Greenie in NYC

“You’re not from around here, are you?” asked the lady behind the glass.

“How'd you know?” I asked.

“Well… trying to use the subway card for the Metro North TRAIN was not my first clue, but let’s just stick with that one.”

The glass lady’s wry grin told me she was enjoying my embarrassment way more than I was. I was indeed out of my element. This was my first day in New York City ever. And navigating the cavernous Grand Central Station was a little overwhelming and I had just realized that I stuck out like a zebra in a pride of lions.

I had wondered what was special about this place called New York City and what of the lore I’d heard over the years was true and what was not. The first truism was racked up very quickly. I paid to ride a shuttle from LaGuardia Airport to my hotel in Midtown Manhattan. That ride was scarier and more thrilling than any roller coaster I have ever ridden. An Australian family shared the van with me and they were very talkative while we were waiting to get going. As soon as the driver strapped on his 6 point harness and slipped on his driving gloves, all chit chat ceased while we each were compelled to contemplate the great beyond in our own special ways. There do not appear to be any rules on NYC streets. Nor did there appear to be any personal space between cars. I never actually felt us scrape another car, but the essence of yellow taxi paint was all over our shuttle. I kissed the ground when I was finally dropped off at my hotel. A beat cop jabbed me in the side with his night stick and told me to get off the ground and go sleep it off before he threw me into the drunk tank.

My mission in the morning was simple. I just had to get on the Metro North train and take it to White Plains NY. I honestly didn’t know there was a difference between the trains and the subways. I bought a subway ticket on the way in, thinking I was fitting in pretty nicely and feeling quite proud of myself. But none of the subways went to White Plains so I just started walking with the sea of people, and walking and walking… I finally came to the massive Grand Central Station where the kind glass lady sold me an actual train ticket. At first, we were told it was delayed due to some “police activity”, but after about 15 minutes, I was able to board the train. The seats in my car faced each other, 3 seats on each side. There was so little room that only 2 passengers could sit on each side and our knees had to be aligned beside the person’s knees who sat across from us. Kinda made us all friends from the start, though it was more of a physical friendship than anything else. Halfway to my destination, we stopped and were told there had been an accident and trains were backed up and we had to wait. Soon, we heard that an earlier train had hit and killed a pedestrian. There had been some light grumbling about the delays before, but with this news, there was a paradigm shift that brought with it talk of life and gratitude and respect. It was pretty cool to feel a sense of memorial to some extent at the word that a fellow commuter had died.

At my destination, the courthouse in White Plains, the X-ray guy asked me if I had a camera in by backpack. He told me I had to leave my camera with them while I completed my visit. I reached past my webcam-bearing snapshot-capable laptop and almost dropped my phone with built-in 5GB camera and handed the nice man my tourist camera so that I would not be able to take pictures in the building. When I was ready to leave, I found I had lost my receipt for my camera but I was able to talk him into believing it was mine after a few minutes. I then went looking for a bathroom and I heard, “Hey! You! Where you goin’?” Camera guy was the one asking.

“Looking for a bathroom…”, I told him.

“You’ll have to leave your camera here”

I assured him there was nothing in the bathroom I was going to take any pictures of, but he was unrelenting.

“You’re not from around here”, he stated, not seeking an answer.

I rode a shuttle back to the train station – this was in upstate NY, so much more peaceful than my previous shuttle adventure. The driver chatted amiably with the young lady passenger and me while we made our way through the city. When they found I was a greenie to the area, they had many suggestions of where I should get dinner that night. The girl suggested going to Soho – I’m guessing this is the Salmon District? Not sure about that suggestion… extremely nice people, though.

After getting back to the train station and having mastered the idea that trains and subways were different, I decided to take the subway for a quick hop, just to say I did. I ran my subway card through the slot at the turnstile and the display told me I had enough points for 1 premium foot-long and a cookie. I realized this was the wrong card and got out the subway card I had purchased in the morning. I tried running it through the slot and nothing happened. I tried again and again. I felt the pressure of people waiting behind me, so I gave up and moved out of the way to let them pass. A kind lady behind me pointed out that the display said to try again. I mumbled something about trying again later at which point she took my card from my hand. I started to scream for help, thinking I was being mugged, but before I could get out a second screech, she slid my card through the slot and the display said I was A-Ok. She smiled and gave me my card back and smiled, “You’re not from around here, are you?” I thanked her profusely and joined the throng of humanity.

