It would almost be funny if it wasn't so pitiful and dangerous... my often foolhardy solo exploits on mountains and mountain bikes. Senior Games (that's what I call them) have a way of getting me into "situations" on "playgrounds" that cause me to wonder if this might not be a good time to have a face to face fess-up with "Truth."
"What "Truth?'" you ask. I'm talking about the Truth we all must come to grips with eventually... a Truth that feels like a prickly haired noose tightening around my sagging neckline as I jostle on stage with Hangman Grim over the ending of the third act in my three act life.
Truth can be a stranger to menopausal males... stranger than fiction. I am that stranger... thrust into a fictional land. In the harsh light reflection of my mirror stands a stranger; who is that guy? Truth is my 1950 birth-year, and the aches and pains price paid for doing today what was once free and easy. Truth is the steady advance of lead footed reflexes, slumping posture and happy hour-like imbalance. Truth is "The Dance," the Limp-Step Two-Step of one's tired shadow on a long hike home from glory. Truth is a foul stench in the nostrils of this aging athlete... it is the fast food plaque of hardened arteries... the shortness of breath in quivering muscles... desperately straining to take orders from a mind still in it's prime in a room without mirrors.
Courage trumps Truth but only to the point where foolishness begins... then we're on our own. It's a "grey" area, if you'll pardon the pun, there is no demarcation line nor sign. I go there occasionally in order to steel a little glory and rewrite the Third Act. No harm; no foul... just testing limits. But it's a rigged game; the ending is fixed and odds are against me. Eventually the "house" will win and all that's left to show for one's flash-in-the-pan existence is offspring and vivid memories of what we did... where we did it and who we touched.
I stole a little glory from Hangman Grim yesterday... trying to rewrite the third act. I got away with playing the part of "the fool on the hill," a sixty something on his 29'er mountain bike... streaking unscathed through a mine field of red rocks and booby traps. For one sweet moment I left Father Time behind to eat my dust. How sweet it was. But my pal Buddha says not so fast my son, "Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth." I run on borrowed time... we all do... and "borrowed time" is a little like the Grand Canyon; incomprehensible.
Go forth and play.
Having survived a couple crash and burns while riding this amazing blend of heaven and hell red rock/loose rock landscape... one hand clutching handle bar the other fumbling with video... I'm pleased to be alive and present highlights of both my solo adventure and a previous ride with Bobbie. Next time I will try to remember to take the Go Pro Hands Free Helmet Cam.
Here's a direct link to my Youtube video
In case it doesn't play well below.
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