Tuesday. Yesterday I snuck in a swim at the waterpark. I can't remember if the sun came out of the grey sky. Mondays, we're open an hour later, so I can't get to the pool before it closes. This morning, I get the call. Can I come in an hour early? No waterpark today. I head for the bus, approaching the street from which I enter the rail. Another cyclist turns from this street ahead and passes me. When I check traffic behind me, I see he must have made a U-turn. He's coming up behind me. (?) He follows me onto the trail and passes me there. I turn off toward the bus stop. I'm closing in on it, I just have a short ride through a private university. I stop when I pot a sign for a seminar on campus. It reads, "Brain and Motion". Wednesday is the day before the 4th. Again I get the call. Can I make it in 3 hours early? Back to a stop for my bus to work. I'm coming down the bridge over the highway and train. I am forced to turn the wrong way onto an entrance for the train station. Straddling the sidewalk along the street is a couple, each walking a bicycle. The woman is much older and wearing a neon hot pink tutu. I make good time to the bus stop. I'm caught up on my sleep from working so many open to close shifts. Saturday. It's nice to be able to ride to the pool in some sunshine, instead of working the sunny days and swimming under grey skies. After my swim, I ride to a burger and sandwich place which has been around on my old boulevard forever. From there I ride to the train next door. I purchase a ticket and ride the elevator down to the platform, with a pair of weathered guys who just stumbled off a bus. One of them tells me that they "have dollar tickets to go see" the city baseball team play this evening. On the platform I check a posted schedule. A half hour till the next train? I'll be halfway home by then. I ride the elevator back up with a young woman on the floor, digging through a backpack. She took it down and now she's going back up.
Thursday is the 4th. Blue sky. Sunscreen applied. I ride down the long street which hooks up with the trail. The bar and grill near the gym is closed for the 4th. I grab a salad at a sprots bar. Wimbledon is on a flat screen. Men's doubles, Australia vs. Great Britain. The chocolate therapist is out of her office as well. I'm off to the waterpark. On a corner of one street with the vehicle entrance to the park, there's a sign. The corner is host to another small park. It's a "do not enter" sign. Fireworks lay beyond, to be fired later. I still don't get it as I wonder why vehicles are having a tough time finding a space here at the waterpark. Only when I'm riding out after my swim, through the exit to the trail, does it become clear. Families are pitching tents and firing up grills for a day in the big park below, complete with a Park Ranger on duty. There's a petting zoo, a train, and kids can splash in the creek. I'm close to work now. I ride to a supermarket along the way. I pick up a couple of items for home, and a 12-pack of diet sodas. I drop the sodas at work and run across the street to the bakery for a snack. A girl is working there, a former employee who spent the past year as a college freshman out of state. We rap about college life. I run over to the hardware store around the corner. I was in here some days ago for stamps from their contract post office. I spied something specific which I have been looking for, a full-length lawn chair. For my back patio, during the brief periods I sit out there during the temperate months. This thing can fold like a regular chair, or recline horizontally. I could fall asleep in the thing. Unfortunately, the store is closed. I will end up buying it and getting it home after work tomorrow. I decide to ride from here, not to the pool. Unlike the waterpark, the city pools are closed today. I'm headed to an art festival in my old neighborhood, held every 4th of July. It's a bit of a haul. When I get there, I discover that they are merely getting set up. The fest will go on tomorrow through Sunday. I will end up seeing it after work on Saturday. I ride home and switch out bicycles. I consider grabbing a shower but decide the hell with it. I take the bike I ride to work and pack my bag accordingly. I ride to the sister's place. She has tomorrow off and will give me a ride to work tomorrow.
