Old bicycles. Old cars.Old(er) guys.
I guess I'm the latter one. Going to turn 66 in another few months. Been "retired" for almost a year.
Thing is, I don't feel old(er).
Well, I don't feel older in mind or soul, at least.
I wake up with that eternal youth still welcoming the day . . . until he looks through old(er) eyes into the mirror.
The gray, thinning hair. The silvery stubble not quite in need of a shave. (Or is it, and I just could care less?) The jowls, the wrinkles, and the bags under the eyes.
Fire in the furnace, snow on top. Yada yada yada.
But enough about me. More than enough; makes me tired to think of it.
Let's discuss the old bicycle. Gears caked with dust and grease from winter storage, brake pads brittle with years heat and cold and use. Tires worn, but still in fair shape.
At least, on the latter, that's what Taylor's Bike Shop tells me. Cleanup, tweaking, greasing and making those tires all-but-puncture proof will be just shy a couple days and $130 to realize.
Then, the young soul in the old(er) body will be safe to ride the winding reaches of the Jordan River Parkway, thumb at the ready to ring the bike bell on approach to mindless walkers and roller-bladers drifting into my path.
And, maybe in the process of pedaling and huffing down the paths, I'll improve the cardio, making the artificial aortic heart valve and pacemaker worth the effort . . . and lose some weight.
So, there's the bicycle part of this story, a rubber, aluminum and steel metaphor for senior citizenry if I ever heard one.
The car. The 1999 Honda Civic sedan, four door, 4-on-the-floor manual transmission, rescued from salvage by mechanical/sales genius Michael Westley, is once more cleared for travel in the "Life Elevated" state of Utah. (That's the slogan, having replaced the ill-advised "Utah: A pretty, great state" theme of a few years ago).
The Honda, victim of an unevenly applied repaint job mixing aqua marine with sea green, is near 135k miles and still running fine. The door locks even work, if one is patient with the keyring remote and adept at finding just the right angle to click.
About 40 degrees and within 5 feet seems best so far.
Thursday, April 4, 2019. Remember this date. It was a day when things old, stubborn and still with some good wear in 'em triumphed.
Well, at a cost, to be sure.
But victory, baby.
Dylan Thomas knew about it:
"Youth calls to age across the tired years: 'What have you found,' he cries, 'what have you sought?" 'What have you found,' age answers through his tears, 'What have you sought.'"
