Traveling 100 miles & meeting Joe

Dang it…Slow down, Joe!

I set out on the trail this morning with one goal in mind: Surpassing 100 miles on my new Fitbit.

Well, let’s just say: Events took a turn, and have I ever mentioned unusual things happen in my world?

As I was trotting along my usual walk/swear/jog/swearlouder/walk/jog/jog/jog route, I crossed an old wooden bridge I love, the same bridge where earlier this week an owl hooted at me as I ran across it.

It was at sunrise. No one was around. And, the owl called out to me. Twice. It was so very cool.

Back to this morning. As I crossed the same wooden bridge, breathing heavily, I slowed down to listen for the owl…and to not pass out.

Rather than hearing a hoot or two, I instead heard a bike behind me start up the bridge. Then, I heard a terrible ‘Whoompf!’ and ‘THUD!’ Followed by an unsettling groan.

I turned around and saw an older man I’ve seen before on the trail laid out flat on the bridge deck, legs tangled up in his cruiser bike, arms tangled up in the bridge railing. No motion whatsoever.

Again, no one was around. Not even the owl.

I sprinted back to the bridge, shouting from beneath my mask: ‘Hello?!? Are you OK? Are you hurt?’

No response.

When I finally got beside the man and his bike, he started moving his legs, trying to untangle himself and sit up.

He couldn’t catch his breath. He was trying to speak and trying to breathe. It was damn scary.

I bent down and quietly introduced myself: ‘Hi, I’m Kelley. Can I help you?’

To which, he responded: ‘Yes. <sigh> <heavybreath> Holly, can you help me move the bike off my legs?’

With this, I started trying to gently move the bike away from his ankles and smiled at being called by a different name.

In a few slow twists and turns of wheels and handlebars, we got the bike untangled and righted.

Me: ‘What’s your name? Do think you are hurt anywhere? I have a phone. I can call anyone we need.’

Still, flat on his back, the man responded: ‘My name is Joe, Holly. We don’t need to call anyone. I’m going to be in enough trouble when she finds out about this. This is the second bridge I’ve hit today.’

Me: (Trying to think of orienting questions to see if he hit his head. His helmet was well secured. His mask was tight on his face.) ‘Well, Joe, you sure put in the miles. I’ve seen you on the trail a lot. Do you ride every day? Take your time. Where do you live?’

Joe went on to explain that he lived just down the block from the old wooden bridge.

Joe: ‘We’ve been here 55 years. A lot around here has changed but our house is exactly the same.’

By this point, I was standing behind Joe, he was sitting upright, resting his back against my legs, still breathing heavily, twisting and turning his arms in the bridge railing.

Me: ‘Just take your time. It’s a pretty day. Let me know if anything hurts,’ I said rubbing his back.

Joe: ‘I think I’m ready to try to stand,’ he said as he started pushing his back against my legs, nearly knocking me over on my ass.

Me: ‘OK, Joe. Here we go,’ I said as I slipped my hands under his arms and hoisted him up. ‘Upsy-Daisy.’

(Fortunately, Joe weighs about a buck 10.)

With that, Joe was on his feet, taking shaky, tentative steps toward his bike. I stood behind him sure he was going to go down again.

Joe: ‘Well, look at that,’ he said motioning to his bike seat knocked out of alignment.

Me: ‘It’s OK. We can whack that back into shape in a minute.’

Joe: (Thudding on the seat with balled-up fists) ‘Second bridge I’ve hit today.’

Eventually, Joe was pleased with his seat alignment. I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to fall again and we slowly walked his bike off the bridge to the flat concrete path.

There, Joe gingerly threw his leg over the bike and told me he was going to ride home.

Me: ‘Are you sure? I’m happy to walk with you and your bike.’

Joe: ‘No, Holly. I need to get home.’

He took a few swipes at his pedals and was off again.

I trotted along behind him like a parent chasing a child learning to ride without training wheels.

He was going much too fast for my taste but I was able to stay behind him and watch as soon enough he rode down the driveway to his modest red-brick ranch home, dismounted his bike, and waved to me as I passed.

Joe: ‘Thanks again, Holly.’

Me: ‘No problem. Keep on trucking, Joe.’

I then put in a few more miles and headed for home. There, I found out I surpassed the 100-mile mark (101.23 miles to be exact. In less than a month.)

I guess it’s good to have goals. It’s even better to have unusual things happen in my world.