Posts Tagged ‘friends’
Where
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where are all the people
we meet along the way
for just a moment
for days, weeks, even months
sometimes years
who then vanish
for any number of reasons
they’re just gone
from our lives
as we all bob along
in life’s flow
from place to place
one job to the next
or schools
or towns that became home
surrounded by even more people
we don’t know at all
coexisting with strangers
extras in our movie
always there
but not really there at all
mobile mannequins
starring in their own biopics
that oddly don’t interact with ours
as scenes play out side by side
day after day
on the highways, in restaurants, and stores
the paths of our parks
with pets in tow
all these people we don’t even know
without the ones we did for a time
who’ve exited, stage left
while we continue on
with our small cast of family
and unique special friends
floating together
where the current goes
in the mysterious sea
of humanity
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Return Trip
We will be on our way home today. This time, I will be driving with Cyndie instead of flying with George. The likelihood of storms in the area may force him to leave his plane here for now and come back to get it later.
We filled our last day yesterday with a variety of wonderful experiences. In the morning, we went for a hike on trails through Glendalough State Park across the road from the Walker’s driveway.
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At the top of a high spot, there was a platform where George knew of a geocache. He inventoried the contents and left a note marking our visit.
Our cell phones indicated we walked a 4-mile route over a combination of paved and rustic trails.
In the afternoon, we paddled a canoe and kayaks into the breaking waves blowing straight to our shoreline, bringing us to an idyllic creek that flows north out of Battle Lake and into another smaller lake inside the state park.
While these adventures were thoroughly satisfying, the biggest highlights for us were yet to come.
George and I pulled out the guitars and in no time, his mother had joined us which led to the inclusion of an aunt taking a turn and a cousin adding piano. We eventually found a couple of good sing-along songs that took advantage of the collective voices of everyone present, bringing us up to dinner time with good energy flowing.
Dinner was amazing. George’s dad served grilled ribs that were incredible. He had started preparing the meat a day earlier, and added a sauce that made the meal outstanding. Corn-on-the-cob served with the ribs was the pinnacle of freshness and sweetness, making the meal even better, which put the feast at a level where no adequate superlatives remain to describe it.
The meal couldn’t be topped, but they did so anyway. George’s grandpa wanted to treat everyone for ice cream at Granny’s Pantry in town. It took three cars to get us all there, and we weren’t the only large group thinking this would be a good place to be on Sunday evening of Labor Day weekend. The fact that the place was packed made the expedition that much more festive.
The multitude of especially delicious ice cream flavors available was simply frosting on the cake.
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Fly In
For years, I lived within bicycling distance of Flying Cloud Airport in Eden Prairie, yet I never attended any of their events. Yesterday, I walked among planes and talked with pilots at my first fly-in. It has me marveling over what I missed all those years.
It also has me appreciating all the money I have saved by not becoming a pilot. 🙂
With the Battle Lake airstrip within walking distance on a beautiful paved path past the Glendalough State Park, Cyndie and I hiked under the series of incoming aircraft to take in the spectacle. George was already there with an orange vest on as a volunteer helping direct traffic when planes taxied past the wandering spectators.
The incoming civilian small planes floated in with little fanfare while the louder, larger, and faster military planes made speedy passes and garnered the bulk of attention. I was filled with questions about the difference of all the designs and found an excellent teacher in George’s friend, Ed.
I first met Ed at an impromptu drop-in visit for dinner at George’s house. He had become a mentor for George during his time of instruction to earn a pilot’s license. While chatting about the typical first-meeting details that define us, we quickly surmised that Cyndie and I had purchased our home and property from his sister. We had an instant bond.
I also quickly learned why he made for a good mentor. He was not only an experienced pilot, but he had spent his career directing planes as a flight controller.
Flying, like so many other pursuits, holds an allure that can easily pull a person in all the way. Despite that, I learned, the number of pilots is on the decline. There are less young people entering the field than the number of flyers who are aging out.