I am now safely back in my hotel room, relaxing to the car horns and the occasional siren and the opera music going on in the next room. One thing I had always heard was that New Yorkers were rude. As I think back on my day, I have only found kindness and respect. Okay, I think glass lady was kinda making fun of me, but can you blame her?!

The Sting

I felt a tiny sting on my arm and casually brushed at it and that’s when I saw the stinger without the bee, surging poison into me. Some witnesses later gave statements that I jumped up and down and screamed like a little girl. I don’t know how my phone dialed 911. I’m pretty sure I handled it like a man. As Huffygirl wrung out the handkerchief she used to wipe the tear…,er…sweat from my cheeks, I tried to get back to getting our gear in order. We were at the boat ramp at Cutler Reservoir near Newton and were getting ready to launch a kayak we had borrowed. I felt a little out of place as there were a bunch of fisherman with their boats and trucks and who were talking about fishin’ and fishin’ injuries and stuff. Until the bee sting of course! I jumped into the conversation by pointing out the slight swelling around the actual sting location. The guy they called “Lefty” agreed it looked pretty pathetic. It was a proud moment for me. Until a little girl carrying a stringer of fish to her dad’s truck loudly proclaimed, “You don’t scream anything like me. More like a big baby!” I decided this was a good time to slip the kayak into the water while the sound of laughter filled the air behind us…

 

We paddled quickly and efficiently through the shallow water. “I LIKE making circles”, I insisted when Bobbi sweetly asked where the heck we were going. She liked that answer and suggested that I had been working so hard that maybe I might want to take a break while she paddled for a bit. She is such a sweetheart!

This was our first time on Cutler and it was really interesting. We found the remains of what looked like the old original dam and we maneuvered through several cool channels formed by rocks and trees. Several times we saw large dark birds circling overhead that seemed to be watching us very closely. I think they saw the swelling from my bee sting and figured it was only a matter of time. Occasionally, I held my forearm under water to cool it down. Huffygirl said she appreciated me doing that ‘cause it kept us from going too fast. Once, I thought I was going into shock but it turned out I just needed to sneeze. I don’t know how my phone dialed 911. Huffygirl told me she thought my whimpering was very manly and she shooed the big scary birds away.

Huffygirl paddled us back to the boat ramp where the fishermen were looking perplexed at a pile of cash, coins and a couple of fancy lures on a tailgate. After staring at me for a full 30 seconds, then back at the pile, Lefty asked loudly, “Didn’t ANYONE bet that the buzzards WOULDN’T get him?!?” The little girl stuck out her tongue at me. After loading up our gear, my sweet companion asked if we needed to go to the emergency room. I looked at the sting which had ballooned to almost the size of a whole dime and felt faintness coming on. We heard a siren in the distance. Honestly, I don’t know how my phone dialed 911…

Kayak Border Patrol

Evening light on Jones Island

The sky was black with the stars bringing only a hint of light to the shoreline while we slipped the double kayak into the water. We paddled silently into the darkness. Our quest was something prevalent in the murky depths surrounding the San Juan Island Sound and only visible during the night. We were seeking a living light… and we found more than we bargained for… A symphony!

 About 8 months previous, at the start of one of the colder Utah winters on record, I was looking for something to mark my 50^th birthday coming up in July of 2013. I’d read over the years about sea kayaking in the islands off the Northeast coast and around the San Juan Islands at the northwest corner of Washington. It had always seemed like a far off dream but I decided it was time to make this one come true. I did some research online and found an outfitter that seemed just right. I emailed with Tim at San Juan Kayak Expeditions, based in a little town called Friday Harbor on San Juan Island, and the plan was put in place and the date set.

