Friday 16 August 2013

Two Wheels and a View

So, I bought a bike.

First time in 35 years that I have purchased a bicycle for myself.

Thirty months ago, my Doctor told me that I was a very healthy fat man, but would not be able to be both forever, and would have to choose which to be.  I lost 35 lbs (and raised $18,000 for the church).  However in the ensuing  two years,  I've managed to repossess almost 25 of those pounds.  Until I get a knee replacement, I find that walking much more than a mile or two can be quite painful, so I can’t go for long walks (which I think has aided in the reappearance of lost poundage… well, that and wine, nachos, chocolate.. mayo, béarnaise, bread, frites, red meat… HBO and my Kobo).

I decided that I would get a bike and ride around my neighbourhood and beyond as a simple activity for my physical and mental health.  I went to my local bicycle emporium to consider the purchase.  I had my parameters set: I want two wheels… cheap.   I don’t want to race, go off road, do tricks or end up the punch line on some YouTube video. (I might consider streamers on my handlebars).  I met the owner of the shop and explained my hopes and desires:  I want to sit upright and see the world, I want my non-existent posterior to be comfortable, I want my legs to touch the ground efficiently with minimal risk to any prized and cherished anatomy and I want to spend no more than $400.  "Not a problem" intoned the cycle merchant, as he pointed out a variety of wheeled wonders. 

I perused the selection produced by said filters:  I did see a bike with a tractor seat that looked like it might be comfortable – but it was on a tricycle.  No trikes!   

I did see several women’s bikes without centre bars  - but I recall the humiliation of getting beaten up at Bayview Jr. High and having to retreat from the school yard walking my mother’s bike.  Hard for a 15 year old boy to find dignity on a powder-blue girl's bike, after he’s been bested  by a 14 year old.… that 15 year old boy still lives with me.  No girl’s bikes!   

And then, I found it.  A very masculine grey… with a seat appropriate to my posterior… upright… many gears… and they threw in a water bottle (which I will assume could also handle sauvignon blanc):  $395.

The owner did try to talk me into spending an extra $100 for a bicycle with front shocks and faster flip-gears.  I declined, desiring to keep to my modest price point.   He noted that a lot of guys my age appreciate the front shocks, if not the fast rapid gear shifting.  I invited him to step outside so that I might thrash him with a Tilley Hat.  He wisely backed off…  (I may never wear a Tilley Hat, but I keep one on hand just in case I have to get tough).     

So, I bought the bike, threw into the back of my convertible and drove home. 

Last night, I went for my first ride.  I attached my little Ipod speaker unit, so that I can ride and enjoy the cutting edge technology that mimics perfectly the experience of listening to a transistor radio.  I simply don’t think that wearing headphones while riding is safe… and besides, I think that people need to be reminded how awesome a band is Three Dog Night – if not for my riding by, they might never know.   Off I went and the wonders were abundant!!!  I discovered why one might like front shocks!   I saw my neighbourhood again, smiled at people walking dogs, said “Hello” to perfect strangers (well, they may have been flawed, but I like to give them the benefit of the doubt), smelled cooking inspired by at least 3 continents, heard laughter and got lost only once.  I stopped to watch ten year old boys play soccer, witnessed on kid miss the ball and kick his opponent in the groin – and then have his simple “Sorry” be an adequate apology as the game went on… I met a kid who looked just like me named Mohammed (well, he didn't have beard… but he did look like clear proof that Vikings had their way with Irish women)…So many wonders:  Things that I have been missing in my world of newspapers and shootings; Egyptian unrest and global violence.

I arrived home feeling my body and spirit refreshed.  So far, the bike has been a great investment.

I still face one challenge.   The helmet.   
I don’t have one.  
I don’t want one.  
I can’t wear my fedora  with a helmet. 
If I forgo the jaunty chapeau, a helmet will muss my hair. 
I’m not going to get into accidents – it’s simply not part of my plan.  
Should I tumble, I am counting on my cat life reflexes honed over years of Judo and Aikido to protect me.   Bruce Lee didn’t wear a helmet. 

I awoke this morning aware of  seven things.
1.  Shocks would probably have made it easier on my arms and shoulders. 
2.  I really shouldn’t wear a fedora when I go riding.  And I won’t.  (probably)
3.  My hair is pretty much muss proof.
4.  Accidents happen – usually without warning. (I watch shark week... and our government)
5.  I’m not Bruce Lee
6.  If I was Bruce, then I would already be dead… as a result of a brain injury. (awkward irony)
7.  I am a trend setter.

It’s the final point that gets me….  I need to get a helmet for the kids.  When those kids see me riding down the street and are awestruck, I owe it to them to set a good example.  When these young impressionable tykes make that life shaping decision to emulate that old guy sitting up so high on his bike… with a fedora on top… I want them to recognize the helmet beneath the fedora, so that when then begin to emulate me, they will do so in complete safety… it’s the least that I can do for our future… keep the kids safe.

