I left my apartment in Gorham on Saturday night, April 30, at precisely 11:59 pm. For three days before that and up through that evening I had been packing and moving as much stuff as I could to my sister, Deb's house. I did it all by myself (using her minivan in about 7 trips) and it was pretty physically demanding. I don't sleep well anyway and the uncertainty about how things were going to turn out made that worse. By the time I left I was running on 4 hours of sleep for the last 48 hours. But I like to work hard and I knew that eventually, even if it might be days ahead, I would get a chance to relax at some point.
The evening of my departure was a sad one in some ways. Although I was quite happy to be leaving a place that I felt had become stressful and even hostile to live in, the memories of the last 7.5 years flashed involuntarily through my mind as I secured a tent, sleeping bag, and saddle bag to the back rack of a bike and stuffed as many "survival" items as I could into my backpack . Hours earlier I had brought my cats to the home of a wonderful woman who I used to go to high school with. She stepped in at the last moment and volunteered to foster them for me for the next couple months. My list of people who I want to leave my millions to someday - once I can turn my penny back into dollars - is certainly growing. At the very least they deserve to be publically appreciated even now, when I have nothing else that I can repay them with.
So, turning off the lights and leaving a note for Landlady Linda letting her know I was gone, I slid open the glass door and wheeled the bike out on to the lawn toward the driveway. It was really not my intention to ride the bike. I wanted to use it as a kind of "cart." But I figured I could ride it down hills to save some time. I had about 60 pounds of stuff and the bike itself was poorly set up for riding. I just knew that it would be a way to attempt to take more than I could by foot. It was a good theory but life has a way of smashing my theories into the ground.
Immediately upon walking down the first hill the sleeping bag squished its way through my jury-rigged strap and went rolling off into a ditch. I put the kickstand down and ran after it. While I was running I heard a CRASH behind me and turned to see the bike on its side, now with all the other fastened items smeared across the soft shoulder.
I retrieved the sleeping bag and marched back up the embankment to the fallen bike. Meanwhile in the dark cars were passing by, each one slowing suddenly to see what the mess was on the side of the road. I pulled a small LED flashlight out of my back pack and set about re-tying everything back on the bike's rear rack. Surprisingly, it didn't take long. In short order I was down the first hill and on my way up the next one. I made it down and up another until I finally reached downtown Gorham.
My plan was to make it all the way to Scarborough where I could find a dark place to sleep the rest of the night. I have a library card for that library and intended to get online in the morning there. As I crossed the the main intersection in town (I was walking south along Route 114, crossing over Route 202/25), I noticed the grade level tipped slightly downhill. And I knew that it was a relatively level road all the way to South Gorham. So I tipped the bike toward me and climbed aboard. It was time to try riding. Walking by holding the handlebars to my right was getting VERY old. I just wanted to get to my dark spot in Scarborough and get some sleep.
Here is a map for the night journey...
The pink dot at the top is where my apartment was
and the pink dot at the bottom was my destination.
I traveled along Route 114.
Right after crossing that first intersection in downtown Gorham, I heard a voice cry out from across the road, "Hey buddy! You lost a bag!" I looked back and sure enough the sleeping bag had wiggled back out from its strap again and was rolling into the parking lot of the 24 hour laundry mat. Surprisingly for me, I didn't even get angry, I was too focused on my goal. I NEEDED to succeed with as little attention to all of my problems as possible. I turned the bike around and headed into the laundry mat parking lot. As I lifted my leg to get off the bike my shoe caught a strap on the tent bag and the entire bike fell over with me under it, both of us laying in the rocky tar, my sleeping bag still out of reach as if it was teasing me. Muffled laughter was heard across the street. "You OK?" the voice asked.
Looking up at the stars after midnight, on the rocky tar, in the cold, on my back, with 80 pounds of bicycle on top of me, I stammered out, "Ah...oh...yeah. Never been better." They laughed again and walked on.
After freeing myself from my bicycle-prison I pushed the bike over on to the grass beside the building, grabbing the sleeping bag and set about re-resecuring the items to the back. I then put the kickstand up and turned the bike to begin walking again, when suddenly I heard a crunching, clinking sound coming from the rear sprockets. I pulled out my LED flashlight and shone it on the axle of the rear wheel. Sure enough one of the thin elastic bands had hooked its metal end on the teeth of the sprocket and very tightly wound itself all through the concentric gears. For a moment I just looked at it. Then I looked up at the stars; then back down again. Still, I refused to lose my temper. I had a goal to achieve by sunrise and I was gonna accomplish it even if I had to leave a bunch of stuff there beside the building and walk on.
Carefully I examined the situation, the technical description of which is, I believe: a "clusterfuck." The items on the back of the bike were completely secured now and it was too heavy to stay up with just the kickstand. Still I needed to be able roll the bike back and forth, lift the rear to rotate the wheel without moving the bike and also work with both hands to untangle the elastic. Since these three things were not mutually compatible actions, I decided with great frustration to take everything back off the back of the bike so I could work on it.
Despite my reluctance in having to do this after spending so much time re-resecuring it all, it turned out to be the right decision and saved me a lot of even greater frustration in the end. I worked for about 30 minutes to rotate the wheel, stretch out bits of elastic from the sprockets and untangle it, until finally the metal hook that originally attached itself was able to be removed.
Sighing, I tipped the bike back up and rolled it around the lawn a few times backward and forward until I was convinced that it was ready to be used again. This time when I secured everything to the back rack I made sure no hooks were fastened near the sprocket.
Again I slowly rolled the bike back out on to the street. I was sweating like a madman and stopped for a moment to take out my towel to just rub it all over my head. It was really pretty cold now, close to freezing. My skin was cold, but I didn't feel cold. I wanted to just rest. I was practically hallucinating from over-work and lack of sleep. I had $5 in my pocket and had only had a sandwich in the last 24 hours.
But again that feeling of accomplishing my goal over-rode all other considerations. Surely, the worst was over now. And to some extent the worst was over, but other more psychologically interesting things lay ahead. Of my 8.5 mile journey I had completed 1 mile. It was now about 2:00 am. I decided to try to ride the bike to save time since the road was very straight and level, and the traffic was practically non-existent. Also I really wanted to sit as much as possible rather than just trudging along pushing the bike.
With a new energy welling up, I tipped the bike down, climbed onto the seat and shakily started off toward Scarborough.
Alex: we all know you can accomplish whatever you want. Enjoy the ride.
ReplyDeleteCheers,
Dr. Dave