D. Herbold - onespeeder.com

Mid week away from the Joe Ride and my little dumb ass can hobble down the stairs pretty good. My right knee has been killing me ever since that fine, fine day. I guess that’s what happens when one jockey’s a desk harder than he jockey’s life? I would imagine that if I had tried to be Mr small-man-tough-guy as usually feels so natural, and left the onespeed on the 2:1 channel, my tib-fib might have popped through my knee and busted me in the face. It’s what I deserve. It’s who I am. Life, so different I could eat ice cream & cry.

Up on deck for this born again weekend warrior is a trip out to Cali to attend a much delayed memorial for my grand old man. I believe it should be a good time. Her & self will fly out Friday night. There’s nothing like being in a big aluminum tube with 100+ close friends. Sharing the air, smiling in awkward polite gesture as if 1950 was still a good reference for civil behaviour. But that will be the point, because we’ll be loving each other through the exchange of warm, mucus quenched air for that hour point 5 that we’re sardined into common experience. 32,000 feet never felt so sexual.

Then the Show. Her, with her idiot boyfriend will meet & greet the extended fam in full non-wedded prego glory. There all pretty cool in my book. Somewhere in the interim of civilities, we’ll give tribute to my Gramps. A quick “H & G” to a guy who I can only describe as Funky Wise. Fo shiz…following that grudge match, we’ll hop into the parental units tricked out, tricked out, tricked out Lexus , and drive back to the holy state with a predetermined stop somewhere in Indio because “there’s a really good buffet there”.

When, & as I grew up in the SoCal experience, which didn’t seem so lame not knowing otherwise, Indio was a place between here and there, no matter where here or there was, that upon passing on the freeway, I always felt a tweak of sad for anyone unlucky enough to have been deposited there. It was more than a gas station there at the base of the hill before Pattons museum: it was an existence butted up against a Freeway dependant on commerce & no community. It was then, as it is probably now, a perfect starter community for speed kitchen living. But now, they have a good buffet. That is their progress. Progress leads to death so I guess a buffet is one of life’s little peaks all things considered. What will their version of deep fried who-cares be like? I really want to know.

There will be a lot of silence after that and the summit to Patton’s little tribute on the hill. Mostly due to the partially hydrogenated insulin coma and…well, the rest that can’t really be described with any value, you would just have to be there for those hours. The slow creep of housing will impy that we’re coming back to resposibility. That will start around the White Tank Mountains at which point I expect that I will begin to Jones & maybe even vomit in my mouth a few times out of pure excitement. The test of manners and civility will be so close to over that I will shake, maybe scratch at the glass. Another 3 hours of progress will end with Girl and Boy pulling into parking space #5- our little piece of the American Dream and like a last gasp, a deep breath of completion will return the psychy to the point of its beginings & it’s little version of normalcy or, what it is trying to convince itself is normal.

The whole time, and yes, I can say this pre-emptively, I will not throw one thing at anyone or anythng. My own little progress worthy of a gold star. And Angista? I think she is the strongest person I have ever met. She’ll enjoy if for what it is while I orbit in my stupid opinion.

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