Durning the weekend, I will read and hear about other neighborhoods in the greater metro area. Their fireworks will go on until 2 AM. Where the sister and I have breakfast, one waitress says her fireworks went on even as she was getting ready to go to work. In the sister's neighborhood, the cease at midnight. The sister tells me that hers is a working-class neighborhood, and the residents must get up for work the following day, as do I. I work the whole day after the 4th. We open a couple of hours late. I still don't have enough sleep, but I'm convinced I have as much as I could have had. The day goes by in a fog. I don't have the energy to head to the pool after work, despite the blue sky. I instead go across the street to the hardware store and collect my lawn chair. I also grab a couple of long bungee cords. The chair, even folded, won't fit securely on the back rack of my bike. I hook the cords onto the chair instead, and carry it on my back like a pack. I end up passing a train station and take the train much of the way home. On Saturday, I'm on my way to work down a long street to the trail. I pass a car wash. In between the dryer hoses is a trash can. A homeless guy has his head inside of it, his shopping cart piled high stands next to him. During Friday and Saturday, the sister makes plans for us to have brunch on Sunday, and then go to the art museum downtown. There are a pair of emails between us and a discussion over the phone. One email mentions her picking me up an hour earlier than planned. I don't read that part and I assume this email is to confirm the original time, and mistakenly acknowledge. When she calls to tell me she's here and I don't know what she's talking about, she doesn't want to hear any excuses. I spend the trip to the restaurant wondering what I'm doing here. Does she want me here? What's my role? We both order before she uses the ladies' room. I cancel my part of the order. When she returns, I tell her I'm leaving. She doesn't appear to be concerned. I will later this evening explain in an email to her why I left. If this constitutes a fight between us, I hate to see what we're like when we're boring. This means...that I can go to the gym as well as swim at the waterpark and the pool. But I need to figure out how to get out of downtown. The closest train station I ride to is shut down due to repairs on the train tracks downtown. If I want to save what time I have left in the day, I need to reach a station further down the line. This would be two stations away. The station which is closed in in the Performing Arts Center. It's a venue which hosts events and conventions. Every 4th of July, this place is host to something called the Fan festival. As I understand it, it's a comics and sci-fi convention. Someone outside has a bullhorn, and is directing the flow of costumed characters none of whom I recognize. I make my way west to the second station along one of the southern lines, not very far from here.
I arrive there and a train comes right along, but it's headed for a line other than one I want. It drops me a couple of stations south, from which I can take another train or a bus to the gym. I'm riding around the station looking for the stop for my bus, which has been moved according to a sign posted at the old gate. On the train platform is a young guy who is doubled over, reading his phone. He's the only one here in the station besides myself. He's slowly, slowly rising to anger. "Oh no...oh no...the train, bro...it's late bro..." It's a full minute before I find the gate for my bus, and now he's yelling and punching posted schedule boards. He attracts the attention of a couple of transit system security guys. But then a train pulls into the station, one I can take where I'm going. I run with my bike and jump on it. I disembark at the station near my gym. I'm off the train platform when I run into the same Jehovah's Witnesses I had seen here earlier this summer. A couple young women. They ask me if I "want to hear a sermon" or something like this. I reply, "Well, I'm on a bike." I stop into my bar and grill for a late breakfast. The host puts me at the outdoor bar. The overhead tarp leaves a sliver of sunlight beaming down on the bar, but clouds are quickly moving in. A young woman sits at the other end of the bar. Tere's air blowing out from inside the bar, and it feels good. However, she asks it be turned off. The bartender complies, explaining that the air keeps the bugs out from inside the bar. Then it's chocolate therapy, gym, waterpark, and then I head to a train station toward home. I just miss a train and I head the direction of the next station. Along the way, I find a sports grill hidden away in an industrial area near the train tracks. I stop in for a late lunch. The place is dark, save for lights along the walls. They are covered with glass plates with black and white images of sports figures from yesterday. When I come out, rain sprinkles are in the air. It's a short ride to the next train station, where a homeless guy stands up as a train pulls in along the opposite track. I assume he's getting on. As it's pulling in, he walks off the platform and onto the gravel between the tracks. He takes a leak before returning to his patch of the platform. My train arrives, and I take it a couple of stops to my usual station. A cool wind is blowing and the sky is grey. It's some kind of weird apocalyptic cold front. I roll the dice that it will blow through. I cross a couple of major boulevards and arrive at the pool. A sign reads that they are closed for a lightening warning some ten miles away. The rain sprinkles return as the sun comes out. The grey cloud of death is replaced by blue sky. The pool reopens. I swim with only one other person as surely no one expected the cold front to pass. The lifeguards are playing Monopoly. 'Tis a fine swim and ride back home.
