stop light. Columbia, SC doesn’t have bad traffic but everything is relative. To us here in Mayberry, Friday night traffic is bad. So I picked a route that wouldn’t make me try to cross traffic at a four-way stop. (By the way, does it mean I am getting old when I plan routes to get through traffic? Don’t answer that.)

When my light changed, I headed out into the intersection. There are two lanes going in each direction on the street I was crossing and when I cleared the car stopped in the first lane I caught sight of a pick-up truck in the second lane coming at me…fast.  After a quick invocation (Holy shit, I think) I gunned the car (again, everything is relative because gunning a 6-year old 4-cylinder engine doesn’t mean a lot) hoping to get out of the on-coming missile’s path. I managed to keep the truck from hitting me square on the door (which in my little Corolla would have been really bad for me) but he plowed right through my rear quarter panel. The thing that still amazes me is that he didn’t slam on his brakes; there was no dramatic screech with smoking tires. That kid went THROUGH me like a linebacker making a tackle, like my son through a Five Guys burger.

It happened really fast but I remember being aware that I was spinning through the intersection. In that frozen moment I thought about being on some Disney ride where you get jerked around for fun. In short order I came to rest in the other lane facing back into the intersection I had just twirled through. As the shock wore off I was aware that things hurt—mostly muscles in my neck and back. Lots of people stopped to see if I was OK and called the police as I sat dazed in my clean, newly serviced, recently fully-fueled car now with a bent axle and permanently open trunk. Nice people collected the contents of my trunk that were strewn across the street. As traffic drove through the intersection cars kept running over some piece of metal with a clack. It was the door covering my gas cap and some nice lady picked it up and gave it to me. I guess I was staring at it.

The policeman asked if I wanted to go to the hospital. I figured it was a good idea to go. Besides, I hadn’t been in the hospital for a good 8 months and really missed the pudding. Of course it all seemed a little silly because I had been up walking around after impact, but the ambulance came and the paramedics put me on a backboard. I am not sure how a serious back injury feels (and have no interest in finding out) but that backboard sure was uncomfortable. They asked me which hospital I wanted to go to and I told them to take me to my favorite one, Providence. On the ride over it occurred to me that I still owed them money from my last visit and wondered if they might insist on payment before they let me in.

When I got to the hospital, they wheeled me into a room and a doctor came to check my back. She had to go round up help rolling me onto my side because they were short-staffed (never something you want to hear about in the ER). The back check consisted of a few well-placed pokes and that was it. On the one hand, I am thankful that they didn’t do x-rays and all sorts of other stuff. On the other hand, they didn’t really do anything I hadn’t already done—check to see if anything hurt. I had a nice cut on my leg from flailing about my car and they did make sure to put something on it that stung pretty badly and they gave me a tetanus booster—so I got some discomfort and mild torture while I was there…but no pudding. Then they cut me loose. I suppose it was prudent to go, but it ended up seeming pretty silly for all of us—me, paramedics, doctors, etc. They did make sure to get some money out of my wife before they let me out…but I doubt that went to my delinquent account.

The towing vultures took my car away to a lot that is about as far from anything as possible—they seemed pretty nice on the phone, though. I guess they must make good money on insurance claims. When I got home from my pass through the ER, I called my insurance company and had a nice three-way chat with the other insurance company. I have a feeling I’m going to be doing a lot of that over the next few days, weeks, months.  I like my car and don’t want it to be totaled out and I need a rental car because my wife leaves in two days for her photo assignment. Insurance companies make money by trying to deny people things (sorry to anyone in the industry, but that is at least the perception) so I’m prepared to find a lawyer to get a rental car covered and my car fixed. If I have to get a lawyer then I’ll be looking for the big payout…and a carbon Specialized Roubaix.

At the hospital they told me I would be sore the next day and I was. But really more than sore, I was stupid. I got up and started to make coffee but I couldn’t remember how many scoops of coffee to use. Now I make coffee a lot. Me forgetting how to make coffee is about as ridiculous as me forgetting how to eat…or when to eat…or that I like to eat. It’s like forgetting how to breathe. I was a little dopey yesterday…more than usual. I am guessing my brain got joggled around in my head during my spin through across Millwood. I am back sharp as a tack today, no problem making coffee for me.

I got lots of social media well-wishes after my wife stirred up a minor frenzy by mentioning on Facebook that she had been with me in the hospital—without explaining. My dad even called to check on me (I had planned to call him but didn’t want to make a big deal out of it). He must have heard about it from my aunt who saw my post on Facebook explaining why I was in the hospital. I appreciate any and all people who care enough to check in on me through whatever means, but I honestly feel a little silly—I wasn’t really hurt. Plus I feel like I’ve gotten my quota of concern and sympathy from my friends. And I am beginning to feel like a bit of a drama queen or walking disaster. I would like to stay off the sympathy radar for a while because I am on it when bad things happen to me.

