Life On A B-I7

This is a private note that has been shared.

This week I added Breakfast with Seneca by David Fideler to my reading journey. (I’m still reading My Friends and starting to really get into it) but I have to admit that Breakfast with Seneca has me hooked. It’s a wonderful work that explains Stoicism in a way that an ordinary mind (mine) can appreciate. I picked this book up when Emma and I were shopping at Ravenna Books a couple of weeks ago. What a great find, and what a nice visit that was too.

My Friends is entertaining but a bit too fluffy for me. That said, there is no question that Backman can write. He almost writes too well. It’s hard for me to believe this was translated into English. The translator, Neil Smith, must be a linguistic genius. Anyway, Backman is no Hemingway. Hemingway would have told this story in half the pages and it would have been just as impactful, maybe more. That’s not a criticism, that’s a compliment, to both really. Speaking of Hemingway, when Polly was seven years old her family moved into the house where Hemingway lived. Her bedroom was the office where Hemingway wrote A Moveable Feast. That seems important to me, so I thought I’d mention it…

I had a beer with Tim tonight. I’m hoping he becomes a new friend. He cycled around the U.S. in one go. That was just last year. Almost 8,000 miles in just over four months. He’s super nice. He gave me some good tips on what to expect on my tour this summer. I would love to do a tour with him someday… we shall see.

Thursday’s Ride 32.5 miles, 11.6 mph avg, 2 hr 48 min, elevation gain 925 ft

It’s tough to put into words what yesterday’s ride means to me. I wish I was better with words. To start, it felt good. Turning the pedals is — work. It’s also joy, pure and simple. You are moving forward and you are doing it under your own power and no one else’s. That’s part of the experience. It’s all on you and no one else. Watching the road come up and then disappear under the front tire gives you such a feeling of progress, it’s satisfying. I look up to see beauty all around. The sort of beauty you don’t see when screaming though the terrain at fifty miles per hour. Beauty you are seeing. Cars that pass by don’t disturb me, perhaps they should, but they don’t. I’m lost in the moment, or perhaps it’s more accurate to say, the moments. I listen. I hear my bicycles tires rolling on the tarmac, another indication that I’m making progress. Then there is the existential. It just feels good. Good to be out there. There’s no place else I would want to be in that moment. It’s all part of the experience that will eventually bring me home and allow me to write this. While you are pedaling, there is no thought of what is to come later. You look up, you see a bend in the road in front of you and there is no indication, no need to worry about what is beyond. That’s part of the mystery. Naturally, you can never be completely sure your body will allow you to get where you are planning to go. I find that now, more than ever, the thought of finishing the ride is not assured. The desire to finish has become another point of the exercise. We can’t be sure of anything, but when the goal is reached and you set the bike aside, it’s a cause for celebration, a momentary celebration of one… that feels good.

Tux in meditation, or protecting me… I’m not sure which…

Love, Dad