That morning, the sister and I were in her car, driving along a downtown street. A street with one of our stores. Where our former plant was. And a certain Greek restaurant. This was all some five short years ago. I met a young woman at the restaurant, just out of college with a psychology degree. She was but one of the employees on the line, serving the endless office workers who came in for lunch. The manager eventually picked up extra hours working for us. The owner was one of our customers, a really nice guy. The landlord raised his lease, as he did ours. He decided to sell. During the pandemic, the young woman was let go. The manager stayed. The new owner signed a lease for the place we vacated, built a big new back deck. The sister and I fly past the old restaurant and plant space in less than a second. Past a year of my memories. The restaurant is boarded up. I had no idea. We continue down the street. Monday. I have to stop at the pharmacy at my clinic, and then hit the bank. I don't have time for the waterpark before work, and Mondays we're open an hour later than the rest of the week. So I won't be going to the pool after work either. It feels as if June felt like July, and this month is like June. Until the last couple of days this week. This morning feels just about perfect. Twenty-four hours later, I get the call. Can I come in early? In spite of this morning and the previous one being perfect for swimming, today I won't be at the waterpark either. But I feel caught up on my loss of sleep over the 4th. I can't recall the last time I slept until close to 7 AM. I'm still playing catch up on my sleep from the 4th. Last night, I went to bed feeling exhausted. And I'm trying to stay caught up on my blog. This morning, I write a few sentences when I get the call. Can I come in early? My coworker is throwing up. On Friday, I will be covering for my coworker, as she's going to court with her son. On that day, I will get a call from her that her son has a reprieve until September. But Friday she will tell me over the phone that she is getting on a plane. Her sister recently had surgery, and isn't expected to recover. She may or may not be back by Tuesday, or even Wednesday of next week. On Thursday, I don't get the call. I made my dental cleaning appointment on the right day. The young woman who cleans my teeth is visiting the state, and she has the option to stay here and extend her availability to work every 4 months. She has chosen another 4 she says, because she's having fun here. She dating and going out on the town. I'm done early enough that I can go back home with plenty of time to apply sunscreen, and finally head for the waterpark before work. I'm on the last leg of the trail along the way there. I happen upon a park ranger. He's looking down onto the bank of the creek, a spot popular with homeless. When I get to work, my coworker plays me a voicemail from an extended family member, in the state where her sister has had surgery. He means to report that the sister is not yet out of the woods. Instead, he uses the word, "woodwork."
Friday. I look at the clock. I think I have an hour and fifteen minutes before I get up. I lay there and believe that I have time to do dishes and clean my bathtub, and maybe work on this blog which is backing up on me. I glance back at the clock. Do I only have fifteen minutes? Either I went back to sleep, or I misread the clock. Either way, I got no extra time now. The forecast today and tomorrow is 100 degrees F. But at 4 AM, it's in the 60s. Yesterday, my coworker showed me some video on her phone. She lives in the trendy Lower Downton district, among families which receive housing assistance. Those who get assistance also get a card which provides unlimited electric scooter rides, broken up into 30-minute intervals. Her video is of her corner, and the arrest and identification by a witness of a 13-year-old. Also brought out of a home across from my coworker's place are a brother, a sister, and the mother of the kid under arrest. The video was taken beginning in the early evening, and continues on and off through the night as police cruisers stayed on the street in front of both her home and that of the other family. They were still there when she left for work yesterday morning. She learned somehow that the 13-year-old and his brother were riding up and down the block, throwing objects at all the cars. The cars parked along the curb belong to wealthier residents of the district, who all park here and walk to a wine bar on the corner. It was someone from the wine bar who came out and asked the pair to stop throwing things at the patrons' vehicles. The 13-year-old pulled out a gun and shot at the wine bar. Then the pair went home, where the police found them. The mother asks the officer what he's doing with her 13-year-old son. He appears to be having trouble standing up. Also, I get emails alerting me to posts on a local neighborhood social media platform. This week, many have been concerning fireworks on the 4th of July being fired late into the following morning. One post is from someone who confronted a pair of kids shooting them off a 2:45 AM on the 5th. The pair responded by firing some at the individual, and thereby setting some grass on fire.
