Thursday 6/13/24
We were up before dawn cracked in order to take Thomas to Council Bluffs for his recommended transmission service and flush. I carefully drove us 47 minutes north to Edwards Nissan, where we found a narrow spot of shade outside the service department and unloaded our bikes along with the, umm… "impressive" pile of everything we'd need for a ride and picnic while Thomas went under the knife.
Edwards Nissan is located in the light industrial, warehouse-y part of town, but yes, Scott had found us a biking trail to Lake Manawah ("MAN-uh-wah") State Park that started less than a mile away. This should be fun! We'd just need to ride on city streets for a few blocks to get to the trailhead. He loaded his bike and got Thomas signed in while I loaded my bike and eventually won the battle between my cane and the three small bungee cords that attach it to my rear rack.
I'm writing this in arrears almost a week after the fact, and I can tell you now that what I'm about to say in relation to the start of Thomas' big day in Council Bluffs was only the first of many examples of a recurring theme of our time in southwest Iowa; that is, my only very rarely understanding where we were headed and never knowing where we were located in the big scheme of things. There've been two reasons for this. First, when we travel I generally do almost all the driving while Scott navigates us using the maps app on his phone. Therefore he knows where we are and where we're going, but I am often blissfully ignorant. Second, on this trip in particular, I had not spent my usual amount of time pouring over the pertinent official state highway map(s). I am a die-hard paper maps girl, and I'm obsessed with knowing where I am in relation to… well, whatever! Geographic locations, especially my own, matter deeply to me.
The upshot of all this that morning—while straddling my bike and reaching into my basket for my clip shades in the 85-degree heat in the Edwards Nissan parking lot—was sudden PANIC. I am always the last to be ready to start, so as usual, Scott had been circling on his bike some 25 feet away from me, and when I looked up a few seconds later, he was gone. Not "gone" as in cycling farther down in the parking lot; I mean "gone" as in nowhere to be seen in any direction.
SWEET GEORGIA PEACHES!!!
Well, he couldn't actually have evaporated (although it felt hot enough). He had to have ridden away somewhere. I looked to the right down the long line of cars in the parking lot: no Scott. I looked left toward the street: no Scott. I couldn't imagine he would have left without me, but since he seemed to have vanished, I figured he'd headed out to the street in which case I'd better get my buns out there too.
Heart pounding, I rode left to the street, and looked left (no Scott), right (no Scott), and left again (still no Scott) as I'd been taught to do—a principle that was strongly reinforced when our friend Sadie got into a thankfully minor car wreck when pulling out of Fall Creek Drive onto 165 some ten years ago as a just-licensed driver. I didn't know which way to go but figured right would be easier, and so turned right.
My mind was racing. I didn't know where Scott had gone, I didn't know where I was, and I didn't remember the name of the park we were supposed to be going to, but if all else failed I knew I could at least get back to Edwards Nissan.
Suddenly, far up ahead of me in the shoulder/bike lane, I saw Scott! Oh, thank God! I pedaled hard, hollering my standard "YO!" till he heard me and slowed down. At that point I realized that in the blazing sun I was not wearing my clip shades, a situation that never works well for me. It takes both hands to put them on, and since I'm not good at riding no-hands like Scott is, I always have to stop to put them on or off. So I pulled into a driveway, stopped, and reached for them, but AARRGGHH! They were not on top of the blue bag where they had been. Shoot! Where the heck were they? They were nowhere. Sigh. They must've fallen off when I sped to the right out of the parking lot. I turned around and rode slowly back, now on the illegal left shoulder, scanning for my clip shades, which I did not find.
Losing things usually—well, the truth is, always—upsets me more than it should. I was steamed. At Scott and at myself. This Thomas'-transmission-service bike ride was not starting out well! As I once again straddled my bike in the Edwards Nissan parking lot, Scott slowly came riding back. He pulled up, stopped, looked at me, and handed me a pair of very slightly bent amber clip shades. J My Hero once again! He later told me he'd found them by the curb. They'd been run over, and he'd bent them back into shape as well as he could.
I thanked him, he apologized (he thought I was right behind him), and I also told him how being left behind with no instruction of where to go had made me feel. We had a short but meaningful discussion about things like control and security and adventure and autonomy, and we agreed that he would, when possible, explain where we were going so that I could more easily follow.
Marriage grade at 36+ years? Still improving!
Thomas' saga to be continued…
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