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I’ve survived the pull of that flying thrill several times before, with pilot-friends Mike and Rich both bringing me along on flights, and the time when our son, Julian, was investigating the possibility. I think I’ll be able to withstand the pull again with George and Ed.
I wouldn’t help the averages, anyway. At this point, I’d just end up being another pilot in the 60-year-old bracket.
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Soul Nourishing
It is hard to grasp the wonder of feeling so comfortably a part of a family as we are enjoying with the Walkers at their lake home on Battle Lake near Glendalough State Park. We have been welcomed into the clan gathering, from 3-months to 80+ years old, and they have us feeling right at home.
The weather is feeling very September-like. It is comfortably warm, yet windy enough to be cool at the same time. The lake is incredibly clean, but churning to a very complex surface in the persistent blow.
I tagged along with George to the municipal airport where we landed Thursday evening, to see if we could help with any of the preparations for today’s annual fly-in. Sure enough, our timing was right to lend a hand with hauling tables and chairs from the school to one of the hangers.
Cyndie arrived late afternoon with contributions for the evening meal and we dined on delicious lasagna, celebrated a birthday with a brilliant berry festooned cheesecake, and then played cards into the night.
It feels a lot like life at the lake. I have no agenda but to go with the flow and soak up the sights and sounds that abound around me. It is nourishment for my soul, and it is feeling like a feast.
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Flying High
Cyndie and I have been invited to spend the long Labor Day holiday weekend at George’s family lake place in Battle Lake, MN, but we won’t be driving up together. That’s because I am already there. George flew me up yesterday evening in his small plane.
I raced home from work, threw some things in a bag, and off to the Red Wing airport we drove. A couple of hours later, he had me safe on the ground at the grass landing strip of the Battle Lake municipal airport, which is right next door to their lake home.
It was a beautiful evening and the flight was hardly bumpy. George had warned me it could be a rough ride, but we lucked out. I wasn’t at all uncomfortable and gleefully absorbed as much of the overhead perspective as possible before sights disappeared behind us as the miles slipped past.
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Cyndie will drive up to join us today after she tends to the morning chores. Our property sitter and animal caretaker, McKenna, will be overseeing operations at Wintervale while we are away.
Cyndie and I need to be back earlier than George does, so I will be riding back with her on Monday. I’m guessing the trip will seem a lot longer on the way home for me, than it did coming up.
We really flew!
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Another Source
The air is completely still outside this morning. Maybe that is why my internet connection is more stable today than it was yesterday. The signal is not being disrupted by waving tree leaves.
The calm is in contrast to the disruption swirling in my mind. We have been stretched into another batch of new experiences over the last two days, taking us places we’ve not been, introducing us to new people, and giving me an opportunity to pull a flatbed trailer behind our sometimes trusty old pickup.
I’ve never done that before.
Luckily, I didn’t need to do any backing up.
We own horses. We need hay. Over the now several years that we’ve been on this equine adventure, that’s the key priority that pushes me into doing tasks for which I have no previous experience.
Last year I was feeling pretty smug over having found hay to purchase and hauling it myself in small batches with the truck, and augmenting that with bales from our own field. Now I have come to understand that what we purchased wasn’t considered prime quality fodder by our horses, and we’re admitting to ourselves that our field isn’t yielding much better.
Cyndie checked with new acquaintances and then made a connection with another hay grower. Grass hay is the term used to clarify what we are after for our horses.
I was on the far side of our property yesterday, trimming the 4-foot tall weeds that have grown along the southern border of our back pasture, when Cyndie and Delilah appeared and interrupted me. The new hay source was available immediately and leaving town for a two-week vacation tomorrow. We had to act now.
Suddenly we are checking maps and venturing down dead-end roads among farms that don’t get many visitors, looking to connect with someone we won’t know when looking at them. Kids on bikes check us out immediately, when we pull in a driveway and try to figure out where to go.