Saturday I get alate start, and am headed to a stop for my bus to work. I'm on the long street a block from my own, stopped at a stop sign. A driver for whom I suspect English in not the first language has stopped without a stop sign. He honks for me to go. I have to point at my stop sign and point for him to go, which he does. Not that I don't appreciate it. But we all need to understand what rules the other is going to follow. I've just passed a couple of small homeless campers, both of which I recognize. One I call the '80s camper. The other has been painted over completely with primer. The latter is parked along the curb opposite the former, and the driver's side door is open. I hear laughter before I see the driver on his phone. And, just before that, I pass a couple standing on the wide, winding sidewalk along this street. They may be having an argument, next to their shopping cart piled high and other pile of stuff on the concrete. After work, I'm sure I get a swim in at the pool. By Tuesday evening, I'm trying to recall too many events over a few short days. I get home and am in bed by 10 PM. There's mariachi music coming from across the street which knocks off by 10:30. The next morning, I'm up at twenty to 7 AM. The music starts up again. I grab a shower and make a fast breakfast, and I'm off to the waterpark at last. Along the long street a block from my own, both campers are gone. I will see the '80s camper in a couple of different spots in as many days. Before I change trails, I detour for a milkshake. I'm coming along the patch where the park ranger was staring down into the creek. A pair of tents are pitched there late this morning. On Tuesday I will be coming right back past here as the dawn breaks. I will see someone along the bank with a tiny light in the dark. I left the house without sunscreen as broken clouds were in the sky. Of course, when I get to the waterpark they have burned off and the sun is out. They've only been open an hour and it's already crowded. I get a swim and turns on the drop slide before even more people arrive. I'm off to the bar and grill, where I get a table inside...in the shade. The canvas walls are unzipped and the 96 F degree air fills the place. My table is next to an elderly couple, the guy in slacks. His Polo shirt has a tag with his name and the word "deacon" underneath. It's much quieter in here today than other weekends.
Each one of us is the author of our own story...that... ...reflects our highest potential. ...being fully present...with intention and purpose...integrity, kindness, and authenticity. ...with courage and conviction. The story we tell ourselves about our present... ...contributes to the collective narrative of our community. ...do you use your story to keep yourself a victim? - Littleton Independent
...vending machines tucked into a garage...bring the neighborhood together. A board...advertises neighborhood events and news... "...we've had so much positive socialization with the location... ...so many more people are living here, it creates an opportunity for community building." ...a former Ford Motor dealership [is now] an event space. The [vending] machines [there] will dispense artwork. - Westword,7/11-17/2024
"We always point the grill west...the biking and art..." "...ride bikes...have picnics, eat ice cream - repeat. ...a world saturated with the smell of sagebrush." "...volcano peak tagging, and fresh seafood..." "It'll be humbling and epic..."
...outdoor recreation...stands at the confluence of economic prosperity, environmental stewardship... ...if we thought of trails the same way we do highways, river corridors the same way we think of main streets, our public lands and green spaces the same way we think about social services in our communities. ...the intersection between the outdoors and public health. Everyone who enjoys...freedom on a trail or path...It's an economic engine...
