quirky

We’ve been threatening to do it all summer, and today we did it—Allysen and I rollerbladed all the way to the end of the bike path in Bedford, and back. It was about 17 miles roundtrip. We had done it once before, a few years ago, and weren’t sure we’d ever manage it again. But today we made the trek in just a couple of hours.

This took us well past the Forest Perilous, and even way beyond the Lexington Wall. We crossed through the King’s Courtyard, fallen into disrepair now, since there’s been no king for centuries. (Some know it as Lexington Center.) And we passed over the old King’s Highway (known to the local folk as I-95). It’s now teeming with hard-carapaced orcs and trolls, speeding along on their evil business. We moved quickly on, before anyone could notice us. Finally, at the far end of the trail, we came to a reminder of the old rail line we were skating on—a nicely displayed old Budd railcar, along with a bike shop and some benches.

Upon our return home, we promptly made some frozen margaritas to celebrate our odyssey!

“One of the most difficult things is the first paragraph. I have spent many months on a first paragraph, and once I get it, the rest just comes out very easily.” —Gabriel Garcia Marquez

Rollerblading is what Allysen and I do for exercise and pleasure, a few times a week if our schedules and the weather cooperate. We live near a wonderful bike/recreational trail (former rail line), which gives us a perfect place to skate and a bit of nature. The trail itself is eleven miles long from beginning to end, though most of the time we stick to a wooded stretch that’s maybe three or four miles long.

Lately we’ve taken to naming some of the landmarks along the way. For some reason, they seem more important on the homebound leg, maybe because it’s usually starting to get dark, and we’re getting tired, and we need some sense of progress. So if we’ve made it, say, almost to the center of Lexington, we might stop at what we call the Lexington Wall (not unlike the Wall of Gondor), marking the beginning of a stretch of dangerous territory (bad pavement) leading toward the center. Turning back, we head eastward toward home, and through some pleasant woods—although we must at one point cross the Trollway, a driveway where stern signs warn against trespassing. (Okay, we won’t. No kill us, please.)

It’s smooth sailing for a while, passing wood and field, and then under the Aqueduct, followed by the Mosquito Bench and Mare Scumtatis (or Sea of Scum, a lovely green pond). Once we’ve passed the Great Meadows (its real name!) and survive Bug Alley (bad only at certain hours, thank heaven), we cross out of the Lexington Gates and on through the Borderland that will bring us into Arlington—and into the Dimwoods, a long stretch that can be pretty tricky at twilight, especially when that Chinese restaurant somewhere out of sight fills the air with mind-altering aromas. The Dimwoods Trestle (a former railroad bridge) marks the approach of the eastern edge of the Dimwoods. But that just means we’re about to enter the Forest Perilous—most dangerous stretch of all—where sticks and stones abound (on the pavement) and light does not. Here we slow, and wonder if it’s safer to glide on two skates for greater stability, or continue stroking right-left to reduce the probability of a strike. No way to know.

We steel our nerves, check our pads, and press on. The homeward edge of the Forest Perilous brings us over the Trestle of Noxious Fumes, a bridge that passes near a natural gas facility that seems to vent in our direction periodically. Hold your breath, it’s quick. Finally we break out into the sun again—freedom! But that does not protect us from having to pass the Field of Mortal Combat (which the lesser mortals think is merely the high school football field). We do this without complaining—we laugh at death!—until we are safely away, and on toward home.

So many dangers, so little time. And I haven’t even mentioned the Legions of Fear—the berserker bicyclists who zoom by without so much as an “On your left!” That tale must await another time, another campfire.

“Writing a novel is like driving a car at night. You can see only as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.” —E.L. Doctorow

Okay, this is kind of silly, but I’m going to write about it anyway. It’s the tale of Grabber and his journey home to us from the Panasonic repair center. Grabber is our DVR/DVD-recorder, and our most beloved piece of electronics. Unfortunately, Grabber has been having problems with its TV Guide functions, and has spent a lot of time in the shop the last month and a half. It’s now on its way back to us, and I’ve been following its progress via UPS online tracking. It’s been quite a journey, from Palatine, Illinois, to Indianapolis, to Louisville, to Manchester NH, and then on to (back to?) Windsor Locks, Connecticut. Hello? Didn’t we just pass Boston? The tracking still says it’s on time for delivery tomorrow, though.

What made it more interesting was a book I just finished reading, Uncommon Carriers, by John McPhee. Great book. It’s about what it’s like to drive an 18-wheeler, or pilot a ship at a ship pilot’s school in Europe, or drive a coal train, or…get packages sorted at the enormous UPS Louisville facility, located, according to McPhee, between two runways at the Louisville airport. His description made it sound like something out of Monsters, Inc.—an enormous building with incomprehensible mazes of conveyor belts, and packages zipping and zorting this way and that, all under computer control. At the time I checked the UPS progress report, Grabber was in fact at that place, riding a conveyor from somewhere to somewhere. It was quite the vicarious ride.

We’ll see if Grabber arrives tomorrow, and if so, whether all has been made well.

“Confusion is a word we have invented for an order that is not yet understood.” —Henry Miller