Images of life
I stood at the counter this morning, looking at my camera. I take it along a lot when I’m on my bike, because, well, you never know.
The pause of looking at that camera was a pinch longer than usual. I remember that last time I took a longer than expected pause while considering it. I was about to do a typical ride through Alton Baker Park. A ride I did almost daily a few years ago.
At the last second, I decided, why bother? I had more than enough photos of my buddy the pheasant, who lives there. Each spring for 3 years he would welcome me as I zoomed past him in my red bike helmet.
I left the camera behind. Fast forward 45 minutes, and I’m standing over my bike, cameraless, staring at two red foxes in the field.
You would think I’d learn, right? But hey, it’s Friday. And I’m just commuting to work. Nothing special.
OK, I lie.
It’s Friday, so it’s a day to glide into work. No hurries. No worries.
It’s my savor day. The day when speed takes a stoker seat to appreciation. Taking time to smell the roses, if you will.
Too often we get caught in the punk rock beat of life, rather than adjusting the rhythm for variety. If you don’t stop for a minute or two a couple of times a week, to just sit and experience — really appreciate — your life, then something is missing.
So I rolled effortless to work, studying the variety of folks who opt for two wheels and fresh air. It’s a wildly eclectic group.
It ranges from the woman in the flowered dress and Dutch bike with a woven basket to the full gear roadie zipping full throttle.
I see the full throttle dude, and think of my daughter. I dropped her off earlier this morning for volleyball workouts. I love her passion and ability to leave nothing behind.
But, I’m proud to say, I somehow managed to instill the ability to pull her foot off the accelerator now and then. The other day she actually took a nap in the afternoon, bushed from her workouts. A true sign of maturity, I believe — the ability to nap. Change the rhythm of life.
As I’m thinking of what effect a parent can have, I’m struck by an unusual site, even for Eugene. A jogger and slow to a stop as we watch a doe and her two tiny fawns, no larger than Springer Spaniels, strolling across the Bike Path, on down to the creek.
I’m breathless for a moment.
And, of course, cameraless.