When we finally met Tim and our 2 guides (Tara and Will) in Friday Harbor, we were excited for the unknown adventure that lay in front of us. Well, Huffygirl was actually feeling a little anxious about being in a teeny little kayak in large bodies of water for several days, but she had decided that she was going forward in spite of her fears. 4 days later, Tara asked us while we were paddling toward the take-out place of our journey what our favorite highlights were. Both of us were overwhelmed in trying to pick favorites from a smorgasbord of over-the-top experiences. At one point a couple of days earlier, I was trying really hard to permanently etch one of the magnificent views into my mind and Huffygirl asked if I was okay. I guess it’s hard to remember stuff really good without looking like you need to go to the bathroom or something. In trying to answer Tara’s question, here are a few highlights…

Panarama from Honeymoon Bay on Henry Island

-          Putting the paddle in the water for the very first stroke at the start of this trip. This had been a dream until that specific moment and now it was real. That is an amazing feeling.

-          There were so many bald eagles standing guard in trees along our 37 mile kayaking route. So majestic, it was if they were standing guard against unseen enemies, protecting all of us. I know they were really looking for surfacing sea life and helpless baby seals to snatch up, but it was way more fun to think of them as keeping us safe from border-crossing Canadians and such. We never tired of seeing the eagles…

-          Speaking of Canadians, Tara told us that she had been going over the map with members of a previous expedition when one lady asked what there was to stop Canadians from just crossing the border to the USA?! This caused us to watch the waters we crossed a lot more closely. We never saw anyone swimming but we also did not see any kind of floating border fence. Not only is it clear we’re doing very little to stem this international threat, but we saw sailboats and cruisers that were blatantly flying their Canadian flags high and proud. And as if to confuse the authorities (and the bald eagles), some boats even had both Canadian AND American flags! Clearly this is a problem that is not getting enough national attention.

Relaxed paddling behind Speiden Island

-          The seals! We saw so many either sunning on the shore or swimming and playing in the water. We learned that we were supposed to stay 200 yards from any seals we saw on the shore, but they clearly had no such rules as they sometimes appeared very close to our kayaks. One curious seal followed us for a bit as we fought the current behind Spieden Island. I guess he wanted to tell his Orca friends in case we biffed it in the rough water. Will told us not to look the seals in the eyes. I thought he was kidding so I stared straight at the next one we saw. I immediately felt a desire to eat mackerel and swim among the kelp beds and I cried out for Huffygirl. She held her paddle in front of my face and it broke the lock. I never looked another seal in the eyes.

-          Speaking of rough water, our large water channel crossings were amazing. A kayak sure seems small compared to just about anything when you are in rough choppy water from currents and wakes of both US and Canadian vessels. It was a perspective and part of the experience that had me on edge, attentive and aware that this was not the place to make a mistake in balance. Very cool.

From our tent on Posey Island

-          Every night, we got to place our tents in the most amazing spots! Always facing the water and always breathtaking.

-          Hiking completely around Yellow Island, a nature preserve with a live-in curator in the middle of the Sound. So much history and beauty. And some of the best skipping rocks I have ever seen! Seemed odd that is was called Yellow Island and there was not a single bathroom on the whole place…

-          Posey Island – maybe 100 yards long and 50 yards wide, covered with short trees and amazing views. We camped here one night and had the whole island to ourselves. We found tiny crabs, Spider Crabs and Hermit crabs by the dozens in the tide pools on the shore. The one little deer that kept us company on the island and we named Posy was so sweet. We kayaked over near Battleship Island to watch the sun set over the Canadian horizon. It was absolutely amazing to see the sunset from a kayak… It was hard to pull ourselves away to head back to our little island.