...stress-free...college town amenities...and a quaint western vibe. ...charming shops and restaurants... ...the real American West. ...a historic downtown, vibrant arts scene, craft culture... - Elevation Outdoors, Sommer 2024
"We love the small-town vibe. It's like that authenticity of a community." ...ice cream pies... ...community events...movie knights and bingo. ...being a neighborhood hub, reflecting the values of the community..." - Littleton Independent, week of7/25/2024
...the end-in-sight revamp of the 16th Street Mall... "We're very seasonal, we're very ingredient-driven." "...Jack Kerouac lived in and Tom Waits sang about..." "COVID...hurt our lunch, it hurt our happy hour..." "It feels clean, it feels safe." "...downtown gets a younger, more energetic crowd [than .in [the municipality where I work.]" "...the North Star...to revitalize...core, downtown, train/transportation station areas." "...like a popular European square...a 'must' experience..." "Things operate differently downtown than in a neighborhood. ...recycling and compost and the alleys...are you going to bike to work? ...things you don't have to think about in a neighborhood." - Westword, 7/25-31/2024
After lunch I visit The Chocolate Therapist. From here, I can't believe how close is the supermarket on the way to work. I grab groceries for work and then ride to work. I drop the groceries. I cross the street and hang out with an employee at the bakery here on her college break. I'm sitting at the stop for a bus which otherwise takes me to the train station, and home. I am watching across the street as a group of cars pull into the parking lot where I work. It's a car club run by the young couple who run the doughnut shop, I catch the bus from here all the way to the festival. It's a master stroke. It drops me off right on the corner of the park where the entrance is. It's a good old festival. The sun has long disappeared behind a grey cloud, so it isn't a bleating late afternoon. A group of people are dancing to music from a sound system. They dance n front of a big fan blowing water mist. There's one young woman i couldn't take my eyes off of. On the ride out of downtown, I pass by downtown's level one trauma hospital. There are a handful of homeless sitting on benches out front, along the busy avenue. One guy in a wheelchair is in pajamas, and has one leg. Another guy sitting here I recognize as a regular on a corner of the parking lot at the Vietnamese grocery next to my place. His spot next to the grocery is now occupied by an elderly woman in a wheelchair. She sits there with a couple of children now instead of him. I'm back on my own side of town when I notice that the '80s camper has moved to a corner next to a library. It's surrounded by eight orange cones. Skip ahead to Wednesday. I'm at work when I get the call. Her sister has rallied and is no longer expected to pass away. She will be back...on Monday. Unless she calls. So I will be working open to close the rest of this week. Actually, the week has been one of the fastest moving weeks in recent memory. The sun has been peeking in and out of the clouds, and after work I get a quick swim in. I get home and write all my checks. Today is payday. The following morning I put them in the mail.
