A September Day

"I don't know how to explain to you

that you should care about other people."

Kayla Chadwick

Today I decided to take a personal day and head out on a century.  It  was predicted to be a perfect riding day, starting in the fifties and only getting into the seventies.  Time has taught me how quickly these days fly.  Only yesterday it was spring, and here it is over and winter fast approaches. Arm warmers, work gloves to cover my riding gloves, and vest are called for, but all will be shed before the day has ended.  Fall approaches after kicking out the 90 degree days that were so out of place for the season, despite the fact that I can say I savored the heat.  Each year brings a greater appreciation of the warmth of summer.  Cold becomes harder on me, more demanding, seeming to seep into my bones and my soul.

 Leaves are beginning to turn, whispering of what is to come, and I wonder if we will have brilliant or muted colors this year. They sparsely litter the ground in places, and I like the crunch they make when I purposefully target them with my wheels.  Walnut and persimmon stains are on the roads in places, and I think of how I used to gather the black walnuts as Lloyd loved them so. While there is not yet frost, mist hangs in the morning air and the sun shines on the dew turning the fields into silvery wonderlands. Gossamer, silver strands of spider webs, beaded up with dew, gloriously beautiful to behold.

The dogs along the route seem to like the change of weather, laying chase on numerous occasions, though often I stop to confront them if it is obvious that I can't outrun them. Better to be bitten standing and not be pulled down from the bike.  Normally, it seems to end their fun. They sniff me, turn tail, walk back to their yard, disappointed that I have ruined their chase, eyes reproachful.  As always, I vow I will start bringing dog treats on rides, but I know it is unlikely that I will follow through since I have had this thought many times and never brought it to reality.  I think about whether I will get a dog when I retire and have time,  something I have considered, and if so if I will get two because I have come to believe that most animals are happier with others of their species available. It was the reason I insisted we adopt two kittens, though we ended up with three after I found Elizabeth abandoned at a deserted intersection. Squirrels busily cross the road, mouths full, tails bushy, cursing me for causing them concern when they are trying to prepare. At times they seem almost suicidal, running right in front of me as I do my best to avoid them.

I think for a bit of couples, and how I have come to accept that in all likelihood, the rest of my life will be spent essentially alone. I am not an easy woman, and even if I were statistics are against me as the grief therapist pointed out to us not long after my husband died.   I have come to appreciate new aspects of my husband after his death though that may seem odd.  Not many men would tolerate these ceaseless roaming, this need for solitude at times, the depths of my passion. Not many men could allow me the freedom he did, even encouraged, all the while loving me.

I see signs of the harvest: corn cobs strewn along the sides of roads, cropped fields, but the only thing I actually see being brought in today is tobacco.  Long trucks hog the road trailing dust and pass on their way to the barns where it will hang as it dries prior to being sold.  Hard work, harvesting tobacco. It is one farm job I have never done, but I have heard about it from my husband and others.  I smile thinking of a time the department attorney asked what a woman we were working with did and I replied, "Stripping."  He thought I meant tobacco:  I didn't.

My mind, as it does so often, turns to retirement, perhaps because it draws ever nearer and I wonder briefly if I will ever tire of having the freedom to ride.  I wonder if it will be less special because of its availability.  I wonder if I will regain my strength with being able to ride regularly, for I do not kid myself:  I have been weak the past few years.  Age or lack of time on the bike or a combination of the two?  It just is hard to know.  And I also, since the accidents last year, have pain in my neck and back sometimes. Is there a brevet left in this old body and mind? I think that I will remain a member of RUSA another year or two to see.  In the end, I decide, it really doesn't matter so long as I can hold onto the love of the ride.

I wonder if retirement is a mistake.  I do not need an overabundance, but the idea of not being able to care for myself, physically or financially, is repugnant to me.  And I no longer have my husband to catch me if I fall and to bring the smile back to my face as he reminds me of what is important and how problems can be solved.  I miss the way he made me smile. "And in the morning when I rise, you bring a tear of joy to my eyes and tell me everything is gonna be alright."  (Kenny Loggins) He cared for me.  And he cared for other people. 

The above words about caring for other people, words I read on Face Book during the health care debacle, come to mind, because retirement brings scary things to mind, like health care.  These words have, for some reason, resonated with and haunted me since I read them. They are poignant and full of meaning and sad. Fortunately, as far as I know, I am in good health, but I wonder when Americans accepted that we could not outdo the world and have something, make something, better than the rest of the world as we have with so many other achievements.  Where along the line did we accept that they could do something, have something, that we could not?  For awhile I think about the illusions I had as a child or what and who we were, as a country and a people.  What role did my parents play?  What role did the school play?  How much does the growing wealth disparity encourage this growing division?  And I realize I am not smart enough to solve this problem.  Perhaps nobody is.

I think about the upcoming holidays, and how the loss of my mother will irrevocably change them. I spent Christmas Day with my mother every year of my life, so this will be a first. Tradition on holidays is important to me, and we still have many of them, but this one will leave a big hole.  There is no way around it:  losing people or furry family members just plain sucks. 

Suddenly I realize that in the midst of my reverie, the wind has picked up, but I am almost home.  What a day for a ride on the bike.  Lightly traveled, rural roads with plenty of time to day dream and think all while surrounded by beauty.  Not one honk.  Nobody flipped me the bird.  Nobody pulled a gun and pointed it at me.  No flat tires.  Life is good and tonight I will sleep well.  I hope that I always care about other people, but today was, perhaps, about caring for myself.  That is important as well.