I've been using a bike to get around in the Bay Area for decades. Just seems like to way to go what with traffic and parking and exercise and wind/weather in your face. And it's free! Riding in the most hair raising traffic in San Francisco is pure freedom because I'm not afraid to die. Right now. Right this instant.
Today could have been one of those days. Jumped on my bike to go and pick up some supplies for the walnut island (see post below) and a red van blows through a stoplight. This was a close one but I was able to stop just inches from her. Her window was down and I said "What the hell are you doing?" She showed nothing on her face as she turned the corner and drove off. The van in the back was covered with those christian fish logos.
But it didn't bother me, I didn't take anything personal. Not upset in the least. If it were to be my day today, so be it. I'm good to go.
To me, this idea of a bucketlist is a form of consumerism.....like these things you do or the places you go that you check off before you die are "somethings." They're almost objects you desire to own.
Me. For me it's always been before I die, I am to learn the lessons that I am suppose to learn. (And re-learn many of them over and over.)
One of them is paying no nevermind (as my mother used to say) to death. To be ok with it, not to fear it but to embrace it for it is the last big experience we all go through. Birth/Death. There is no separation.
To paraphrase...with great license... The Bushido, I could not die by the bicycle because I AM the bicycle.
Ok...I'll let that one sink in for a bit.
So I'm biking back after getting my supplies and George pops into my head. Back in the fall of 1970 I was living in Missoula Montana going to school, so was George. He and I decided to go backpacking into the Bitterroot Mountains for the weekend. This was spur of the moment. We threw some crap in our backpacks, hitchhiked down and got on the trail pretty late on Friday. I hadn't eaten much that day. Now you all don't know George like I know George but he's an absolute bull when he hikes. Charges up mountains like they're flat, hikes for the day on a teaspoon of oatmeal (ask him about his trip where he only took oatmeal to eat) and handful of gorp. Well, we had an unforeseen snowstorm overtake us...Shit we were young, we were dumb. Who checks the weather? Further up the mountain we hike, the deeper the snow was. George was way way out in front of me. I mean way out in front. I was struggling, didn't bring much in the way of foul weather stuff, I was wet, I was shivering. I decided to lay down in the snow and go to sleep.
George for reasons even today doesn't know why, he turns around at some point and tries to follow his tracks back down. It's getting dark. He finds me unresponsive covered in snow. By happenstance there is a hunter's camp not too far from where I was that George found. A tent was already set up. George drags me down to the tent, lights up the wood stove, feeds me and brings me back to life.
I'm almost home now and going through another intersection, a black van is waiting for me to cross. He is waiting for me. We catch each others eyes, I make a sign with my hand to say "thank you, I'm sorry I made you wait", he dips his head in acknowledgment. On the door is a hand lettered sign "Life is Beautiful." Not quite believing I turn around as I bike by him and it's there on the passenger side as well.
Since I should put a photo in here, and somehow this relates.... A couple days ago I'm talking on the sidewalk with Rhonda, the woman that lives next door to the west of me. A black feather falls from the sky and lands between us.
ps...don't have anything against people with bucketlists...to each his own.
No comments:
Post a Comment