November 2020 – The Spoke And Word™

November 29, 2020 Jhciacb

Riding With The King…

I took my dad with me for a ride last Tuesday. He didn’t add extra weight to the bike — I just carried him in my head and my heart. I tried to spend as much time with him as my attention span would allow.

Tuesday would have been Dad’s 91st birthday.

If I could describe my dad in a single word it would be unsettled. In his lifetime my dad was, not necessarily in order, the following…

– Reporter for the Boston Globe

– Officer in the United States Air Force

– High School and Junior College English
teacher

– High School And Junior College business
teacher

– Salesman

– Marketing Manager

– Financial services company Executive Vice
President

– Political Campaign Manager

– Certified Fundraising Executive

– Director of Development for colleges
and non-profits

– Security Guard

– Townhome Property Manager

– Burglar Alarm Company CSR

My dad held degrees from…

– Boston University

– University of Redlands

– Attended Boston University School Of Law

But all my dad ever wanted to do was to teach high school or junior college. He wanted to teach in the winter months, and run a camp for teens during the summer. He wanted to do this somewhere in New England.

Well, things didn’t go as planned. Money, material things, and all that goes with raising a family pushed him toward a career in business — but his heart was never in it. I think there was some parental pressure as well. My dad was the embodiment of the most true axiom I’ve ever known…

The best job you’ll ever have is the one you just left or the one you’re going to next. Never, is it the one you’re currently in.

Recreation would still be central to his lifestyle, but he never would start his summer camp. He channeled those intentions toward his two sons instead. When I was 6 and my brother was 10, Dad moved the family from the suburbs of New Jersey to the Colorado front range — for what he hoped would be a more active life, and a more lucrative one in matters of finance.

There was skiing in winter. In the summer there was camping, tennis, swimming, fishing, bicycling, and the summer camps he would send my brother and I to, including the Boy Scout camps we loved. Dad was a one-man recreation director.

I was well into my 40s when I realized how dedicated my father had been to seeing my brother and I active on the weekends and during the summers. He hated to see his boys sitting around the house. To this day, my brother and I both have to be active for at least a portion of every day, and we both love to be outdoors more than not. For my part, I built an entire career around the ideas of recess and summer vacation.

Growing up, my dad pushed me to become a lawyer, a journalist, or a military officer. He would’ve been cool if I’d become a rabbi. He never really got good with my fitness career. I think if he saw me now though, he’d realize I’ve been in his summer camp for like 40 years — I think he’d be okay with that.

Last Tuesday, while riding with my dad perched on my shoulder, I imagined the conversation he and I would have had about all if this now — while riding past the autumn foliage on a 65 degree day in San Diego. The conversation on went better than expected.

Happy birthday to the man with the plan and the pocket-comb. I love you.

This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb

This week by the numbers…

Bikes Ridden: 7

Miles: 205

Climbing: 9,100’

Mph Avg: 14.8

Calories: 11,552

Seat Time: 13 hours 48 minutes

Whether you ride a bike or not, thank you for taking the time to ride along with me today. If you haven’t already, please scroll up and subscribe. If you like what you read, give it a like and a share. If not, just keep scrollin’. Oh, and there’s this from Marc Cohn. Enjoy…

November 22, 2020 Jhciacb

Pray The Straightaways…

Along with making to-do lists in my head, thinking back my first Pop-Tart, dreaming about retirement, and enjoying the sights and the nature around me, something I get to do when I ride each day is give thanks.

Who I’m thanking, I have no idea. Vishnu, Shiva, Yahweh, Crom, The Flying Spaghetti Monster…? I dunno. I only know that I’m compelled each day to give thanks for this wonderful life I’ve been given. Hopefully somebody is listening.

When I use the term ‘Lord’ in my gratitudes, it’s less a divine term, and relates more to packaging and delivery. Just trying to get my thanks to the right address. Sometimes, I think, giving thanks is like placing a message in a bottle and tossing it into the sea. Maybe somebody gets it, maybe not, but at least I’ve left a record of my intentions.

Somewhere in the straightaways of Highway 76, North River Road, or Old Highway 395, when my rhythm settles in, the road ahead of me is straight, and my mind is clear, I give thanks with the following prayer…

Lord, I thank you for a new day and a new chance to walk on the right path.

I ask forgiveness for the sins I’ve committed and the mistakes I’ve made. Help me have awareness that I learn from those sins and from those mistakes, that they not become repeated.

I thank you for the blessings and opportunities which surround me. Help me to recognize and appreciate the blessings. Help me fulfill the opportunities for the betterment of this world, the people in it, and the people in my life.

Help me speak the truth this day. Regardless of what situations I find myself in or what thoughts swirl through my head, help me remember it’s better to stand in a room empty of words than to fill one with lies or exaggerations.

