About a month ago, I stopped going to the gym. Even before the gym was closed because of the pandemic, Elysha asked me to stop going, and I knew she was right.
I thought this would mean that I’d need to begin running again, which is not something I enjoy doing. My knee eventually starts to ache from prolonged periods of running, and it just isn’t any fun. I’ll run on a treadmill at the gym from time to time, alternating between it and the stationary bikes and various non-impact elliptical machines, but to run every day sounded miserable.
Then I remembered my bike.
I spent my childhood atop my black Huffy. I loved riding my bike, and I still do. I just don’t anymore. The kids are still on training wheels, so they can’t travel very far, and Elysha doesn’t enjoy riding in traffic.
But I thought my bike might be a suitable replacement for the gym.
That was an understatement.
I have fallen back in love with bike riding. I’m riding about 10 miles a day, up and down the streets and paths of my town, and I have discovered neighborhoods and oddities that I have never seen before. Nooks and crannies of our town that I’d never seen or bothered to notice before.
Every day that I ride, especially in the midst of this pandemic, I see something new. Things I’ve never seen before.
I drive by folks standing on the edge of driveways, engaged in loud conversations with neighbors still sitting on their stoops.
Fathers and sons play catch in the middle of empty streets as a Little League passes by, unplayed.
Pedestrians make wide arcs around one another, sometimes stepping off the sidewalk and into the street to keep their distance.
Someday I will look back on this time in our lives like an episode from the Twilight Zone, but today, it’s our new normal.
But I suspect that I will still be biking. Yes, I will no doubt return to the gym when it is safe, but I can’t imagine being foolish enough to stop biking again. A new, more comfortable seat would be good when the bike shop opens again, but until then, I’ll keep pedaling my sore ass up and down the streets of my town and the adjacent towns.
It’s a joyous way to spend an hour or two.
Just this week, I saw the following:
A Newington Public School security car covered in the flowers of appreciative students and parents.
One of those enormous chairs on the front lawn on someone’s home.
What is up with these ridiculous behemoths? Why do people put giant pieces of furniture on their lawns? It makes no sense. And adjoining hay bales?
This makes no sense.
While riding on a trail behind a church, I saw this “No Dumping” sign and thought, “Seriously? I can pay $100 and dump all of that extra furniture in my basement here? And the baby swings, too? That’s not a bad price at all.”
As I once explained to an irate librarian who wasn’t pleased about the length of time that my book was overdo, “A fine is simply the price that someone gets to pay to break a rule. It’s like a contract. I keep the book longer than it’s permitted, and I happily pay the predetermined fine. If you want me to return the book sooner, don’t make keeping it so affordable.”
She wasn’t happy with my rationale.
I won’t do it, of course, but dumping, at least in this particular spot, it very affordable.
I finished off an audiobook in the midst of my ride last week. I pulled over to the curb, opened my app, chose a new book, and hit play. Less than a minute later, I turned onto this street:
Elton Drive.
The book I had started listening to seconds before:
Me, a memoir by Elton John.
This is known as Coincidentalism, capitalized because it’s a religion, founded by myself about a year ago.
We currently have a congregation of three.
I’ll explain more later in the week, but for now, I saw that sign and thought, “Wow. Coincidentalism is at work in the world today.”
At least something is working.
