I Pulled And Spun

 

Northbound into town.  Cloudy outside and there wasn’t much life left to view beyond the trunks of things getting ready for winter.  Chain came off the derailer.  Happens.  I was gonna pull over and call my dad anyway.  Called him.  No.  He wasn’t in the mood to come out and meet me at the Coppersea Distillery.  No worries.  It’s getting late.  Yeah.  So then I returned to getting the chain loose.  I pulled.  It didn’t come.  I spun it backwards.  Nope.  Flipped the bike over and rested it all on the seat.  I pulled and spun.  I pulled really hard.  I pedaled around backwards and they forward hard.  I had now made it all much worse.  A guy asked me if I needed help.   “Nah!”  I felt silly. 

Trudged up to the bike shop.  It wasn’t far from where I was on the trail.  I’d been thinking to head there anyway.  Seasonal tune up.  Really?  Closed on Sunday?  I would think this would be one of their big days.  Not my business.  Back down hill, toward the trail, coasting till all’s flat and then I walked for a bit.  Shall I walk back home?  Called the Mrs.  She came and met me at that restaurant that doesn’t seem to have survived Covid 19, The Statzione. 

 

Still needed exercise.  In the garage I cut boxes down into little foot-long squares and tossed them in a pile that grew higher and higher until I threw them all into a plastic bag.  The idea is to place these into recycling.  The pieces of tape and the bubble wrap go into another pile.  That is garbage.  But we have been told that whereas “China” used to buy the recycled waste.  It doesn’t anymore and everything picked up by county waste is dumped together now into one receptacle.  I could find out what’s really true.  But for now, I keep them separate, clinging to habit. 

After three enormous bags are full, I pause and consider the mountains of cardboard that remain uncut, unbagged.  Our garbage container at the top of the driveway can’t hold more than two of these and hope to close.  My right hand has three or four lacerations.  I don’t remember how they happened.  There is grease all over from my failed efforts with the chain as well.  It’s getting dark. One tug, two.  The doors fall shut and I bring the bags up to the Highlander and toss em’ in the back.  And when I’m back, after shoving them into the trash container, I go and wash my hands. 

 

 

 

Sunday, 11/15/20