If my coworker is here Monday, today will be the final day in a row in which I need to get up early. One would expect this kind of week to have been miserably long. It's a week which has passed more quickly than any in recent memory. Friday morning, I pass the gas station across the street sometime after 4 AM. A handful of homeless are gathered at one corner of the building. One appears dressed as some kind of homeless pimp. At the opposite corner of the building are a couple of other guys. behind them are some bicycles. I turn down the long street toward the trail. I'm just across the first busy avenue and headed for a T-intersection. I suddenly hear, "HEY...HEY!" Then, from the same direction, a person is making a loud hissing noise. I watch a guy with a small light run down the street ahead. He runs to a corner and opens the gate to a back yard, and looks in the yard. Following him is another cyclist, with no helmet. The next thing I know, the guy running is in the street. As I pass him, he speaks with the friendly voice of an elderly small town resident. "Gooood mornin'." This entire time, he has never stopped making the hissing noise. Perhaps an hour later. I'm on a connecting trail to work. I've just passed a dog park and am approaching a small wooden bridge. Ahead of me is a lone figure in the dark. He's walking down the middle of the trail. I turn on my headlamp to alert him to my presence. Coming from the other direction, a guy walking his dog suddenly appears. Only after the guy with the dig jumps out of the way and my tires rattle the planks of the bridge does the figure move over to allow me to pass. I work the day and am back on the corner across from my own. A guy comes running through the intersection. He wants to know how to get to a fitness center way across town. He has a yellow construction vest on and he speaks quickly, as if he's hyped up. I give him a tangle of bus and train routes, trying to piece together what I know about the transit system. He strikes me as out of place on my side of town...until he begins unwinding his nonsensical story. Just one more hustle out on this boulevard. His car broke down. "It's the alternator," he says with his arms outstretched, as if anyone would understand. And he lost his phone. So many out here have the most coincidental bad luck. Surely he just wants to work off some energy while he leaves his car and phone behind. He keeps mentioning a train station which is further than the corner with the fitness center. I leave him at the bus stop on my corner with his yellow vest. The following morning, I'm finally on my way to work not in the dark. I'm headed down a long street to the bike trail. I get to the first busy avenue when another cyclist approaches from behind. He mentions the name of another avenue which I know, and inquires as to its location. I tell him it's behind us. "Which way?" he asks. I pint behind us. I'm home after a swim out at a distant pool after work. Perhaps an hour before my bedtime, we get a good old fashioned thunderstorm blow through. Lightning, thunder, a proper storm. My doorbell rings earlier, just as the dark clouds and wind arrive. Perhaps an hour or two before the doorbell, our neighbor next to the townhome complex cranks up some mariachi music on 3 or 4 outdoor speakers. This is according to my nextdoor neighbor and our HOA president, who is behind my front door when I open it. He asked them to turn it down, and doesn't mention their response. He tells me he called in a noise complaint, but believes that if I do the same, it will be more effective. I suggest that perhaps they will get rained. I'm out on my back patio, under what little shelter I have in front of my back door. I'm watching this rarity in the metro area, and bona fide thunderstorm. I can see over my fence from my top step, and the neighbors with the speakers are under a couple of tents. They appear to be enjoying the storm. I never see any police. An hour before bed, I hear a series of individual gunshots, over the course of the entire hour.
Sunday I awake to broken clouds. So I forgo the sunscreen. With an afterwork swim, I got home yesterday at 7 PM. I got dishes done which were in the sink for several weeks. This morning, same thing with my bathtub, which looked like something out of Silence of the Lambs. I make breakfast at home for the first time in more than a week. Then it's off to the waterpark, where I told myself I had better enjoy the swim while it lasts. This is prophetic. At the waterpark the clouds have burned off. This month, the blue sky has had a steady slight molasses sheen from the fire smoke. It's not thick but it's definitely there. I make for my bar and grill. If I can eat in 45 minutes, I can sit inside at a reserved table. I'm done with plenty of time to spare. After some chocolate therapy, I hit the gym for a workout. When I go outside to the hot tub, it clearly appears as if it will rain again. After I exit the tub, it's lightly raining. I pull a lawn chair off a pile and recline in the rain, going back and forth between tub and chair. I leave when the rain has abated and head again to the supermarket on the way to work. I'm just yards away from the gym when it begins to pour. It feels good, my shirt is in a pouch on my handlebars. It doesn't keep it dry. It slows way down when I get to the supermarket. I'm in and out, but I accidently leave my water bottle for the gym against a wall on the ground. I ride to work and drop off the groceries. I still hear thunder and decide that the swimming pools won't reopen until it's gone. I decide to head home, after I stop at the pop-up nursery behind work. I take the opportunity which has finally presented itself to replace a flower to replace one which died. As I'm headed home anyway, I simply return to the supermarket, where my water bottle is just where I left it. I secure my soaked shirt to the back rack, spread out. I'm pulling out of the parking lot as a hearse from the 1970s is pulling in. I'm closing in on the trailhead when the hearse guns its engine and passes me. On the trail, I see blue sky emerging from the rainclouds. By the time I'm climbing the hill of a side street, the sun is out. My shirt is already dry. Crazy shit. Back on my side of town, I ride past a supermarket for the same company. Another hearse is in the parking lot, from the same decade. A block away is a favorite restaurant of mine and my lady, who has agreed to get together with me for my birthday. I grab a bite before I head home. When I get home, I get a call from my boss. My coworker's sister is still recovering. My coworker has been in an accident. Her head was in a car accident, and the doctor there doesn't want her to fly until she's in better shape. Guess what I'm doing tomorrow?