-          Jumping off an outcropping into the cold, clear, beautiful water of our own little lagoon on Jones Island. Will and I jumped in and each of us just about ran on top of the water trying to get out, it was so cold! But it was too fun and we kept jumping. Tara jumped too, but not before spending about 15 minutes talking herself into it (and trying to ignore the excellent humorous taunts from the other 2 jumpers who shall remain anonymous). I also found a large crab in a tide pool that pinched me hard! And a raccoon ransacked Will’s tent and stole a roll of toilet paper. We figured he must have been out and was desperate. This private lagoon was also where we went in search of the bioluminescence…

Sunset watching from kelp beds by Battleship Island

I had read about bioluminescence but could not really create a picture in my mind of what it really was. Tim told me Tara would take me out to see it. Tara had never seen it either, other than hints of it from shore. So at around midnight, we slipped into a kayak and pushed away from the shore into the darkness not exactly sure what we were going to find. And like magic, with the very first paddle stroke, the water lit up. Everywhere we disturbed the calm water, with the paddles or the kayak or our hands, colored light formed and swirled and trailed, marking our path in vivid display 20 feet behind us. I was in the back of the kayak and got to see the lights flowing off Tara’s paddle into the path of my own. Easy paddling produced more distinct and individual light streams while more vigorous effort lit up the sea around us. But the most fun was to drift calmly, letting everything go dark, then leaning over the edge with my face close to the water and using my hand to splash and swirl through though the water. It felt as if I was conducting my own Fantasia-like show. It reminded me so much of a movie that I saw earlier in the year called Life of Pi. I was giddy and felt as if I’d discovered a hidden wonderland in the Puget Sound. This was definitely a personal highlight during a trip of one pinnacle after another.

 

This was the kind of trip that was a full-contact sensory experience and one that I hope to repeat soon. Huffygirl and I were discussing just this morning who we know who might want to join us in helping the bald eagles in monitoring the border for those pesky Canadians…

I said Corona Pass, not pass the Corona!

Huffygirl and I decided Colorado was a good place to spend a week celebrating our country’s independence. It was also the week following our wedding and we were told the moon would look like honey. We looked and looked and it appeared more like a thin slice of moon pie than honey. Anyway, Fraser, Colorado became our home base for a few days and today, July 4th, we were headed to Corona Lake, near the top of Rollins Pass. We had explored some mountain biking paths earlier in the week and had visited the wildlife and the glaciers in Rocky Mountain National Park and now wanted to hike to a little backcountry lake for a relaxed day. The trail description stated, “Corona Lake is a 2 mile out and back trail located near Nederland, Colorado and is good for all skill levels.” There were other words like beautiful and historic in the description as well, but I latched on to the words, “good for all skill levels.” That was MY kind of trail!! Even though I trip over rocks a lot and get really tired, I have been walking for so dang long (almost 50 years!), that I felt I had to be on the upper end of the skill level scale.

Huffygirl called from the other room, “I have the first aid kit, dear. All set to go!” This was one of 7 first aid kits we received as wedding gifts. I have the best friends ever!

We allotted ourselves a whole afternoon since it was a pretty good drive into the mountains to get to the trailhead and we brought along some light raingear since it was July 4^th and it always rains on Independence Day. One of the first challenges was to find the dirt road that would take us to the Corona Lake trail. We used a little tourist map of Winter Park and got real close, I mean real close, but couldn’t quite get there on our initial attempts. We found a small road that we thought was right, and tried following some mountain bikers who seemed to be headed in the right direction. After a while, Huffygirl thought we might miss the evening fireworks at that pace so we gave up on them. We asked a local who told us the road was too rough and narrow and steep for my little Honda Civic and that he couldn’t tell us due to liability concerns. He looked straight at my passenger and said in a very deliberate and raspy voice, “A man’s got to know his limitations, Ma’am. If he has the brains to, I reckon.” Then he wished her good luck and he and his Gran Torino disappeared in a cloud of dust.

