Moving On From 'Bikeshop Guy'

To sell, or not to sell... Thirty years of my seventy-three are invested in being bicycle shop owner/janitor. Sixty of my years have seen me 'in love' with bicycles. There's no better tool for living the good life. Perspective, and down to earth awareness of what the human body is capable of, is provided by living many hours on a bicycle...and many, many hours juggling the components of bicycles. Wrenching gives me an appreciation for how things work and reinforces my sense of accomplishment while boosting my confidence. To keep a business afloat through the convoluted array of obstacles that lay downriver for any 'Mom and Pop' business is something I am quite proud of. Now, if I can convert this career into sufficient retirement funds and energy to go out and realize a decade of 'senior adventures', I will go out a "Winner".

A Life Lived With Limited Funds

I always believed that being wealthy would be a curse. Not that I didn't strive toward having more, but I always felt like I was in a "comfort zone". There's plenty of evidence out there that I was correct. In the late 1960's I had a girlfriend who's great-grandfather had founded a wildly successful drug manufacturing company. There was no doubt about her financial future. Her father loved to show off his indoor pool and movie theater. He more than once pointed out that the theater's wallpaper included a 14k goldleaf design. She and I loved swimming in Lake Michigan and chasing each other through the mammoth dunes. That all came to an end just before graduation...Her father gave her a car to drive to her Ivy League woman's college...Wellesley in Massachusetts. The car...an Excalibur Roadster in yellow with fancy chrome sidepipes. Out of my league, for certain. I harboured no fantasies about living a life of luxury and my definition of 'The Good Life' entailed a story of health, freedom and adventure. After my graduation from a California State University I donned a Kelty backpack and wandered the North American continent for nearly three years while surviving on a shoestring budget. I often refer back to that experience for reassurance that you don't need much to feel satisfied or happy with a humble existence.

Train To Be A Survivor...This Is Not A TV Show.

Get up off that couch, out of that easy chair...it's time to work those legs, blood pumping work. We've already gotten used to five dollar a gallon petrol...ten dollar petrol is just around the corner. We need to get better at heating ourselves if we are going to survive. Get better at splitting firewood, better at moving from the front door to the store. Being excellent at walking and biking will be key to our survival. Horsepower is not going to save us this time. Solar and wind power can only do so much, for those wealthy and wise enough to invest. You need to be able to walk down the street to pick up your fresh baked bread, to gather your veggies or bag your meat. When the going gets rough people come together and help their neighbors but, you don't really want to be a burden because your legs don't work and your heart is weak. If your feeling sorry for your sad state of conditioning and ability...type in Oxana Majors...she is a survivor.

Let's Lean On The Upbeat News Here

Something I've never discussed before....How much I appreciate my internal combustion vehicles this century. I've purchased two brand new cars in my life. In 2009 I traded in my old clunker Ford F150 for a brand new Honda Element EX AWD 5 speed manual. It has proven to be a genius upgrade from my previous 2 used Jeep Grand Cherokees. It actually climbs my steep ice-covered driveway without hesitation every time I ask it to. I have driven it nearly 140,000 miles and it still runs like a young pup. Honda Elements have been out of production for a dozen years but, if they brought it back and it showed any semblance to the original design, I would run right down and purchase another. Two years ago we purchased a made-in-America Ford Transit 250 cargo van. It is an AWD high-roof Eco-boost dreamboat. We've converted it into a comfortable camper and it has proven to be an inspirational truck....making three/four day camping trips possible and comfortable. During an eight week evacuation from our burning national forest and neighboring communities, we thought of it as becoming a possible 'forever home'. We bought it knowing that it made adventuring with our dog and bicycles a real possibility. You can't go on bicycle rides leaving your animal in a hot little Honda. Little did we know that both vehicles would be utilized as life-savers when efficient transportation would be necessary for health emergencies and maintenence fromm health professionals whose offices are many hours down the road. There was a time when I thought we could make it through this life transporting ourselves by pedaling only. Not even close. We invested twelve years into the car-free lifestyle...I can see now that we were lucky to last that long without motor vehicle assistance.

The Lost Sierra

The Lost Sierra...means something entirely different to me now. We lost one million acres of conifers and pines. We lost the music...singing birds, wind in the needles. We lost the incredible production of oxygen that we were blessed with year-around from that magnificent forest. We lost the experience of communing with contented wildlife. If we stay inside the green zone that holds the little village of Chester, California we can almost forget what it is that we lost but, as soon as we dare to wander from the village limits we are overwhelmed with The Lost Sierra.

Four Weeks Without Sunshine

Unheard of, even in the mountains of California. I didn't realize how this would affect me... SAD. We drove to SoCal in mid-December. It was sunny when we arrived. We rode our bicycles up and down the south slope of the Verdugo Mtn. neighborhoods until we were soaked with sweat and upon return to grandma's secluded pool we stripped down and enjoyed 58 degree 'plongettes' followed by full-body basking under the 70 degree California sun. The good life. A couple of days before Christmas, life got cloudy (and Lisa slipped off a curb in Glendale spraining both ankles). Rainy and gloomy skies took over on Thursday, obscuring what should have been the beautiful holiday season sunsets that we had experienced during previous years at grandmother's house. Two weeks of SoCal grey encouraged us to return to the north and make sure all was well at our Plumas County mountain cabin. The year had started with a couple foot of accumulated snow. I grabbed a shovel and got to work....after planting Lisa in our woodstove-warmed living room. Ankle brace bound, she was not to leave the house for at least two weeks. It snowed and rained and snowed non-stop for the next week. Then Thursday the sun almost broke through. It only rained a fraction of an inch that day. Friday saw the return of the moisture monster. And it didn't stop until the next Wednesday.