And we're off
I greeted the new year a little early this year, at 4 p.m. local time, sitting at our little Irish pub with a table full of friends. Four in the afternoon here coincides with midnight in Ireland, we were told – so that got me off the hook for later in the evening, when instead of dragging myself around town to all the various (formerly) obligatory slosh-fests, I was free to ride my bike home under the most fabulous purple-and-orange sunset in recent memory, enjoy a dinner of steak, fresh (never frozen!) local crab, and an enormous caesar salad at home in front of the fireplace, relax into a long, hot bath in our garden tub, and drop into bed early enough to spend a couple of hours reading and still be asleep before the firecrackers and gunshots started popping at our heavy metal neighbors' place across the creek.
Then, at 4:40 a.m. on New Year's morning, I was awakened by a quiet hand on my arm. It was Mr. A, who had decided that he did want to drive down to Marin and climb to the top of Mt. Tam to watch the sunrise, after all. We had decided the night before to skip it this year, but as my sleepy brain started to clear I figured it's always better to start a new year doing something wonderful than just sleeping, same as any other day. So we did it, and it was amazing. Cold, clear and windy with an incredible view. The ranger was a little late getting the gate open, and by the time he finally arrived there were upwards of maybe 20–30 cars lined up to go in. We weren't the first people to the top, but it was damn close. We hung out up there watching the sun light up the sky and sparkle over the bay, then climbed down and went out to breakfast. After that there were naps, dog walks, more naps, an hour's sunset meditation on my special rock in the creek bottom, and early to bed again.
I should also mention that the day before New Year's Eve we went to Rodeo Beach and saw a gorgeous gold-and-pink sunset, followed by my first-ever bobcat sighting. It ran across the road right in front of us as we were approaching the 5-minute tunnel. At first I thought it was just a regular cat, because it moved like a cat – but other than that it didn't look a lot like one. It was way too big, for one thing, and way too bulky and muscular, and it had the typical short, thick tail and tufted ears and everything. Some people in front of us stopped their car and went over to the bushes it had run into and began throwing rocks after it. I don't know why anyone would do a thing like that; I'm sure the cat was long gone by then.
In other news, I'm still riding my bike every day, although today I took a break in honor of a giant storm that's rolling in – supposedly the biggest one we've had since that giant flooding storm that came through almost exactly two years ago. That one changed the course of the creek behind our house by about 30 feet; this one could do the same or more, since there are still several big snags upstream that I know have not been cleared. According to our neighbor who lives up there, this has something to do with creek conservation and the fact that so many different agencies have to be consulted before anything can be done; she says they were told there would be stiff penalties for anyone who attempted to take care of the problem on their own, without getting proper permits or whatever. So we shall see. The last storm left a cool little blue boat stranded on what might be called a sand bar, except it's made not out of sand but boulders. It was there for a few hours until the next dump of rain raised the water enough to take it away again.
But back to the bike. I've been feeling an uncomfortable conflict between admiration and consternation lately at the preponderance of painfully hip pseudo-Dutch-looking bikes that seem to be showing up everywhere these days. A few years ago I would have been right in there with them, because they are kind of cool-looking and I like the idea of riding a bike as transportation the way they reportedly do in Amsterdam, rather than seeing bicycles solely as some kind of carbon-fiber and chrome macho athletic equipment designed only for off-road use, or on-road use IF you agree to wear spandex and a horrible neon-colored plastic jersey. But I have to say, the more I've ridden a bike that is actually designed to be ridden – rather than to look cool – the more I've come to appreciate the bike I ended up with, even though it wasn't my first choice in terms of beauty or design.
Plus, I somehow feel sort of embarrassed now to see all these people appropriating what I've come to see as a symbol of something ... although I hesitate to put into words exactly what it symbolizes to me ... as a way to express their style-savvy and supposed "uniqueness." For instance, read this article. Or check out the uber-fab folks here (click "See J&O Friends"). There's also someone I know who's been tooling around town on a much cheaper version of a similar bike, no doubt assembled by tiny little pre-school-aged slaves in China or somewhere, and making me realize ....
Realize what? That I'm no longer interested in appearing to be hip? Anyone who doubts that has never seen me on my bike, all decked out in my dayglo green reflective waterproof rain gear, ridiculous oversized goggles (to keep the wind from blowing in my eyes), mismatched but effectively wind-proof gloves, battered riding boots (now stained with blue pavement paint from when we laid out the labyrinth) and about a million headlights, tail lights, lights on my valvestem caps, lights on my backpack, reflectors everywhere and a big rotating 10-LED blinkie rubber-banded to the back of my helmet.
I think it's safe to say I no longer care about having people see me as cool. I just want them to SEE me, period, and not run me over. Because the best thing about getting around on a bike is just the pleasure of riding it. As long as nobody creams you into the pavement.
And speaking of death (sorry!), my great-aunt died last week, on the evening of December 27 – her 101st birthday. She was well enough earlier in the day to enjoy her party and even have some birthday cake, and spent her last hours on earth visiting with her grand-daughters who have been taking care of her for the last few years. I'm going to hold the image of that good death in mind over the next year or so, whenever some of these other upcoming events start threatening to disturb my equanimity ....
The Jeeps, for instance, is visibly deteriorating every day now. On New Year's morning, as I was standing half-asleep in the hall waiting for the bathroom, I heard a sound like a bucket of water pouring off the roof – and finally realized it was Jeepers, standing in the middle of the living room releasing the entire contents of his bladder onto the carpet not six feet away from me. I yelled at him to stop, but of course he didn't, or couldn't – or maybe he just couldn't hear me. It was the first time that's happened and now it's happened again every day since. Not just a little dribbling or "accident," but full-on, full-volume drainage.