After a couple of failed attempts, we finally found ourselves on the proper road and seemed to be headed into the right direction. I was a little worried about the sign that said 4X4 vehicles only because I assume it meant 4 wheels and 4 passengers and we only had the 2 of us… The road itself was pretty rough and curvy, and we found ourselves adding lots of turns in the attempt to avoid rocks and potholes and small canyons. The Civic has a full 3 inches of clearance with the tires fully filled so I was sure we’d be fine. There were 2 spots where I got out and had to figure out a path through some obstacles. Huffygirl drove while I directed. She is always so good about noticing the cool sights… “Oh, at this angle, I can see straight to the bottom of this ravine!! And Sweetie, the drinks spilled from the drink holders again… ”

At some point, a big Jeep passed us with a guy and a girl – I think they were on a date. I’m pretty sure we could hear a female voice sharing, “I thought you told me this was a Jeep road that only big, tough, cool Jeeps could drive up?! I thought you said you would take me on a road that only a real man could handle??!! THAT WAS A CIVIC WITH 2 INCHES OF CLEARANCE! And that guy was clearly NOT a real man!” I was about to clarify that we had 3 inches of clearance but they bounced over a ledge in the road and were gone…

We rounded one corner and came upon an old railroad trestle bridge and decided we had to hike to it. It was raining pretty hard at this point and the hike to the railroad bridge was pretty steep, but we felt we had to see this piece of history up close. After slipping and scratching and digging, I finally reached the top where Huffygirl was patiently waiting. Standing next to a nice road, she sweetly asked, “Is this the same road we were already on?”

“No way”, I told her. It was clear that the little speck down below that was our car was on a very different road than the one that went right by this railroad bridge. And I’m sure the guy who drove by in the big truck who told us our windows were down was talking about a different champagne-colored Honda. On a completely different road.

The trestle bridge was pretty awesome. I squeaked past the big red and black “Danger” sign (they put it in an awkward place that really made it hard to get around) and scrambled onto the remains of the bridge and pretended I was a train (“Choo, choo!!”) and admired the pretty view. There were plenty of creaks and groans from the bridge (everyone’s a weight critic) and Huffygirl took some pictures and asked if we should maybe go roll our windows up. So we headed back down, traversing the small stream and waterfalls that had formed in the steep trail and got back to the car much faster that we had gotten to the bridge. We opened the doors to let out some water, rolled up the windows, and decided we’d better head back down the road before we slipped off the side.

The way down was much faster as we were generally able to just float along with the small uprooted trees and boulders that were being washed downhill. In spite of the rain, the mountains and squirrels and lakes and glimpses of the green valley below made this a spectacular drive. I was thinking this was one of the prettiest roads I had been on when Huffygirl brought me back to the present…

“Paddle, Huffyman, paddle!”

Takes Two to Tandem

July has been a full and exhilarating month. So much has happened, adventure-wise, that it’s hard to know how to get it all on paper (figuratively speaking, of course). So rather than try to cover it all, over the next few weeks I will try to share little adventure vignettes. Maybe I should call them adventurettes? Or possibly vignettures…?

Anyhow, the way I see it, adventures are made up of a lot of little decisions and discoveries as well as climbs and vistas in a wide variety of locations and time frames and levels of importance. So I’ll start with an adventure that will now encompass all future adventures… A little thing called marriage.

June 29th seemed like a great day for a ride. My old biking buddy Paul rode next to me up the hill in Hyde Park, UT past tall cottonwoods and grass fields and picnickers. The picnickers were looking at us funny like there was something wrong with us. Could it be they recognized me as that Huffyman dude and were just waiting for me to hit a tree branch and go flying? Or was it that we weren't wearing helmets? Ya, it was the helmets!

It certainly wasn't the fact that we were both wearing full formal suits…

As we reached the top of the hill overlooking a beautifully decorated pavilion in Lion’s Park, inspirational music drifted up and beckoned to us from below. This was our cue and we 2 old guys started our descent down the rocky and weedy hill to the small, well-dressed group below. This ride into my own wedding had been a closely guarded secret and there were many surprised guests.

“What’s that idiot think he’s doing?! Bobbi – it’s not too late to change your mind!”

“That’s Huffyman! He’s gonna biff it for sure! Quick Marge, get this on video!”