Help me remember that my place is not to judge — that what somebody looks like or what they don’t look like is not a reflection of who they are. Help me remember that behind every pair of eyes is a heart, a soul, and a life‘s worth of experiences that I know nothing about.

Help me be a good steward to the planet today. Help me be mindful of the environment, its resources, and help me give more than I take.

Thank you for the critters that touch my life. Help me be better to them today than they are to me.

Help me be a good man today. Help me walk tall, me speak few words, and be far in my reach. Help me be kind.

I thank you for hearing these words. Amen

And the thing is, I don’t just run through it quietly in my head. I whisperer these words in a scarcely audible voice as I pedal, to ensure my intentions extend beyond my lips and project into the universe.

This is not a religious prayer so much as it is a thank you note and a to-do list — all in one. It’s a way to give thanks, and a daily reminder of who I’ve been and who I’m attempting to be. Giving thanks in this way makes at least a portion of my ride to church — a church not made by hands, with a congregation of one.

This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb

This week by the numbers…

Bikes Ridden: 7

Miles: 204

Climbing: 9,100’

Mph Avg: 15.4

Calories: 11,623

Seat Time: 13 hours 16 minutes

November 15, 2020November 15, 2020 Jhciacb

Riddled With Doubt…

From the time I roll out of bed each morning, until I crawl back in at night, I experience moments of doubt, often paralyzing, all day long. Of all my underlying psychological disorders, doubt tops the list.

Doubts about everything.

My doubts are like landmines, buried in indiscernible patterns and scattered throughout my days. Sometimes I have to hit my doubts pretty hard before they explode. Other times though, they trigger with barely a touch.

It usually begins with the ones I love.

I’ll just be moving along, seemingly in a peaceful day, when suddenly I hit a doubt.

Boom…!

I’ll take a look at my mom, for example, and out of nowhere I’ll begin to question the ways I care for her. I’ll think about all the things I could be doing better on her behalf, but don’t. Then I’ll think about all the things I could do better in future, but know I won’t.

The shock of that concussion might keep in a fog for hours, despite my need to function as a businessman and as a caregiver. Eventually, it’ll give way to more peaceful moments. But then, the next one…

Boom…!

In the course of a day, I’ll doubt I’m a good businessman.

I’ll doubt I’m a good steward for my pets.

I’ll doubt I’m a good friend.

I’ll doubt I’m a good father.

I’ll doubt I’m a good neighbor.

And in a week’s time, I’ll question most every decision I made that week and wonder why I don’t put more effort into making better decisions more often — and take better actions.

Where these doubts come from and why they show up when they do, I can’t say. And this isn’t a ‘woe is me’ party. I wouldn’t wish these feelings on anyone. When these doubts strike it can be hard to breathe, hard to move forward in the day, and they’re always accompanied by sadness. Sometimes the sadness is subtle. Other times it’s overwhelming.

And then there’s the greatest doubt of all — whether or not even exist. And if I do exist, how much control do I really have over any of these actions and inactions which I spend so much time doubting…? Those doubts can knock me off my feet.

My doubts control me like a pimp.

By the time I walk out the front door with a bike in one hand and a helmet in the other, I’ll have experienced a handful of doubt explosions, each doing a little more damage to my psyche. Is that damage is permanent…? I don’t know. I only know that the older I get, the less I glow and the slower I move from all the mental contusions caused by doubts.

I get out on my bike and the doubts subside, if only for a while. I feel peace, exhilaration, and wonder. I don’t question anything and I enjoy everything. The days I feel the most doubt, are the days I tend to have the most meaningful rides. And if it weren’t for having to make a living, the most doubtful days would host my longest rides. I could ride for hours on a heavily doubtful day.

But all painkillers wear off, and so to does the bike ride. I’ll put the bike back in the stable and I’ll towel down. I’ll eat a handful of grapes and as I begin walking about my post-ride evening, I’ll walk on eggshells, everywhere I go, knowing at some point, I’ll trigger another doubt — I just never know when.

Boom…!

This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb

This week by the numbers…

Bikes Ridden: 7

Miles: 205

Climbing: 9,100’

Mph Avg: 15.1

Calories: 11,645

Seat Time: 13 hours 36 minutes

November 8, 2020 Jhciacb

The American Mirror…

“Beginning with the election of John F. Kennedy in 1960, the occupant of the White House has become a combination of demigod, father figure and, inevitably the betrayer of inflated hopes. Pope. Pop star. Scold. Scapegoat. Crisis manager. Commander in Chief. Agenda setter. Moral philosopher. Interpreter of the nation’s charisma. Object of veneration. And the butt of jokes. All rolled into one…”

The Limits Of Power (2008), by Col. Andrew Bacevich, PhD

Before we slam the door shut on one President, and break out the anointing oil for another, let’s take a good look in the mirror…

Our policies, domestic and foreign, are not simply conceived and implemented by people in Washington D.C. and imposed on us as if we had nothing to do with their creation. Our policies are conceived and implemented in Washington D.C., but reflect the desires of our personal agendas — what ‘we the people’ want.

