An Old Friend
Cycling Along the Bay
Around the back, leaning against the weathered boards, my friend waits for me. Though we used to spend more time together — nearly all summer throughout high school — we have hardly shared one another’s company recently. But we always spend a few precious days along the bay together every year.
I walk with my bike out to the short road leading right down to the water, getting acquainted once again.
This place has memories for both of us.
I set the nearest pedal up, put my weight into it to start the momentum and we are off, heading for the road that winds along the bay. We turn and I am pedaling into my childhood once more.
Trees line the sides of the road — thick cedar (what a wondrous smell!) — until suddenly they open up to give way to the shore.
Have they grown at all? Or have they, out of sheer satisfaction at being blessed to be rooted in this special patch of earth, paused their lives so that all will remain as-is? Though this cannot be true, I smile at the thought of them waiting patiently each year for both of us to return and breathe them in.
We pick up speed, and now the cottages are rushing past. We turn down a side road that leads out to an island shrouded in greenery. We decide to loop a few times, sharing in the indescribable joy of the circle. Sometimes we stick to the paved road, sometimes we indulge the gravel for texture.
We emerge and veer left, back towards home, but we’re not ready to finish yet. Passing our starting point, we head towards an old harbor. I used to fish off the end of the dock with my father when I was younger and even the old boats haven’t changed a bit; still waiting for us as they do year after year for the briefest of visits. So we grant their wishes, how can we not?
On a whim, we decide to keep going past the harbor — we are feeling reckless. This is where my childhood ends; I have no memories of cycling further than this. Isn’t it a strange thing, memory’s ability to blanket a place with longing, yearning, and meaning? How a step beyond the boundary pulls you back into today?
After breathing in the clear sweet air a little longer, we turn and head for home. The shore now greets us on the right and a wind sweeps across the road. Gulls cry, rocks sunbathe, and we continue past them in silence, taking in as much as we can as fuel for another year, for we shall not return and be reunited again until then.
We pull back into the driveway and continue around the back where we say our goodbyes until next year. Remaining hand-in-hand a moment longer, we smile, and part.
I know that, being only once a year, our ride along the shore is irreplaceable; I know when we will see each other again.
© Phillip Psutka 2020, All Rights Reserved