...and just like that, it's tomorrow. I wake up with 4 hours of sleep and can't get back to sleep. I get up and get ready for work. I feel like I'm going to fall down. I'm too tired to ride all the way. I head for the bus. It's a cold morning. When the sun comes up, the fire smoke is thick in the sky. The following morning however, I get a much better sleep. On the ride to work before the dawn breaks, the fire smoke is so thick that I can't see any stars. During the day, the sky isn't so much blue as a kind of pale grey, with the characteristic amber light from the sun. When I get home after work on Tuesday my coworker calls. She will be back to work tomorrow. Her crisis comes to an end. The following morning, I'm on my way down the long street to the trail. On my way to the waterpark before work, I stop at a busy intersection. On the corner is a home. Between the sidewalk and the curb in the front yard is a strip of grass. A middle-aged woman is pulling weeds on this strip. Yet, I don't believe that she lives here. Her pants are halfway off, and she wears a bright red thong on her butt. When she sees me, she begins dancing and shaking her butt. She continues to do so as I ride away. Along the trail are a collection of cyclists, all in Lycra cycling gear. One passes me, and I hear him quietly say, "Clothes on." I don't know if by chance he's referring to myself without a shirt. And he third oddity. I get to the waterpark for the first time during the week since I've been nonstop working open to close. I get in a half hour swim and a couple of trips down the drop slide. In the locker room, I change out of my suit and into my cycling shorts. Every lifeguard and swimmer at the pool saw me in my swimsuit. Yet I exit the waterpark and am dealing with a broken rubber band on my helmet visor, next to my bike. A waterpark employee slowly approaches me. He wants to know if I'm coming back inside. I'm not. He says he just wanted to know. I tell him I have a stamp. He replies, yes, this would get me back in. But, next time, would I please wear a swimsuit instead of cycling shorts. (?) I told him I did wear a swimsuit. He tells me he didn't have the opportunity to see me in it.
Thursday. I'm riding past the corner where the lady with er pants down was originally pulling weeds. She must have found another yard. I'm at the entrance to the waterpark before work. While by bags are being checked (everyone's bags are checked) another employee tells me I need to have a swimsuit. Again, I explain that the guy checking my bag will find on in there. He then lets me know I can't "just" walk "around in" my "underwear." I explain that I'm wearing bicycle shorts. I have a swim and a couple slides before I speak with the manager. If again I'm told to take my underwear and hit the road, I will feel better. Because it shall then be clear where this kid's opinion is coming from. But when I mention this to the manager, she's as baffled as I am. "You have shorts on, right?" she asks. Right. "You can change in the locker room." That's what I told both employees. You know, the seasons don't fear the reaper, nor do the wind nor the sun nor the rain... Sometime this week. Or last week. I'm on the way to work, climbing a steep hill just off the trail. This is a sleepy residential corner of this neighborhood. The entire neighborhood is hidden away. I have a rare sighting of one of the residents as I'm making my way up this hill. He's sitting on the curb in front of his rock garden. He appears to be pulling weeds from between the individual stones. I work a week and a half, open to close. And this guy has the time to do this? He has absolutely nothing else to do?