I don't know if he just doesn't like the cold outside, or if he's not strong enough to get out there on time, or if he has a kidney infection or the beginnings of kidney failure ... I just don't know. But starting tonight he's going to be staying in the kitchen or the bathroom when we can't be there to keep an eye on him. We're already planning to replace all the flooring in the house this year, but I don't think that's any reason to Not try to keep the place decent for as long as it takes.
Then, at 4:40 a.m. on New Year's morning, I was awakened by a quiet hand on my arm. It was Mr. A, who had decided that he did want to drive down to Marin and climb to the top of Mt. Tam to watch the sunrise, after all. We had decided the night before to skip it this year, but as my sleepy brain started to clear I figured it's always better to start a new year doing something wonderful than just sleeping, same as any other day. So we did it, and it was amazing. Cold, clear and windy with an incredible view. The ranger was a little late getting the gate open, and by the time he finally arrived there were upwards of maybe 20–30 cars lined up to go in. We weren't the first people to the top, but it was damn close. We hung out up there watching the sun light up the sky and sparkle over the bay, then climbed down and went out to breakfast. After that there were naps, dog walks, more naps, an hour's sunset meditation on my special rock in the creek bottom, and early to bed again.
I should also mention that the day before New Year's Eve we went to Rodeo Beach and saw a gorgeous gold-and-pink sunset, followed by my first-ever bobcat sighting. It ran across the road right in front of us as we were approaching the 5-minute tunnel. At first I thought it was just a regular cat, because it moved like a cat – but other than that it didn't look a lot like one. It was way too big, for one thing, and way too bulky and muscular, and it had the typical short, thick tail and tufted ears and everything. Some people in front of us stopped their car and went over to the bushes it had run into and began throwing rocks after it. I don't know why anyone would do a thing like that; I'm sure the cat was long gone by then.
In other news, I'm still riding my bike every day, although today I took a break in honor of a giant storm that's rolling in – supposedly the biggest one we've had since that giant flooding storm that came through almost exactly two years ago. That one changed the course of the creek behind our house by about 30 feet; this one could do the same or more, since there are still several big snags upstream that I know have not been cleared. According to our neighbor who lives up there, this has something to do with creek conservation and the fact that so many different agencies have to be consulted before anything can be done; she says they were told there would be stiff penalties for anyone who attempted to take care of the problem on their own, without getting proper permits or whatever. So we shall see. The last storm left a cool little blue boat stranded on what might be called a sand bar, except it's made not out of sand but boulders. It was there for a few hours until the next dump of rain raised the water enough to take it away again.
But back to the bike. I've been feeling an uncomfortable conflict between admiration and consternation lately at the preponderance of painfully hip pseudo-Dutch-looking bikes that seem to be showing up everywhere these days. A few years ago I would have been right in there with them, because they are kind of cool-looking and I like the idea of riding a bike as transportation the way they reportedly do in Amsterdam, rather than seeing bicycles solely as some kind of carbon-fiber and chrome macho athletic equipment designed only for off-road use, or on-road use IF you agree to wear spandex and a horrible neon-colored plastic jersey. But I have to say, the more I've ridden a bike that is actually designed to be ridden – rather than to look cool – the more I've come to appreciate the bike I ended up with, even though it wasn't my first choice in terms of beauty or design.
Plus, I somehow feel sort of embarrassed now to see all these people appropriating what I've come to see as a symbol of something ... although I hesitate to put into words exactly what it symbolizes to me ... as a way to express their style-savvy and supposed "uniqueness." For instance, read this article. Or check out the uber-fab folks here (click "See J&O Friends"). There's also someone I know who's been tooling around town on a much cheaper version of a similar bike, no doubt assembled by tiny little pre-school-aged slaves in China or somewhere, and making me realize ....
Realize what? That I'm no longer interested in appearing to be hip? Anyone who doubts that has never seen me on my bike, all decked out in my dayglo green reflective waterproof rain gear, ridiculous oversized goggles (to keep the wind from blowing in my eyes), mismatched but effectively wind-proof gloves, battered riding boots (now stained with blue pavement paint from when we laid out the labyrinth) and about a million headlights, tail lights, lights on my valvestem caps, lights on my backpack, reflectors everywhere and a big rotating 10-LED blinkie rubber-banded to the back of my helmet.
I think it's safe to say I no longer care about having people see me as cool. I just want them to SEE me, period, and not run me over. Because the best thing about getting around on a bike is just the pleasure of riding it. As long as nobody creams you into the pavement.
And speaking of death (sorry!), my great-aunt died last week, on the evening of December 27 – her 101st birthday. She was well enough earlier in the day to enjoy her party and even have some birthday cake, and spent her last hours on earth visiting with her grand-daughters who have been taking care of her for the last few years. I'm going to hold the image of that good death in mind over the next year or so, whenever some of these other upcoming events start threatening to disturb my equanimity ....
The Jeeps, for instance, is visibly deteriorating every day now. On New Year's morning, as I was standing half-asleep in the hall waiting for the bathroom, I heard a sound like a bucket of water pouring off the roof – and finally realized it was Jeepers, standing in the middle of the living room releasing the entire contents of his bladder onto the carpet not six feet away from me. I yelled at him to stop, but of course he didn't, or couldn't – or maybe he just couldn't hear me. It was the first time that's happened and now it's happened again every day since. Not just a little dribbling or "accident," but full-on, full-volume drainage.
I don't know if he just doesn't like the cold outside, or if he's not strong enough to get out there on time, or if he has a kidney infection or the beginnings of kidney failure ... I just don't know. But starting tonight he's going to be staying in the kitchen or the bathroom when we can't be there to keep an eye on him. We're already planning to replace all the flooring in the house this year, but I don't think that's any reason to Not try to keep the place decent for as long as it takes.
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