A Bicyclist's Diary

A Bicyclist's Diary

---

It is a strange thing that in sea
voyages where there is nothing
to be seen but sky and sea,
men should make diaries;
but in land travel, wherein so much
is to be observed, for the most
part they omit it.
                                                ---F. Bacon

To be a good diarist, one must
have a little snouty, sneaky mind.
                                                ---S. Pepys

Frozen-footed but sweat-bodied,
I sit here scribbling, of all things, 
a diary ...
                                              ---barbsdad
---

The sometimes gale antagonized
en route to Dodge Park the street.

Biking  northward crosswind
while tripping to Dodge Park proper,
fortunately, I met but occasional
eccentric sideways cranky wind
resistance.

The whole way,
the ground surface
dulled dry as
cold sun shone flat.

No
squirrels
at
the
park.

But below---

and nearly,
or practically,
beneath---

the swaying footbridge swam seven-
eight midcurrent bobbing in-water
ducks.

Maybe sixty yards downriver east
from the pedestrian passover
floated near shore a pair
of preening Canadian honkers.

On rounding a trail curve at Dodge's
far east end, I spotted the biggest-I've-
yet-seen woolly chow.

First glance from rearward tempted
an assumption of a bear sighted.

A gorgeous melange of partibrowns
predominating, both his size
and evident energy would contribute
potency to---

and masochistic pleasure
on the part of

a viewer of---

a
Stephen
King
movie
creation.

I didn't stop to chat, no.

Not
at
all.

He seemed to be reasonably well
under control at the far end of what
looked like a pair of horse's
flat-leather reins instead of anything
more resembling

a
dog's
leash.

One brown squirrel I espied near
the bridge before crossing back ...

and then a blackie near the water's
edge on the footbridge's south side.

Then suddenly,

at the base of a massive
oak nearly riverside,

a brownie half-ran/leapt diagonally
away from me.

I barked, "Want a nut?!"
and she stopped---

and
I
stopped---

and approached me to wait, with a tad
amount of impatience,

with her right hand at uneasy rest
against the bike's

stationary
front
tire,

while I hurriedly
removed my glove
and tugged
a single almond
from my reluctant
coat pocket.

I stretched down from astraddle
the bicycle, which encouraged her
to clutch my bared fingers in hers,

and ever so gently, by mouth,
remove the nut ...

and she left.

---------

An interesting (to me) aside about
these trips is the ongoing challenge
of assessing park pathwalkers:

For instance, is the strolling person
I'm confronted with prior to my whizzy
bike-by a hello, hi, good morning,
or an uncomplicated lo personality?

Which greeting, if any, best fits
the stranger's face

(and/or age, gender, size, weight,
et cetera, not to mention gait)---

a face with concurrent emotion(s),
or noticeable lack thereof---

that I see before me?

Not much time
for
me
to decide.

Is
there?

Then there's my voice:

Do I start low and go up in tone,
or is the reverse more apt,
more proper?

A flavorful cheeriness might be
in order.

The lo can be desultory.

Good morning might be edgily
formal, but potential for such
distancing can be dramatically
amputated by tone and loudness.

Good morning also offers a separate
risk, especially near midday, when
I'm not so sure that it's morning ...

I then think, on reflection, that maybe
good afternoon was required
for accuracy.

And what if it's (demnition!)
on-the-button noon?

Do I declare good noon?

It's
all
very
tricky.

Particularly so when I do not
wear a watch.

And I don't.