We are not surprised to discover Lonnie is friendly guy, and the kids are his grandchildren who live across the road and they love to help with hay. Mostly, they like to talk while we toss and stack bales. Lonnie offered up his flat-bed trailer to allow us to haul a hundred bales in one load and off we dove into another of my firsts.
I relied on his method of stacking and strapping to secure the load. He generously offered to come rescue us if any of the tires went flat on the trip there or back. How reassuring. I noticed he put a registration sticker on the trailer before we hooked it to the truck. I guess it hadn’t seen any road use for some time.
We made it most of the way home before a middle bale worked loose and dropped off the front. I had just turned off Highway 63 onto a rural road, so the drama was moderately reduced. I know now that we should have used that 3rd strap he considered putting across the load, but didn’t.
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Spectacular Weekend
I’m back at work today, but I expect my mind will be flooded all day long with thoughts of the spectacular weekend we just enjoyed. The weather was divine and complimented everything that was planned to honor the 50-year anniversary of Wildwood Lodge Club in Hayward, WI, on the Independence Day holiday weekend.
Sunday we held our traditional games such as water balloon toss, shoe kick, 3-legged race, and watermelon eating contest. A typical number of rules were circumnavigated in pursuit of victories, but that never lessens the laughter and frivolity enjoyed by all.
In the evening, after a catered dinner, one member from each family ever holding a membership participated in a game of Wildwood Jeopardy. When that was over, dancing to live music carried on into the wee hours of Monday morning.
Despite the late hours, I woke up early enough the next morning to sneak out on another beautiful bike ride with Cyndie’s brother, Ben.
Then it was back in the water for one last swim before it was time to pack and leave for home. Leaving the beach before the day is done is always one of the hardest things to do. It gets me begging for science-fiction to hurry up and become science-fact, in terms of a transporter ala-Star Trek to eliminate the travel time needed to get home.
Pushing myself to leave the lake during the best part of the day becomes a much more difficult thing to do when the weekend is as spectacular as this last one just was.
I feel like I deserve a medal for making it back to work today.
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Fifty Years
Coinciding with our usual 4th of July celebrations up at our lake place this year is a gala weekend recognizing the 50th anniversary of the community we call Wildwood Lodge Club. It’s like taking the most awesome event of the year and turning it up to eleven. No, make that twelve.
The brief history is that in 1966, one man spearheaded an effort to enlist a group to chip in and buy an old fishing lodge. The membership has changed a little bit over the years, with Cyndie’s family joining in 1969. The current 7 families decided to celebrate this year’s milestone by inviting everyone they could find who had ever been a member to come up for this holiday weekend.
It was a brilliant idea and the last two days have been more fun that we imagined possible.
I enjoyed a little milestone of my own at the start of the day by getting back on my bike just a week after the Tour of Minnesota. Last year after the ride, I hung my bike on a hook in the shop and didn’t get around to riding it again for the rest of the summer.
Cyndie’s brother, Ben, enticed me to bring my road bike up this year so we could get out for a ride together. It was a gorgeous morning and we made the most of it with an easy breeze through some of the beautiful lakes and woods of northern Wisconsin.
Back at Wildwood, we cooled off with a dip in the lake before the rest of the families and guests started their big day at the beach. For this special weekend, some extra floatation toys were added. They were well-used all day long.
In the evening, we gathered at the lodge for a brat and corn feast highlighted by a slide show and videos that overflowed with memories of the last 50 years.
It was informative and confirming for me to hear from some of the past members who spoke about what this place means to them still, long after their families moved on from the association.
As beautiful as this lake property is, it is the people of the member families, and the community they have created, that truly set this apart as a spectacularly incredible thing. I have always known it was special, but it is possible to take it for granted over time.
Celebrating a milestone like a 50th anniversary serves to remind and reorient me to the magic I fell into when I became a part of Cyndie’s amazing family and this special place.
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Close Calls
For the most part, my week of biking and camping was perfect. Weather was good, trails and roads were great, and my body delivered everything I asked of it. I was in the company of really great companions who fed my soul and entertained my brain.