Yes, I am selfless... And I'm all about the kids. 
(cue Whitney Houston singing
             "Greatest Love of All")

So, with that, 
  I’m off to meet a friend for coffee 
   and buy a helmet.
(I don’t intend to wear the helmet for coffee – although there is some pretty strong and dangerous coffee out there.)

Wednesday 7 August 2013

How Girls' Softball just might make the world a better place!

So I went to see my nine year old niece play softball.

It was the perfect day for softball: Bright sun, cool breeze and I had a great time.   I don’t recall the exact score (although I do know that the 5 run mercy rule was invoked at least once) and I’m not sure who was named player of the game (isn’t always the pitcher?) – but I do know that what I witnessed should be required viewing for all people… everywhere…

Seriously, if we could all just live our lives a little more like these girls played softball, it would be a better world.  Allow me to suggest 6 fixes for our everyday life that have come right out of my experience of Mite Girls’ Softball.

1. There should be cheering for everything.   
      That was something that I never experienced in my years umpiring or coaching my sons in ball – cheers from the bench.  Cheers about Sally this and Sally that… R B oi, oi, oi…  another about ripped underwear…  so many cheers – and many with choreography.  I thought I was in an episode of GLEE.  When a player went up to bat, there was cheer; when she got a hit: A cheer!  When she struck out, threw her bat, got hit by a ball… caught a ball, lost a ball in the sun, took a drink from a water bottle:  Cheer, Cheer, Cheer, Cheer, Cheer, Cheer and spit.    It was awesome.   Wouldn’t it be great if people cheered when you got to work, when you submitted report, went for coffee, brought back the wrong coffee for a co-worker, forgot your PIN number, bought new shoes or got a smile out of the new girl at work?   Somehow, I just think that life would be better.  And, even though less would get done in a work day, we’d all feel better about what we did accomplish… or messed up, as the case may be.

      2. We should swing at everything.  
      Whenever that ball comes anywhere near you, take that bat off your shoulder and give her a go!  Why not?  Swing confidently across the plate; drop the bat low and scoop at the ball like you’re chipping out of sand trap, wave it around like you’re after a piñata… just give it a shot.  If you don’t take a swing, you’ll never hit the ball!   I saw one girl foul off 10 pitches in a row – almost none of them strikes, but she wasn’t going to let anyone tell her where her strike zone was!!   I, too, am tired of being told where the strike zone is and when I can and when I can’t swing.  If I want to try out for synchronized swimming, I’m going to try… if I want to wear a feather in my hat, who’s to stop me?  I bet that I’ll great in a sarong!  It’s time for the lot of us to stop playing it safe and start swinging for the fences, because nothing is going to happen if we just stand and watch the balls go by.

      3. Never bunt.  
      Seriously, it’s undignified to put your bat in the way of the ball… swing or let it by.  Enough of the passive aggressive way of living.  “I think I’ll wait until she says she loves me… “ Hell, NO!  Ask her out, propose… do something!  No more bunting.   “I don’t like what’s going on at city hall… I think I’ll bunt and wait for the next election to make a difference…”   NO! Write a letter, place a call, make a visit, paint a sign…  no more bunting, life is too short and too important to play “small ball”.

      4. When you see someone mess up, just call out “Way to mix ‘em up!”.  
      I admired that at the game.  The pitcher would throw a couple of very nice strikes and then the next pitch would shoot off in some direction never imagine by Pythagoras at an altitude never dreamed of by Sir Edmund Hillary… and the coach or a parent would always cry you “Way to mix ‘em up!!”.   The next time that I fail to come to a complete stop at a stop sign and the police pull me over, I’m really hoping that the Officer will tap on my window and say, “Hey, way to mix ‘em up!”.  The next sermon that tanks, instead of an “Amen”, I’m looking forward to a full on congregational “Way to mix ‘em up, Norm!”   Wouldn't that make your day??

      5. There would be no stealing in the world, if there was more gift giving.  
      I noticed that every time one of the girls got on base – with a hit, a walk or simply by accidently walking to the wrong dugout – they nearly always made it home; often without another hit.  As soon as the ball was in play, they would run to second… third…and home.  Now, you might call it stealing, but I would disagree.  It really was more of a gift… nobody really made too much of an effort to throw anybody out, usually the play was to get the ball back to the pitcher so that the runner would have to stop advancing.  So, as you see, it wasn’t really stealing…  it was receiving a gift.  I’m pretty sure that’s what our Federal Government was trying to do with Mike Duffy: fighting crime by the giving of gifts.  If only we’d been able to see it…. If only Mike Duffy had been an actual 9 year old girl… but I digress.  Give people stuff and they won’t have to steal – seems foolproof to me.

  6.  And finally, everybody should get to wear those cool athletic shorts that stick out underneath your playing shorts
                ‘cause let’s face it: They just look so cool.

So, now you have my six fixes for a better world.

I feel that I’ve done my part.  It’s now up to you.


Good luck…  and “Hey, way to mix ‘em up!!!”