Sure the last year has been a bad one…heart infection, blood on my retina obstructing my vision from a clot caused by the heart infection, heart surgery, and now this. I suppose I can look at it one of two ways. One way is to worry about why all this bad stuff is happening to me and wonder what I’ve done to bring all this on. Another way to look at all this is that I am damn lucky and I’ve dodged some pretty serious bullets. The heart infection and surgery revealed a problem that would have been much worse later and the resolution I got is the best outcome I could have gotten. The clot could have gone to my brain or lungs and killed me; instead my eye doctor gets a nifty case study to present at his conference in Iceland next month.  And now this accident; if that kid had been a bit faster he would have driven right through my door and into me. I don’t think I would have stood up very well against a moving pick-truck.

So in this life filled with choices, I choose to think of myself as pretty lucky. If that luck runs out I’ll worry about what cosmic forces I’ve offended and how to make it right. Until then I’ll blithely carry on thinking I must be doing something right.

No Statute of Limitations on my Stupidity

About a year and 9 months ago I decided I wanted to try running to complement my cycling and help me lose some weight. After running (and walking) 3 miles in about 33 minutes I swore I would never run again. It just hurt too much and wasn’t any fun…and cycling may have hurt but it was still fun. Today, inexplicably, I went back on my promise. I had wanted to go on a bike ride but my son begged me not to go and leave him home. I had been thinking I might try running again, especially for weekday workouts because it doesn’t take nearly as long (to abuse myself) as riding my bike. Running can’t replace a cycling workout for my goal to finish a 100 mile ride this year, but it can’t hurt.

So I got my son to ride along behind me on his bike as I ran. He was prepared to cheer me on. Actually he wanted a whistle so he could blow it at me to keep me going—couldn’t find one. If I'd given him a stick I am sure he would have been glad to smack my butt to keep me moving but I didn't even suggest that one. It was an elaborate set up for what turned out to be a pretty short little adventure. I thought I had mapped out a 3 mile route, but it turned out to be a 2 mile route. No matter, two miles was enough. I probably could have really tortured myself and made another mile but honestly I really just didn’t want it that bad. I was low on juice and another mile would have been pretty nasty. When I checked the time I found I had done the 2 miles in about 12 minutes. I knew then why I was out of juice. I am not in any kind of endurance shape to sustain a 6 minute mile pace for very long…obviously not much longer than 2 miles. Now if I had been thinking and paying attention, I could have adjusted my pace and probably finished the 3 miles.

Next time I will open brain and turn on before I run.

Now She Knows

Neither of my parents were ever fans of organized religion, especially the monotheistic, dominant versions floating around out there. As I kid, I remember clearly my parents talking about how the tenets of those religions were nonsense and that many of those most ardent and public adherents were hypocrites. I was never raised with a faith, other than the one in myself and the people that proved to me they deserved mine. As they passed through their adult lives, both my parents have explored spirituality in various forms, just as I have done. I can’t say for sure, but I think my mom became much more open to spirituality. She used to say she didn’t really care what happened after she was dead because she wasn’t going to know anything about it—she was going to be dead. However her beliefs about spirituality changed, I don’t think her take on what happened when you die changed. I, on the other hand, have always been a lot less sure of what happens when you die. I am not sure I believe in heaven, but I don’t think you go away completely either.

My mom died yesterday afternoon after a long encounter with cancer. She died at home with her dogs nearby and her garden right outside her glass doors. My dad worked very hard to make sure it happened that way, because that is how she wanted it. I’d like to say she died with her dignity intact, but no one who dies from a long illness that saps their life force has that chance. She remained dignified and handled everything with as much strength and humor as anyone possibly could. I am relieved because her existence at the end was awful and she was ready to go. But I am sad because she is gone.

And now she is gone. She didn’t think there was anything after death—I guess now she knows.

Letters to Motorists

Dear Motorist:

It is no safer or less illegal to pass a car when I am coming toward you than it is to veer into oncoming motor vehicles to pass the car in front of you. Have you ever hit a deer? Do you know what my bike and I would do to you and your precious muscle car?

Yours Fondly,

The Human Projectile

Dear Motorist:

The rear view mirrors on your logging truck stick out a foot and a half beyond your truck so next time you pass me please make sure those mirrors clear me too.

Kind regards,

Headless in Columbia

Dear Motorist:

Honking your horn when you come up behind me doesn’t make me or you any safer. I can hear you coming and you see me in front of you.  If you honk your horn, I assume you are going to do something stupid or dangerous and it makes me want to jump into the ditch and kiss my ass goodbye.

Your Friend in Fear,

Jumpy

Dear Motorist:

Screaming out the window as you go by me does not motivate me, it scares me. See my reaction above to people who blow their horn before they pass me.

Thinking of you (every time I mount my bike),

The Scared Cyclist

Dear Motorist:

You can pass me and you don’t have to swing all the way into the other lane to do it. I appreciate your consideration but hovering behind me makes me nervous and makes me think you’ll eventually do something dangerous or stupid like honk your horn, scream, or swing into on-coming traffic.

Always Looking Out for You,

Pedaling Paranoid