And what we want, to paint a broad brushstroke, is a continuing flow of cheap consumer goods, unlimited energy, and easy credit. We want to be able to fill our cars with gas, regardless of how big they are, in order to drive wherever we want to be. We want to walk into any store and fill our carts with as much as we desire, and know that if we don’t have the cash for those things at the register, we can buy them anyway and pay the bill down the road — probably.

And we want to drive to these places and buy these thing in the name of status, and without having to think about whether or not the ecological or fiscal books balance at the end of the day, the end of the month, or even the end of the generation. That will be for others to figure out, because America, loosely translated, means to kick the can down the road.

And we ridicule, point fingers at, and have great and frustrating arguments about the people we elect to ensure and protect these policies so that we can continue this lifestyle. That is, when we’re not celebrating them as the celebrity saviors of our best interests. And we believe each of these elected officials are there for the express purpose of helping us maintain this lifestyle of cheap consumer goods, cheap energy, and easy credit. All the while though, they tell us what we wish to hear so they can keep their easy jobs and their exalted status, and we foolishly believe them.

And the pursuit of these ‘freedoms’, as defined in this age of consumerism, has induced a condition of additional dependence on imported goods, on imported oil, and on foreign credit. And the chief aim of the elected officials is to satisfy that desire, which it does in-part through its foreign policy. Thus, our foreign policy, by and large, is the result of our dependence on consumer goods, energy, and credit.

And no President, no Senate, and no House Of Representatives will change this direction until there is a massive — a profound and overwhelming movement among and by ‘we the people’ to limit our dependency on those consumer goods, that cheap energy, and that credit.

And at the end of the day, it feels good to blame legislative bodies, the individuals within them, bureaucrats, and the President himself — whoever he might be, for our weakness, our desires, and our selfishness.

Set Thine House In Order

This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb

This week by the numbers…

Bikes Ridden: 6

Miles: 209

Climbing: 9,100’

Mph Avg: 15.4

Calories: 12,008

Seat Time: 13 hours 37 minutes

November 1, 2020November 1, 2020 Jhciacb

The Fall Of Beauty…

A client was talking to me the other day about the beauty of Fall — the trees, the leaves changing color, the autumn breezes and so-on. I think she was surprised when I flipped her thoughts around. That’s not the beauty of Fall, I said, that’s the fall of beauty, but not necessarily the end of it.

Huh…?

I chewed on that heavily during my ride later that evening — on my appreciation of things that are often seen as past their prime by a culture obsessed with material goods and the newness of everything.

I like older things, weathered things, and things with stories and histories behind them.

I like bare trees beside piles of leaves on the ground, rusty metal fences, and human faces with wrinkles that tell their stories.

I like long gray ponytails, old hand-written letters with coffee stains on the edges, and record sleeves with faded large circles imbedded in them permanently.

I like raspy voices, tarnished jewelry, and wooden furniture that’s lost portions of its stain.

I like cars with dents, black-and-white movies that flicker, and songs played on vinyl with audible scratches.

There’s just a dignity I appreciate in the aging of nearly anything, except for lettuce, milk, and bad ideas.

I like a dog with a frosted face, a copper bell that’s mostly green, and the faded Cross pen & pencil set my dad gave me for my bar mitzvah.

Material things, just like people, have a wisdom about them when they’re older — when they’ve survived the scratches, bumps, and abrasions that come with time.

The wooden spoon in my kitchen, that I’ve known since childhood, tells a story that a brand new one cannot, but only if I’m listening.

That’s not to suggest I don’t like new things too — younger people with fresh ideas, a new coat of paint on the walls around me, or a new knife set with clean handles and sharp edges.

It’s just that given the choice between older and newer, very often, I prefer the older.

I’ve worn the same tank-top for most every workout since before my daughter was born — she’s now 30. If I ever have the money, I’ll find that ‘74 Chevy Vega once again and it will be my everyday car. M*A*S*H vs Breaking Bad…? I’ll take M*A*S*H every time.

I appreciate Courtney Barnett, Modest Mouse, and Stone Horses, but I always come home Traffic, The Allmans, and Herb Alpert.

And the hand I trust the most…? It’s the one that’s the most weathered, most wrinkled, and has the most spots, of course.

This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb

This week by the numbers…

Bikes Ridden: 6

Miles: 184

Climbing: 7,100’

Mph Avg: 15.3

Calories: 10,500

Seat Time: 12 hours 03 minutes