Happy fun times continued

As I was saying...
Friday (was it Friday?), I went on a bike ride with this girl I'm aquainted with. It was a casual ride. The mode of transportation was a 60 pound steel cruiser tandem. Our seats were definately not set in the optimal position for efficient power generation. Nevertheless, we managed to turn the pedals over fast enough to find a comfortable yet physically stimulating cruising speed. After 3 short miles, I spotted a coffee shop that I had not yet experienced. ("Me Time Coffee") I decided that a chi tea break was in order. Considering that I had control over the steering component of the tandem, I made that decision for both passengers. Upon entering the establishment, I was instantly impressed by its decor and layout. The tea was worthy of consumption. My bud Jennifer especially enjoyed the periodicals on hand. I too found critiquing the fashion choices and faces of various celebrities highly entertaining. It would have been a perfectly enjoyable activity had it not been for the repeated interruptions of Oldy Olsen sitting across from us. The nerve of this guy! For some reason, he felt impelled to tell us all about his leg, which had recently started acting up, sending bolts of pain throughout his body, making walking long distances impossible. According to gramps, the leg was hit by shrapnel during some wild escapade in Europe at the time of the second World War. Poor, poor gramps! Alright, I'm being silly again. Honestly, I found the World War II vet charming, despite the old man neediness and tendency to ramble on about his life to complete strangers. While we didn't need it, the Rupert, Idaho native granted us yet another reminder of our own mortality in the form of pictures of his deceased wife, which he displayed from his wallet with pride and remorse. As I watched him get a bit teary eyed and shaky, I marveled at how well the man managed to stay alive---to keep such a sharp mind, stable body, and set of truly human emotions. No doubt, he is a hero to many who know him. I just wonder if he is a hero to me. Which is a topic for another time--how much of a normal, conservative life can I allow myself, and am I capable of finding self fullfillment in tradition, conformity, and mediocracy? As great as the old man is, and as full as his life has been, I just don't have much desire to live as he has lived. It seems as if his is a story that's been told a thousand times. As bad as it is to express such a sentiment, his life, to me, approaches something cliche. But the sentiment really has nothing to do with one old man. Its not personal. Its communicating what I've communicated a thousand times: some angst in response to the thought that I'm being led along a particular course in life by factors outside of my control--biology/genes, culture, family, government, religion, etc, etc. In sum, you might call it fate, of which, I am not a die hard believer. Atleast not in any divine sense. But the idea of an imperfect freedom and corrupted free will seems real enough, and bothers me enough from time to time, to draw out some feelings of defiance or rebellion. Blame my reaction on my Yankee blood, if you must (family originating from New England/England/beyond). Sometimes I think my ancestors had to have been in Boston heckling the Redcoats before all hell broke loose. (hmm,.. who rambles now??) So, surprise, surprise, what seems to be a critique of the normal life (the subject of the old man), is really a statement about myself. Like Jennifer, I have a tendency to be self centered in that my thoughts are usually my own, and, more often than not, they have to do with things which concern me.
ANYCOW, the nubile ninja and I left the coffee shop and took the next exit onto the greenbelt. With a stiff tail wind on our backs, we glided past the walls of Mordorf (she's going to kill me if I got that wrong), and arrived safely at the base of Lucky Peak dam, where we tasted wine and danish blue cheese. The temperature dropped with each grey snow cloud passing over our heads. The phenomenon became more frequent and the temperature dropped further as the minutes ticked ever closer to something like dinnertime. So, we straddled our steel stead, put our heads down, and pushed westward with visions of pasta and red sauce dancing in our heads.
And this was just a few hours on Friday.