I had to meet with Larry Morrow, that’s right – the radio personality – to discuss home improvements I needed to make to satisfy his point of sale inspection. We decided early Saturday morning was going to be the only chance. I arrived and we went over the list of about ten things.
“And so when are you going on the market?” I asked.
“Tuesday. Can you do it by then?”
“Larry…it’s Saturday! I’m working all day today and tomorrow I have to do all that stuff I need to do to keep my house from being condemned,” I said.
We agreed that I’d start Monday and wouldn’t likely be done on Tuesday. I drove to Mimi’s where I was planning to paint the front of the house, which was blistering badly because of the direct afternoon sunlight it absorbs. I put my ladder against the house and began several hours of painting and scraping…and sweating. The paint I’d picked up from Sherwin Williams was a spot-on match. I was reaching to knock some paint from the top most clapboard when I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket, indicating a text. I carefully placed my scraper in my pocket and reached for the phone. The message was from Kathy, a cyclist I’d met recently, asking me if I’d like to meet her in the Cuyahoga Valley National Park for a ‘2-3 hour bike ride’.
I know there are laws against texting and driving, but none that I’m aware of regarding texting while twenty feet up holding a can of paint and an Iphone. Common sense maybe, but no law.
She had indicated that there was some gravel on the trail, so I wrote back saying that ‘road bikes and gravel equals crash’ and asked if she’d consider coming my way for a road ride. She was amenable.
We met in the North Chagrin Reservation, the world’s greatest park, and headed out from there. I took her on the Waite Hill course after she continually harangued me with sarcastic comments. When we came back together after sweeping down Eagle Road Hill into Gates Mills, she pulled alongside me. “You said ‘no hills’ in your text,” she whined.
“I don’t think that I did, but this is a great, downhill course that will end back at our cars having never gone up,” I said.
Her look said ‘last ride butthead’, one I’ve seen before…and ignored.
We rolled through ten miles of hills with her biting sarcasm a distant memory. She didn’t know the way back, after all. We were riding past Patterson’s, so I detoured in for a peach, the view and anything else I could welch.
“Do you like kayaking?” I asked and then explained how my friend Henry had picked mine up that morning so he could go out with someone, but that if she wanted to go, I could get them both. We were walking out to finish the ride when I stopped short. “That’s my kayak on the roof of that Toyota Tacoma,” I said and turned to find Karen, someone I’d never met and who had been kayaking with Henry, staring at me. “Are you John?”
Henry emerged from the bathroom for introductions. “This is Kathy and she’s been riding my ass since we got on the bikes,” I said.
Henry apparently doesn’t hear too well. “And how do you like riding behind John?”
“No Henry…not riding on my ass…riding my ass! She’s harder on me than I am on you…and so you know how much THAT sucks,” I said.
He looked from me to her…surmised she was a helpless innocent, and said, “I’ve known this guy for years. You have my complete sympathy.”
And that’s what friends are for.
We finished the ride, taking over two hours. Her bike was much heavier and built for trails, but she rode strongly and hardly complained about the hills. The fact is, riding around me through cities with ‘hills’ and ‘heights’ as part of their names means you’re going to be going up and down. We did just that. I did avoid Old Mill for her though.
It was a rather tiring day as I’d dropped copious amounts of sweat. I knew I needed to get fluids back in after two straight days and with more planned tomorrow. No more kidney stones for this wounded warrior.
Bike Workout: Two hours and 30 minutes.
Training Heart Rate: 120 bpm biking.
Calories Burned: 2100.
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