It was fitting that the short ride was with Paul, who had been with me on my very first mountain bike ride 16 years earlier. During those first few rides so many years in the past, we ran into a lone rider who had just moved into the area and was looking for friends. This lone rider, Greg, was now waiting next to Bobbi in front of the gathered friends and family members where he would soon perform a beautiful wedding ceremony. Paul and I rode down the hill gloriously (my own description, not anyone else’s) and parked our bikes proudly (after I got my suit pant untangled from the chain) and took our places. My place was beside to the soon-to-be Huffygirl…

Words were shared, beautiful words. Words that celebrated each of us to the other and also united us in matrimony. And I finally got to kiss the bride!! These events were followed by greetings, congratulations, pictures, and then it was time to head off to start our new life together. And what would be more appropriate than heading off into the sunset (as much as there was at 1:30 in the afternoon) together on a tandem bike with a “Just Married” sign hanging from the rear reflector amidst a cloud of bubbles blown by all present!

In on a single and out on a 2-seater. I can’t think of a better way to start this grand adventure… 

Flames of Fun

I blame it on Marjean. That only makes sense since my she and Preston coaxed me out onto their sleepy street years ago to watch Marjean light the edge of her neighbor’s yard on fire. It was way cool how the flames crept along the edge of the grass, burning the fuzzy fuel, so how can I, or somebody I know, be blamed for succumbing to the bait once more.

The cottonwood trees have been tossing their fruit to the wind over the last few days and there has been a buildup of this fuzz along yards in my neighborhood. Umm, I mean the neighborhood of someone I know… So as this person I know and his girlfriend finished their nightly walk, someone (not saying who. Not that it matters at all) suggested getting some matches and his 2 teenage boys out to have a little fire show. After seeing the results of a lit match tossed in a pile of the cottonwood fuzz, the boys headed off to light their own little infernos. Of course, the only right way to do this would be to light the fuzz that was in front of our house. I mean my friend’s house. So when the neighbors wonder about the burned strip along their sidewalks in the morning, I will be wondering as well. After all, what kind of parent would be that bad of an example! So the girlfriend of this guy I know noticed a pile of the fuzz at the entrance of the tunnel that is the gutter that goes under my driveway. She threw a match at it and it caught in a small burst of flame that then burned under this guy I know’s driveway in a really cool flameout! Or so I heard. It was the kind of flame-out that might make one wonder what it would look like if one were to take some gasoline and pour it into the driveway tunnel so that the gas flows downhill to the other side of the driveway tunnel. Of course, that would be quite dangerous and not the thing one would do with impressionable teens around. But I’ll bet if someone did that, the flames would be impressive and the fire shooting out the downhill side of the driveway tunnel would be really awesome! If only…  Of course I’ve heard that gasoline actually burns for quite a while in a tunnel  (longer than one might comfortably expect) and one might get nervous that a non-understanding driver might call the fire department or police, especially if one heard distant sirens about this same time. One might be relieved when the flames finally died down and one could sneak inside the house, out of sight.

Oh how fun it was for this person I know to walk his girlfriend to her home and find really big piles of the fuelly fuzz in her driveway. I hear tell that they coaxed the daughter out of the house and had fun lighting the cottonwood fuzz piles on fire. I’m pretty sure the fun ended right there. I’m pretty sure that the fun didn't end when a bush with dry under-branches ventured too close to one of the burning piles and went up in a bonfire. Of course if that would ever happen in real life, there would be frantic running for a garden hose and even more frantic spraying at the bush (at the base or at the flames?!? – who knew that one would need to remember those lessons from firemen visiting one’s 3^rd grade class a few years back!).  

As fun as it is to think about these kinds of adventures, my evening was very quiet, spent watching “Backdraft” and seeing if I could salvage what’s left of my eyebrows while spraying deodorant around the room to get rid of that gasoline smell…

Curious Huffyman Gets His knee Scoped

When I was a little huffyboy and was getting ready to have my tonsils removed, I was given a copy of “Curious George Goes to the Hospital”. It was a great introduction for me as to what to expect at the hospital but mostly it made me excited for the popsicles I would get when it was all over. Spoiler alert: They don’t give you popsicles for knee surgery.

Bobbi, my next door neighbor, volunteered to be my driver and caretaker for the day so I could completely focus on crying and whining about my torn meniscus. On the way to the hospital I shared my deepest fears about hospitals and pain and childhood injustices. She was such a good listener and really calmed me with her understanding nods and smiles. When I told her where we needed to park at the hospital, she pulled an ear phone out of her ear and asked, “What did you say?” What a kidder.

