Before
I went to see my coach Cathy last week, I pulled out a journal I had kept
during our initial work together and was reminded that one of the things I
desired in my life was more outdoor activity – bicycling, golfing, skiing,
maybe even joining an aging ladies soccer team (though I have no experience or
skills in that sport whatsoever).
The weather today was crisp and sunny, and, instead of going to a musical event I had planned on, I filled up the tires of my rusty bike, dusted off the helmet, and headed for Golden Gate Park. This is a short
route – down the slope from my home on Woodland Avenue to Stanyan Street to the
Panhandle, then left onto JFK into the Park and down to the ocean, and back
again – that I had done many times in the past, particularly with Annie when
she was young. I still remember the
first time we went down with her trailer bike, its little orange flag sticking
up to signal her presence, and my difficulty in pulling her weight plus mine
back up again. For many years, we would
go to her tennis lesson in the Park by bike, and then to the Academy of
Sciences to see the “fishies”. But once
Annie became too cool to ride a bike, especially with me, I had somehow
relinquished the pleasure of this little ride altogether, as though doing it without her was unimaginable.
Probably
five years had elapsed since I last rode to the ocean. Is that possible? I was surprised to see that nothing much had
changed. The in-line skaters still jitter at 8th Avenue as do the
Lindy swing dancers nearby, the model boats still float in Spreckles
Lake, the buffalo still roam in the paddock, and another generation of little
children and their families bicycle together. I rode in a swarm of happy memories, and by the way, easily made it back up the hill.
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