Ride On

A few reflections brought on by recent bike rides with my daughter.

“Catch up!”

On a recent visit to Williamsburg, Brooklyn to visit my daughter for a few days, the shadow of aging, impermanence, finitude… moved center stage.

An old friend our age came by to visit, to eat pizza; his text said “I can hobble down to you” (from Harlem), and when he arrived, he told us he was scheduled for a total knee replacement, and sure enough, he was hobbling, looking more and more like his late father, telling us that when he looks down at his legs, he sees his grandfather’s legs—swollen, puffy, the blood not wanting to make the long journey home.

A few months back, I visited a vascular specialist for a consult about shin numbness while cycling. A physical therapist had already recommended I wear goofy-looking compression socks (aka “old-man socks”) at least when riding and as much as possible throughout the day. She pointed out the blue tendrils of varicose veins, just like my mother’s, snaking just beneath the surface of the skin. The doctor lifted up his pant leg to show me he was wearing them as well, though, as is usually the case these days with doctors, he was much younger than I. He noted that all of our bodies start having difficulty pumping blood back from the nether-lands of the ankles sooner than we think, that it’s just a reality/flaw of evolution (like ankles themselves that haven’t quite yet evolved to hold us upright). “Wear them as much as possible,” he told me, “and come back for a checkup in a year.” (For that 5 minute bestowal of wisdom, I was charged $320.47).

A day earlier, I chased along behind my daughter on the bike paths of Brooklyn to go for a 20-mile ride in Prospect Park. How odd to have her be the one looking back at me, checking up on me, slowing her pace, making sure I didn’t get side-swiped by a crazed e-scooter delivery boy or squashed between the side of a box truck and parked SUV. How odd to see her racing away in front of me, bobbing and weaving effortlessly amongst motorized and human-powered vehicles, to feel my legs give a firm “no” as I urged them to push harder, go faster….to catch up—especially given all the years I have looked backwards at her, worried for her well-being, urging her to be safe, to push on, to be strong.

After the ride that night, I had tremendous, painful cramping in one leg, and she rushed to bring me electrolytes, pickle juice, her deep massage gun (what a wonderful thing!), advising me to stand up, relax, stretch, breathe…and there I was again sensing the tables turning, remembering all the times I had tended to her pains and illnesses as a child, talked her toward calm, bestowed wisdom.

As blood slows, knees weaken, muscles refuse to do as they are told and the steady, inevitable progression of age whittling away overwhelm us at times, seeing our children dashing up the road ahead of us, those who have sprung from us now so strong and confident and capable…brings a sense of permanence, something eternal even that keeps us chasing, tending to these tired bones.

---

---

If you’ve been enjoying my writing, please consider doing any/all of the following:

Help me grow my audience by Sharing this post or my main site with a few people you think might enjoy it as well.

Subscribe or Upgrade your subscription to paid. For only $.14/day, you can help me continue to devote the many hours I do each week to writing, editing and promoting this page.

JourneyCasts is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

You can also help a lot by making a one-time contribution at any time by “buying me a coffee” (or two). And certainly a good amount of real coffee has gone into the making of JourneyCasts.

As always, I encourage you to leave a comment.

Be sure to check out my podcast, “Hemingway, Word for Word.”