The People You Meet | Shane
5000 miles. – How the conversation ended.
How much I have left to eek out of my van tires before I have to toss them where, if in the 80% of tires recycled, they will go to be chemically melted down.
Hi there. – How the conversation started.
My van was nestled on the edge of the woods for a couple days. He was pet sitting in the house nearby. The dogs, I disturbed them with each beep of a power lock key fob. I scrambled over rocks in cleats and road shoes to the figure beyond the fence. In quick succession I went from a friendly wave to a tidal wave of depth in questions and conversation:
Dreams? – me
What are yours, do you keep following them? – me
Oh, dreams. Of course. I have those – him
Money makes the world go round, sometimes it limits dreams – me
No, no. Love makes the world go round – him
A somewhat philosophical discussion on nations, power, climate change, China’s 1000 year plan, infrastructure, the woes of the US, our debt, hard people, the need to stay soft if you’re to smile during this wild ride of a life, ensued.
A Coloradoan through and through he grew up in the mountains above Telluride. He will never permanently leave his current residence. It’s home. He knows the whole town. Age 18-24 he was doing “other things”. 24-33 he rode bikes.
Did you make a National Team? – me
Teams, yes, but I was done when we didn’t make the Olympics. – him
a chuckle – him (of what nature, I couldn’t discern)
Dreams. the blue car over there, I dream of getting that working and going to visit my son. – him
The blue car sits, nestled against a hill, but not, as mine, along the tree line. Mine, thankfully free to roll away down the hill. It’s a painful memory scarred on that car by that hill. For the car, there is no escaping.
On discussion of the drunk who roared past at 1:47 am the night prior, waking me – I feared my vehicle might be a target – the blue car, parked and hit by a drunk driver who presented all false information and fled never to be found.
2 years.
The time between.
Hot mail? Yea, Hotmail. E-mail before it was attached to the internet… nearly gone.
Dreams. I want to go on more routes to commemorate the people no longer here.
He’s a person, who knows the whole woods, the whole history within his lifetime and a bit before. The roads no longer there, overturned and buried, reclaimed by rocks and stumps and debris, molded into an unrecognizable landscape, a deliberately impassible maze for vehicles, as it was before. The map remains in his mind, along with those who dotted it, often their pasts too, their departures, how, why, sadness. There’s sadness there but more awareness, a steady carry. Carrying those souls on, as they allow, 2013 – the flood. Remembering. The road though, closed long before.
Foot traffic only? – me
No, no. Not rideable, but bike legal. 3 miles in… an absolute mess of a route. An obstacle course of nature reclaimed. But, if you make it that far, it evens out. – him
What’d you race? – me
The Keirin. – him
Favorite track? – me
Wisconsin, Kenosha. – him
Where’d you race? – me
All over the world. – him
Do you have a mailing address? – me
That smile, of course (mail doesn’t get delivered here). – him
On not giving up: this leg. His leg. It had no feeling for a long time. If he were to stick a knife in it, motions, nothing. You can never give up.
Have you given it some thought?
Well, things have changed.
I’ve done that before…
Hum, I see.
Do you see?
Did you see the cyclist pass through here?
Well no, I don’t know anymore.
…
Have a safe ride. – his sign off, since I was always headed out on a ride. Take a right. Black pants, t-shirt and vest of the same color. Hat to top it off. Often what I wore on the Divide, swap the pants for bibs.
Bikes : A connector.
Humans : The same.
Lance. Love him and hate him for what he did to the sport. – him
Okay, I’ll email you when I have service. – me
It’s raining. – him
I won’t melt, yet. – me
Me – a raincoat
Him – a hat
5000 miles. I’ve got at least that.
Melissa Teeple 