However, my performance wasn’t entirely without incident.
The first occasion happened when I was cruising the trail with Rich and Steve on the day we coincidentally chose to wear our blue sleeveless jerseys. While some cat-callers threw out a moniker with the word “smurf” in it, Rich anointed us the “Blue Man Crew.”
There are many driveways and a few roads that the trail crosses, and at each one there is a stop sign. We are supposed to stop at each one, but in the rural setting there is very little traffic present. Instead of stopping, we would most often yield, pausing to look for cars.
After miles of no traffic, we arrived at one where a large truck had just crossed our trail and was waiting to turn onto the adjacent highway. We were talking and Rich had pulled out his water bottle as we approached. Suddenly I spotted a pickup truck pulling up behind the larger truck.
In a split second decision, I raised my hand in a wave and rolled through between the two vehicles, but Rich and Steve abruptly hit their brakes. I figured the pickup couldn’t go anywhere with the larger truck stopped in front of it. The other two made the proper decision, but paid a price when their rapid deceleration led to their bikes tangling and a spoke on Rich’s front wheel getting bent.
Our behavior seemed to rile the driver of the pickup truck, as he then raced around the large truck and cut across it in a right turn, racing his engine as he sped off.
Thinking that the spoke was broken, we gingerly made our way to the day’s destination, worried about a risk the wheel might collapse. Luckily, it wasn’t a broken spoke after all. Mike, our trusty Penn Cycle mechanic supporting the trip, was able to straighten it out and true the wheel, good as new.
The second close call happened at the end of the week as we pulled back into the town of Brainerd. I was in a small group of riders who were all seeking the best route to the fair grounds. We crossed a street at an intersection with cars waiting their turn.
Folks announced their intentions with calls of “Slowing!” and “Stopping!” I twisted my right foot out of the clipless pedal in preparation of stopping, and then got caught with my weight on the other foot. I followed their calls with one of my own.
“Falling.”
I came out of it with nothing more than a bruised hip, forearm and ego.
Just another close call.
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Trip Withdrawal
I’ve been home one day and I am noticing a distinct void from the abrupt absence of the large group of companions I enjoyed last week. Though personal space and familiar comforts of home are precious, the camaraderie we shared can be addicting, putting up a good fight for my desire.
I want both.
Now I’ve got my bathroom and bed back, but a lingering longing for the instantly available connection with inspiring souls leaves me wanting. I think that is what draws so many of us back to this annual ride each succeeding year.
Looking at a picture of the very first morning, taken just moments before we pedaled off en mass on the first leg of the week, I am instantly reminded of the excitement and anticipation of what lie ahead for us.
It started out with a damp fog just above the ground, but our 2016 ride in the heart of the state was blessed with some great weather and easy riding. A high percentage of our miles were accomplished on the 115-mile-long Paul Bunyan State Trail between Brainerd and Bemidji.
I had a really nice time meeting riders that were new to our group this year, discovering kindred spirits from as far away as Maryland, Texas, and Colorado, as well as a few from within the state of Minnesota.
They all won a piece of my heart, but challenging that for the highlight of the year for me was the opportunity to ride with first-timer, Sarah Gordon, the 10-year-old daughter of my treasured friend, Rich. They rode together on a borrowed tandem in a brave “test of concept” exercise for both.
I could see how difficult it was for each of them to manage at times, and they did a spectacular job of facing the challenges and achieving their goals, all while maintaining a superb attitude. They inspired and energized me greatly.
Sometimes we can become narrowly focused on doing this ride for our own personal reasons, but there is an equally significant value for those around us when we make the decision to participate.
I am forever grateful that Sarah decided to ride with us this year, and equally thankful for the rest of the crew, new and old, who showed up this year to make the 2016 Tour of Minnesota a particularly special biking and camping week.
How ’bout we do it again next year, eh?
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Relative Something 