Human Interludes 001: The (un?)Willing Cyclist
Beautiful observations of random folks with a dash of over-active imagination. Take a moment out of your day to delight in your fellow humankind.
The (un?)Willing Cyclist
There are only two ways to get in to my parents’ house inside their gated community; the bottom security guard gate station or the top security gate. The community itself, nestled in the very northernmost part of The Valley, is surrounded by a literal canyon with a creek running through the bottom. The canyon is like a mote; in fact the bottom gate is at the end of a bridge that you have to drive across before even getting to the drawbridge…er, guard shack.
No alligators, though. Phew.
Usually, I take the bottom gate, which takes me up a steep, long hill with only 1 possible street you can turn on before hitting the destination. The top gate, by contrast, is flat and winding, with many left and right-hand turns to be made onto identical looking streets with rows of clone houses and perfectly manicured lawns lining each one. The main street from this gate is flanked on either side by a smooth, wide sidewalk and occasional benches for casual…sitting(?) along the way. Cute iron statues serving as doggy waste bag dispensers and trash receptacles fill out the manmade elements of otherwise green and lush landscaping, making it an ideal respite for families and older people in search of a quieter life in these foothills.
Sometimes, I take the top gate. About 80% of the time, I encounter this delightful vision:
About halfway down the main drag, on the lefthand side, just past the curviest part of the road, there is a rest bench as described above. It is squarely opposite an intersection to another, smaller, idyllic side street leading to the northernmost part of the community. The first time I noticed that there was a bench there was when it was occupied by an older gentleman, probably in his late 60’s. He has that hard-protruding belly that some older men get with skinny legs and arms. He has on just-above-the-knee length shorts and a collared shirt (which I imagine that to him no doubt counts as a t-shirt) with white crew socks pulled straight up out of his white-ish, thick-bottomed tennis shoes.
He sits squarely in the middle of the bench — alone — with his arms on the backrest outstretched to each side. He stares ahead into the side-street across the intersection. A bicycle lays on the sidewalk to his right, in front of the bench. I pause when I see him, at first startled that in 27 years of driving this road, I never noticed the iron bench there, but more urgently wondering if he’s ok or needs help. As I slowly approach the stop sign, I determine that he’s just taking a break from his ride. He looks…is it tired? As I cross the intersection and drive by, sneaking another glance, I change my mind.
Grumpy. He looks grumpy, sitting on that bench in front of his discarded bike.
I giggle as I drive away, imagining scenarios. Perhaps today was the first day of a new fitness resolution, and he’s testing out a new bike. Stopping a long way from his home somewhere in the massive gated kingdom surrounding us after a hard yet satisfying first ride.
Perhaps he only went a few blocks and decided to try more on his next ride, determined to improve.
Either way, I smile for the rest of my drive.
The next time I enter through the top gate, a few weeks later, I come towards the same intersection and am doubly delighted at what I see; it’s him again! On the same bench, bike in the same, discarded location to his right, arms outstretched with elbows up on the back of the bench. Still grumpy pants.
By the 6th or 7th time I see him in this real-life deja vu, I come to a new, quite satisfying conclusion in the realm of his made-up backstory. I have decided that his family, long nagging him to take care of his health (because they want him around for as long as possible!), finally got him to agree to take up biking around the community a few times a week. This would allow him to get some fresh air, work his lungs and various muscles and reduce his blood pressure all while enjoying something he clearly loves: sitting down. After being stubbornly opposed to any form of structured fitness, one day he finally and suddenly gave in to the bike idea and stopped fighting it. His family is thrilled.
What his family doesn’t know is that a few times a week, he takes his bike out, rides it just outside the line of vision from home, and posts up on his bench. He throws his bike down triumphantly each time, and passes the feigned amount of cycling time sitting grumpily — and happily — on his bench. He delights in his little secret, knowing that he outwitted everyone at home all the while scoring some quality alone time outside, staring up at the foothills framing the street he looks out upon. If any of his family were to suddenly walk or drive by, he could hop back up on the bike and tell them he was just taking a little break — he’s really putting in the gym time out here!
I drive by him now and grin at the mere sighting of him up ahead in the distance, owning his community bench proudly and denouncing the bicycle at his feet. I know his little secret and it is perfectly fine with me.
Thank you, sir. I salute you and your bench, whatever reason brings you there on my jaunts through the top gate.
