I’m not the billygoat I used to be

I’m about 50 feet above sea lev­el – if that – and I’ve had to stop and rest for the last 10 min­utes. What hap­pened to the days when I climbed moun­tains on my bike just to say I had?

Still, I can­not com­plain. I used to call in sick to work just to ride my bike in the moun­tains. Today is the first time I’ve rid­den in months. It’s a plea­sure I allow myself so rarely that the plea­sure has dimin­ished along with my capac­i­ty. I still love to ride, but I can’t say it’s fun to give up halfway up a small hill because I’m wind­ed and have run out of gears. It does feel good to get out and work the bike a bit. The sun is hot and I’m in San Fran­cis­co. The spot I’ve cho­sen for my rest over­looks the Sutro Bath ruins and the Pacif­ic Ocean. Scant­i­ly-clad tourists and locals are run­ning, bik­ing, and walk­ing. This is the good life. If I turn around and take the flat­test route home it’ll be a twelve-mile day, which is not much but not bad for my first ride in prob­a­bly three months. Even with­out the exer­cise fac­tor, it’s nice to be out in the fresh air, away from the con­stant woofer-heavy rap sounds and the sti­fling heat of my own neighborhood.

Of course, my father is putting me to shame. On Mon­day he left his house in Ver­mont on a solo bike tour of the USA. He’s going “until it’s not fun any­more.” But I hope he makes it here to the West Coast. I’d love to see him. Still, I’m haunt­ed by the fact that at 33, I’m still try­ing to catch up to my father. I’ve nev­er even once beat­en him at chess, and he’s tak­ing off on my dream bike tour. Guess I need to find a way to feel grown-up with­out sur­pass­ing my dad.

Any­way, here’s his journal:

http://www.toolboxsw.com/george/

I think he’s phon­ing in the info to his girl­friend, who is typ­ing the entries in. He decid­ed to go with­out any elec­tron­ic equip­ment except for an emer­gency cellphone.