Sandra Heska King

daring to open doors

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And the Wheels Turn

August 22, 2012 By Sandra Heska King

I’m on my bike.

I don’t want to be. Well, I do kind of. But not really.

I’m not in shape, and my husband has no concept of time or distance.

Well, he does kind of. And I know he’ll turn back if I ask, but I also know he wants to share this time with me and that he has hopes of riding the rail trails again.

I’d rather walk. Dilly dally. Snap pictures. I’ve tucked my baby camera in the phone pocket on my handlebars. But it’s too hard to stop and get off and go again. And I’m all wobbly if I try to shoot on the run ride.

So I keep pedaling. Up and down. Round and round.

Because I know these are fence-mending moments.

Because I know that I will catch a glimpse God.

He’s ahead of me now. “How did this thing get into seventh gear?” I shout.

He stops and waits and reminds me how to downshift.

We go a short way on pavement, and then it’s gravel. Some oiled, some soft. I swerve back and forth to find an easy path, harder and smoother without so many chatter bumps. I decide I need a bigger behind or padded bike pants.

I feel a catch and a pain in my left knee. The one where the wave took out my ACL. I lean my inner wrists on the handlebars and flex my fingers. My right hand, especially, tends to go numb. My thighs throb.

I focus on the gravel that crunches under my tires like Bubble Wrap.

And the wheels turn, and time passes.

I’m determined not to give up. Determined not to whine.

I note details, and I write in my head. Try to remember this. How will I describe that?

We pass fields of alfalfa and corn and beans–where occasional volunteer corn soldiers stand guard. I see two deer on my left that turn out to be just brush formations. Something skitters in front of me. A mouse? What are those flowers?

Sue’s horses graze in the field. I tease D about the two of them being an item before we married. He insists they weren’t. Just part of the same “saddle club.” Her husband, and now her son, farm our land. I remind D how Glenwood (yes, his name–a teacher and also member of the long-ago saddle club) told me I should be prepared to have horses all my life. And how that’s part of why I married him (D.) And how we only had horses for about three or four years. And now I’m stuck with him. And he laughs.

Down the road, cows gather around the hay feeder. D points out an old red one-room schoolhouse.

There’s a musty and then peppery scent on the air. I can’t decipher what it is. But I recognize the the odor of manure.

The breeze whistles through my helmet.

A giant blood orange hangs between heaven and horizon. I beg it to stand still and wait until I can taste its deliciousness in my camera lens. But it spills its juice behind the trees, leaving only lavender and pink streaks.

And the wheels turn, and time passes.

A deer, a real one, runs parallel with us and then veers off into the corn.

We turn left, back on pavement, and the small hill just before home, just before the finish, is ahead.

Push. Push.

I’m getting cranky, and I start to whine.

My wheel slides off into soft sand. I catch myself as I start to fall, and I twist my back. So I walk the bike the rest of the way up, and I’m mad at myself that I’m grumpy. I remount and press on to the end as headlights pass us in the dusk. Black rubber turns earth brown, and a little lifeless yellow butterfly flop flops on the front tire as the wheels turn.

D offers to take me back out to snap some pictures of places we’ve passed and things we’ve I’ve seen.

We get in the car and drive.

And the wheels turn, and time passes.

Resurrected from the archives and refurbished. Linking with Ann today.

And the sisters.

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Comments

  1. Diana Trautwein says

    August 22, 2012 at 2:50 pm

    Every joint hurts as I read this. Ah, you’re a better man than I, SHK. Fortunately, my D does not ride bikes. And he KNOWS I don’t do tennis. :>) I am walking again, at least – but that is so much a part of my own silent/solitude life that we don’t share it much. I get the fence-mending thing. Yup. There is that.

    • Sandra says

      August 22, 2012 at 7:30 pm

      You must do a lot of fence-mending in the car. 😉

  2. SImplyDarlene says

    August 22, 2012 at 3:14 pm

    Ah. Oh. Good story.

    Haven’t been on my bike since college…

    If it was a musty and salty scent (instead of peppery), I might say that perhaps it was you and your sweaty-ness… 😉 That’s what it would be if I were riding my bike.

    Blessings.

    • Sandra says

      August 22, 2012 at 7:33 pm

      I do miss the clop clop down those gravel roads and the smell of horse sweat…

  3. Lyn Cooke says

    August 22, 2012 at 9:42 pm

    I love a bike ride in the country, but I hate the saddle sores! This was precious,Sandy. Thank you!

    • Sandra says

      August 23, 2012 at 9:47 am

      Thanks, Lyn. We’ve sprung for a recumbent exercise bike that I’ve set up right in the main living room. I’m hoping it’ll toughen me up. It’s what my surgeon recommended years ago when I had my knee surgery–but we just brought my regular bike in and set it up on a stand. 🙂

  4. Martha Orlando says

    August 23, 2012 at 7:08 am

    I saw everything through your eyes and felt every ache in your body as you rode, Sandy. So elegantly, yet simply, descriptive!
    Thank you for sharing!
    Blessings!

    • Sandra says

      August 23, 2012 at 9:45 am

      Thank you, Martha. You are always such an encouragement.

  5. Diane BAiley says

    August 23, 2012 at 9:02 am

    CAll me next time and I’ll go with you!

    • Sandra says

      August 23, 2012 at 9:44 am

      I assume you’re up to date with your CPR skills? 😉

  6. Megan Willome says

    August 23, 2012 at 11:37 am

    One of my dear poetry friends met her husband in a horse barn and married him partially because they shared a love of horses. And they also haven’t had horses since those first few years of marriage (now going on 45).

  7. Jennifer Richardson says

    August 23, 2012 at 4:34 pm

    ohhhhhh, how beautiful this ridealong with you.
    i felt to to my bones and beyond.
    thank you for sharing the dusty road,
    Jennifer

  8. Linda says

    August 23, 2012 at 9:25 pm

    I haven’t ridden my bike in such a long time. I felt every bump and ache Sandy. I’m proud of you.

  9. Cheryl Smith says

    August 25, 2012 at 3:54 pm

    I’m always in awe of how people remember the details to tell the story later. I try. Really, I do. But it never comes out the way I want it – beautiful and poetic like this.

    I’m so glad you had the chance to go back, to see and chronicle what you missed, and to spend more time with D.

    Maybe we should initiate a week of no-whining, for the grown ups. I’m in need.

  10. Cecilia Marie Pulliam says

    September 8, 2012 at 9:45 pm

    I love to ride a bike. Haven’t done it in years. My husband prefers to walk. Seems like there never is the perfect match in preferences, does there? I love your descriptions and photos, Sandy.

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