Sunday, March 25, 2007
Peace, Paths, and Pedos
Ouch. Owie. My ass is so sore I can barely sit down. :( No, not like that, you nasty-minded people. I just went biking over the weekend and I swear the bycicle seat is firmly etched onto my ass.I just spent the weekend at Paula's farm, down in what used to be the country south of Atlanta, and is now The Giant Traffic Nightmare of Overdevelopment. In other words, where all overzealous developers go to receive their eternal rewards. But Paula's farm, surrounded as it may be by the giant lights, gas stations, and McDonald's that replaced the once-gorgeous pastureland, is still a tranquil haven. Coming into their home after a long, gruelling drive from Atlanta feels like a drink of cool water after a long thirst. They're so peaceful, somehow. I don't know how they do it. Paula's family, I mean.
Paula is my friend. Funny how inadequate that sentence seems. We've known each other quite literally all our lives. Seventeen years, to be precise. Well, maybe not quite seventeen. She is, after all, six weeks older than me. But who's counting? Anyway, I've always loved coming down to her farm, because it's so peaceful and she always spoils me and somehow makes me want to be a better person. Makes me feel like maybe it's all worth it, after all.
So on this particular weekend, I battled the traffic down to her place, from whence we set out to the Gardens, which are a huge expanse of, well, gardens with all sorts of paths for walkers and bikers, lakes, trick waterskiing, butterfly houses, picnic grounds, you name it, as long as it has something to do with nature. Usually I don't like nature. Too buggy and hot. Plus, my family is very, shall we say, delicate. As in, any contact with nature whatsoever will cause us to break out into One Giant Itching Rash. And bleed like stuck pigs, no matter how lightly we prick ourselves.
But this nature was gorgeous. Early spring in the South is a sight to behold. Forsythia, cherries, dogwoods, huge azaleas, daffodils, and all sorts of flowers that I don't know the names of since I usually tend to avoid nature, all in full bloom. Or should I say explosion. The temperature was perfect, almost, but not quite, hot. And the full humidity hasn't plopped itself down yet. If it weren't for the vast amounts of pollen....
So Paula and I rented bikes and went off into the wild brilliant green yonder. Well, if staying on carefully paved bike paths counts as "wild." At first, we intended to take a path that went around some lakes, a little over a mile and half, all in all. Things didn't exactly work out that way. First of all, actually finding the damn path took some doing. After several false leads, we finally turned around and found the right one. By the grace of God alone, I'm sure, because at that point we couldn't read the confusing maps to save our souls. Once on the path, we then sped off, merrily biking up hill and down dale, exclaiming at ducks and turtles, flowers, and whatnot. We had to backtrack briefly to find a store when I discovered that I was VERY thirsty (also, I'm afraid to admit, one of us was starting to moan "I'm gonna DIE!" whenever we biked uphill, without regard to the hill's actual steepness. I won't say who, but it was not Paula). After going on our way once again, we encountered no problems (barring a few mishaps like near falls and Hills of Doom), until the last quarter, when our path rejoined its fellow paths and we had to start consulting the Really Unhelpful Map again. Becoming frustrated, I simply started following the signs, calling to Paula that it was much easier. And it is, as long as you remember to actually READ the signs. At one particular fork in the road, I glanced briefly at the signs, and sped on. "Shouldn't we consult the map?" Paula, who actually had a brain, asked. "I don't care, this way's downhill!" I called over my shoulder as I blithely pedalled away.
Broad is the path that leads to destruction. They don't tell you it's also downhill. Unless I'm misremembering my quotes, which I could easily be. Anyway, after following that path for a few minutes, it finally ended, and a new one began. A new...dirt...one. "Um, Paula? This might not be for bikes." But we continued anyway, assuming that maybe the path had made a mistake and we were right after all. But it proved itself right in the end with a large sign that said Bikes Not Allowed. So, feeling a bit silly, we turned ourselves around, said hello to two little old ladies that we'd definitely seen before somewhere on the paths (either they were teleporting, or they were Olympic Walkers, but damn, those little old ladies got around. That was not to be our last meeting with them, either). After leaving the not-for-bikes path, we finally found a for-bikes path. After pedalling for what seemed like an eternity, we came to the end of it. And to the end of the ground. Yes, it was a dead end. Led right up to the lake, where they had a handy-dandy little docking place for a bike ferry that was Not Running Today. We sat there, discouraged and panting, before we could brace ourselves to go all the fucking way back. Which we did, I'm proud to say, although a few more "I'm DYING!'s" were heard before we finally reached the right path again. The uphill one. Straight and narrow. Scriptural and proper. And, wouldn't you know it, there were the little old ladies. "My, you're getting around today!" one of them exclaimed. Likewise, I'm sure, I thought about calling out, but I was too aware of my muscles at that point to care.
Well, we did it. We FINALLY reached the end, after going at least a mile more than we meant to. Then we sat on the tram and fell asleep as the pretty flowers went by. Ah, the sense of accomplishment.
I had to return home early on Sunday because of my damn Latin lesson, so the peaceful feeling didn't last as long as it usually does. And it definitely died with a vengeance today, when I went back to school. School's just so fucking pointless and I can't talk to anyone there or see why I should try and I hate all those rich jokers and I just end up missing Lauren and feeling sorry for myself because everything's my fault and life sucks, dammit all. Sniff. What certainly didn't help was that a guy I liked in my class had been caught doing some highly inappropriate things with a couple of eighth-graders, and it was all over the school. Which I neither can nor want to imagine. Him and the eighth-graders, not it being all over the school, I mean. My friend is a pedo. Fucking depressing.
So that just put the cherry on the cake, as they say. Wait, do they say that? Is that the right expression? Shit, I don't know.
Spudge at 8:59 PM
1 Comments
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at March 26, 2007 10:20 PM
Abused Mollusc said... Don't you, then?
I haven't ridden a bike in yearrrrs.
Also the heavy metal is eating my feeble brain.