Signs of Promise
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
When you’re on a bike, signs like this mean a lot more than just road conditions. They hold promise. The promise of fun, of challenges, of excitement – the things that make riding such a completely different experience of going from point A to point B.
This particular sign is in Big Basin. A national park with astounding redwoods towering more than a hundred feet overhead. Peaceful little creeks and trails, deer and wild animals (not that I’ve seen any, only one little coyote) and views that are simply amazing. All this, less than 30 minutes from our home.
Riding time has become far more limited, with our new home and all the things to be done. So a chance (thanks honey!) to ride for a few hours is an opportunity to just relax and enjoy the focus of a ride. My Dad recently took a ride from Florida to Chicago. A nice, long ride on a big motorcycle. It was only a few days – but it was a trip he had spoken of for years. A “see the country” experience that he had always wanted to do. Years. Think of that, how quickly do years pass by? We blink and suddenly another week, another month and yes another year have just zipped past in a blur of bills, chores, grocery shopping, little life crises and all the things that happen our lives that distract us from actually living. While I wasn’t able to join Dad on this ride, I can’t wait to do so sometime soon – hopefully not with a gap of years before it happens.
Of course there are priorities. Of course there are things to take care of, most of which are vastly more important than riding. But…are they really? I hope that of all the lessons our children learn, an appreciation for moments is one of them. An appreciation for those seemingly minor things that are a cherished memory forever.
I remember sitting on the porch of my grandfather’s house – blabbing on and on about…nothing. Silly kid stuff, I’m sure. He just listened (or just tolerated his yappy grandson). It was wonderful. I remember Dad always making breakfasts on Sundays while we’d watch Charles Kuralt on TV with a fire going in Maryland. I remember Mom making tasty coffee cake from Bisquick (I never got it quite the same, I tried) and singing and being silly in the kitchen at our yellow table. I remember my pita Mary’s cookies hidden under the sink and how they had colored sprinkles. I remember spending Sunday’s talking with pita Fanny and how she always welcomed me with so much love.
Those are the moments. They may not matter when compared to the “important” things we have to do – but they are priceless and I wouldn’t give them up for anything. I just look for signs of more ahead and hope I don’t miss them.