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Every time it's been a while between rides I feel like I don't belong. I feel like an impostor as I unload my bike from the car and head out.
Not far into the trail I came across three guys riding in jeans and Members Only jackets. Ok. Maybe not Members Only, but some nylon variety. I quickly realized there are no impostors. There are no rules on rides. Just ride.
The weather was nice. A bit on the cool and breezy side. The lake was choppy and the sun was bright.
Trail conditions were near perfect. The dirt was dry and fast with only the wettest of spots still wet.
It hurt to ride. The hills were killing me. Often I stopped to catch my breath and let the little stars fade back to the forest canopy. The air rushing into my lungs was good. It was good to be outside.
Gretchen and I made our way around the bonus loop stopping at the watering holes and taking it all in.
Along the way we saw Jim. We spoke then went about our separate ways.
I'm real late on this one, but it's important I get it out there.
For Easter Jen, Jen's mother, Abigail and I drove to Little Ferry, NJ to Jen's Grandmother's house. That would be Abigail's Great Grandmother.
The experience turned out bigger than I expected.
Sure there were four generations of women from the same family, and yes everyone had ample opportunity to hold and introduce themselves to Abigail.
but what I learned the most was that Abigail isn't just mine. She's apart of a family that takes as much ownership/responsibility that I do.
Maybe I can't put the feeling into words well enough, but in a way this child was conceived and produced by us for our families. The growth and success of that child reflects the growth and success of the family - not just me.
It's not something that imposes pressure or expectations, but a legacy full of love, tradition and generations of successful members to insure the same is true for Abigail.
It's a powerful blessing - one my usually over-riding self-sufficiency didn't expect, yet appreciates enormously.
I like music. I especially like the lyrics and the stories they tell.
It used to be the stories that related directly to me and my own personal experiences that I liked best (duh?).
Now it's lyrics and stories that match how I feel in reference to my daughter are what I like best now.
That's still me right?
Not quite. The ones that reflect the experiences Abigail might have or shouldn't have are what's changed and become important to me. Experiences that may be particular for girls and woman for example.
Not sure all that made sense. Not sure it matters beyond me.
I could try and lie and say I type faster THAN I think, but it was already pointed out (by someone whose second language is English) that my grammar transgressions are pervasive.
By the time I started riding the trails the pond was gone - at least most of the contents.
The plot had Sonoco Paper of Downingtown using the area as a "waste" dump. Whether any of that's true, I have no idea. Sonoco purchased the properties of Downingtown Paper Co. in 1968. The usage of the land could have been finished by then for all I know.
The pond was man made. An earthen dam was built between two ridges (i.e. "up the hollow") from which a spring made its way down to the East Brandywine. I'd ridden the ridges and across the top of the dam for years never paying much attention that it was actually a dam.
Now the land is owned by the township, the trails are legal and used by many.
Recently a trail was put in that runs down in front of the dam. At night it's quite ominous to look up from the bottom at the huge earthen wall and the sky way above.
Riding in the light, it's a different story. Coming from the bottom of the dam, still flowing to the East Brandywine is this.
In coal country that's called Acid Mine Drainage or Yellow Boy. What's interesting (even if just for me) is the water downstream running into the Brandywine is clear (at least in appearance). What's more interesting is the upper basin which looks like this.
Those are buttercups. Thousands of (poisonous) buttercups.
The pond is gone. All that's left are few old washing machines and dead trees sticking up out of the muck.
There's no real point to it all. Sure I have questions like who in their right mind would ever dam up a watershed and use it as a dump, but there's no point in asking. Those days are gone.
Beyond my own curiosity, there's probably very little point in this posting. Though, I did get a nice hike in with my Dad - even if the dogs drank the orange water and came back filthy.
Jen needed some bras (something about accommodating the new real-state). She tried buying over the internet, but apparently that doesn't "fit" so well.
Off to the mall we all went.
Jen went into the fitting rooms, while Abigail and I went into a holding pattern around the store.
After thirty minutes of circles through the Jr. Miss, Jewelry and Intimates departments, we ventured out into the mall itself. The main thoroughfare was risky (bumpy floor, sunlight and more people - couldn't risk waking Abigail while the food source was off working out containerization).
In the end it was all a success. I kept Abigail asleep and Jen found comfort. As monotonousness as it was, it was good to get out and mix up the routine.
ps. ever try breast milk? ever try spoiled breast milk? Don't!
So I'm pulling the battery out of the motorcycle to charge it when I realize it's a little sticky around the top.
"Hmmm. That's funny. Ow! Shit! Damn!" as I run over to the workbench to sit the battery down.
Just about the time I realized it was sticky it started to burn my one finger.
Just one finger?
I have an open cut on that finger. The sticky acid wasn't enough to burn through intact skin, but against the open wound it hurt like hell.
And it continued to hurt like hell after sitting the battery down and rubbing my finger against my jeans.
Now the man dilemma.
Do I run inside and pour baking soda (where is the baking soda? do we even have any?) on my finger to fix it or wait it out? In all likelihood it will quit by the time I find the baking soda anyway.
Hmmm.
Damn! It still burns. This sucks.
Looking at my finger I see it's not changing colors or hanging by any blistering threads.
Hmmm.
Whatever. It quits. I plug the charger in and go about other chores.
Before I took off her clothes to clean her up.