Natalie, the surgical center receptionist, met Bobbi and me very politely. With a friendly smile, she asked me to fill out a medical history form. After filling out the form and detailing allergies and mental issues and seizures, I asked Natalie if she had anything for writer’s cramp. I noticed a sign on the counter offering interpreters. I asked for a German interpreter. Natalie explained that German did not seem to be my native language. I pointed out that the sign said nothing about that requirement. She laughed a polite laugh that told me I was not going to get an interpreter. Then she sweetly handed me a card with her name at the top and very nicely asked me to answer the questions on the card and place the completed card in a box. It was an evaluation of her services. I wrote that I did not feel Natalie took my request for an interpreter seriously and turned the card in. It helped take the edge off the disappointment I was feeling.

Next I was heighted and weighed. The weighing part was fun. I only weighed 93 pounds on their scale. There was a kg after the number. Not sure what that means, but I know I like the hospital ‘kg’ scale a lot better than the one I have at home!

The doctor was an hour behind schedule. This wasn’t typical of the Dr. Greg Hicken with whom I have ridden many mountain bike trails in Utah. One of my favorite “Dr. Greg” stories was one where I had returned to the parking area after wimping out on a hard ride and I waited for the rest of the hard-core group to return. First back was Greg, by himself. After about 5 minutes of chatting, all the rest of the riders appeared in a group. In the ensuing discussion about why he got back so soon, this guy who I was today trusting to use his best judgment while cutting my knee apart explained, “The sun was in my eyes and I couldn’t see which way the trail went, so I just guessed. I guess I made some good guesses today.” I just hoped that the bright surgical lamps didn’t get in his eyes today…

When the time finally came, the anesthesiologist had me sign some paper that said something about him trying his best to keep me alive and then he wheeled my bed down to the operating room. This was apparently a part of his job he thoroughly enjoyed, as he had orderlies scrambling out of the way and told me to make ambulance sounds for the corners. When we entered the brightly lit, temperature-challenged operating room, the anesthesiologist said, “Welcome to our meat locker”, in reference to the coldness I assumed. Then he told me there was a side of “beef” hanging in the corner, out of my sight. I asked if it was the last patient. No one laughed. I felt the beginning of a scream…

The kind anesthesiologist put a mask over my mouth and told me it would make me feel a little loopy. I assured him no one would notice any difference. I heard Dr. Greg agree with me somewhere in the background. While the kind doctor was sharpening knives on a grindstone, he asked about the music playing through the overhead speakers. It was something by Brad Paisley. I said I liked his song about fishing. The music changed and the last thing I remember was singing along with everyone in the room, “…I’mmmmm gonna miss her!!”, my favorite part of one of my favorite songs. Dark mist enveloped the meat locker as the blue-clad people gathered around my bed. As consciousness slipped away, I remembered the nurse asking earlier if it was my left knee that was getting cut open. I had answered, “Right”. I desperately want to tell her that I meant to say “Yes!” but all the lights went out…

I remember the sweet sounds of a long forgotten lullaby being sung to me as I awoke… Then more clarity came and I realized it was a nurse telling me something that I did not understand. Then I reached as far as I could and was able to feel my leg and was relieved to find it had not been amputated. The nurse slapped my hand and told me to keep my hands off the person next to me. After a few minutes of delusion and disorientation in the recovery room, I was wheeled back to where I started and to where Bobbi was waiting patiently for me. The nurses made me drink water and then get up and walk around on crutches before they would let me go. I heard some of the nurses taking bets on how far I would get down the hall before I fell. It appears Dr. Greg had been sharing stories about my mountain biking ineptitude. I think the dark-haired nurse in green won the pool because she cheered the loudest when I

lost control near the cool “kg” scale.

After a friendly parting by Natalie (she hadn’t seen my survey answers yet) and a high five from the dark-haired nurse in green, I got the obligatory wheelchair ride to the car and away we drove. Curious George would have been proud.