It's Sunday evening. The sun is making its way down. I'm back in my own extended neighborhood after a very long day. I'm turning a corner which leads to the long street a block from my own. A block away, I spotted a Caucasian woman walking her dog. As I'm turning this corner, I see a couple Caucasian guys running together, and a young couple riding their bikes. Where are these white people coming from? I stop and let the couple on bikes turn my direction, and I follow them. All three of us are now on the long street. The guy is riding with his hands off the handlebars. The lady tries this as well. She then turns onto the big wide winding sidewalk along the street. The guy soon joins her. They let me get ahead of them...and they vanish into this air. I rode back to my own side of town from across town. Less than a half hour ago, I came out of a park and across a busy boulevard. I spotted an ice cream place down the street, popular at least since the 1980s. I detour that way, to see how long the line is on a Sunday evening. I watch a young Caucasian couple pull up and park, hop out excited, and head for a line which stretches from inside to the curb. Right. The previous boulevard is the Chilis where I had dinner. My old boulevard. There is no bike parking, and after trying three spots along the rail of a handicapped ramp, I found what I suspect is the least obstructive place to lock up my bike. I can only hope that 1) no one in a wheelchair is inside eating and 2) no one in a wheelchair will show up until I leave. As soon as the hostess seats me, I spot someone in a wheelchair. The hostess attempts to pitch me a rewards program. I decline and finally get rid of her so I may let the women in the wheelchair know my bike may be in the way. I tell her to simply ask me to move it. She's confident she won't need it moved.
I need to back up about eight hours. I picked the one day during which the sun never disappears behind a cloud to not apply sunscreen. I get a late start and don't believe I have the time. I'm out the door, down the street, and grab a salad at a sandwich place I discovered on my own boulevard. I ride to the train, which whips me a couple of stops along, and I disembark. I ride to a street which has been under construction for at least a year. Progress has been made to the extent that, on a Sunday, I'm able to sneak under some yellow tape and make my way down the sidewalk. In no time I'm at the waterpark. Some characters are here late in the morning, some are not. The two employees I will refer to as "the underwear guys" are gone. There is, however, a kid who looks just like Kyle Rittenhoue. There are a collection of very obe4se folks. One is a guy in a camouflaged Australian sun hat. For reasons unknown, he's giving high fives to kids who walk past him. There's another guy in a straw hat, with an American flag patch. This flag is in black and white, and has no single blue stripe. I do a swim and a couple of slides before I'm out, and off to the gym. Workout, hot tub, and after a late breakfast I skip the bar and grill, and the Chocolate Therapist. I make another run to the supermarket for sodas, and I run them to work. Across the street I have a late lunch at the bakery before jumping on my trusty bus. The bike rack has a faulty arm, and it slips off my bike at an intersection. I run out and move it to the second spot on the rack, and we're off. I disembark a few blocks from a park where an outdoor art festival is happening. Lotta painting-sized photos, lotta images of the mountains. Stuff that's eye-catching and intense. It's hot out here, and I wouldn't be surprised if we hit 100 F. When I get home, the computer informs me that it was another near record. I polish off my diet tea from the gym. After the festival, I make for the distant pool. I stop at a gas station for a Powerade before I'm crossing the boulevard upon which the bus dropped me off. I'm coming along a section where the sidewalk disappears and then reappears. I ride through my neighborhood of decades ago and reach a trail to the pool. I polish off my Powerade before I get there. At the pool, I refill my water bottle before having another nice swim. It's after the swim when I ride to Chilis. The woman in the wheelchair is on her way out. I follow her, and she had no trouble navigating my bike. I ride home, and when I get there...my landline has a voicemail. Can I come in to work 3 hours early?
When I get home some 13 hours later, I'm back on my corner. I arrive there where a homeless guy is standing next to his own bicycle. The bike has a trailer hitched up, with a bunch of stuff in is as well as a US flag mounted on a pole. The guy has shaggy hair and a beard. He's strumming an acoustic guitar. The following morning, I get the call. can I come in an hour early tomorrow and Wednesday?
