Playing in the garden

His eyes were wide, round circles and his mouth was frozen open, some grass still hanging between his teeth.  A frozen instant we were a few feet from each other, face to face and my eyes were likely as wide as his with the thought of running into a twelve point buck at 40 miles an hour. 

I live a few miles from this moment, and it astounds me every time it happens.

Five times around the Garden of the Gods.  Each loop the same glorious backdrop of high desert and red rocks, Pike’s Peak denting the horizon, each loop the foreground changing from a mule deer in velvet to something else. 

A fellow with cerebral palsy, his body twisted like a clenched fist, rolls along the bike lane, a red umbrella shading his chair and his wife/girlfriend/sister smiling a good morning in unison with him as I roll by the first time, a second time a third time.  They cover the two and half mile loop and we intersect along the way, me feeling a bit guilty as I roll past the Kissing Camel overlook. 

Later, three people on Segways, in the bike lane on the long climb.  What is the point of this?  They dramatically wave me out of the bike lane; we’re all going about 8 miles an hour.  I dramatically ask the leader if he qualifies as a bike or pedestrian. This question seems to surprise him. 

Third time up the climb and I pass some runners.  The woman starts to veer off the path onto the grass to give me room.  ‘No problem, we’re all going really slow.’  This strikes her as really funny. 

Last time up and I move in between a dotted line of older fellows on road bikes.  One is skinny and wearing a Front Rangers jersey from Denver.  He’s about a quarter mile up the climb and is my rabbit.  I catch him before we crest and we chat.  He must be a tad winded as he says ‘So long, have a good ride.’ before I indicate that I’m moving on. 

Each time up the descent, I question my need to do it again.  After the run down to the turn, I forget this, and the all of the other unpleasantness and think, ‘Hey, let’s do that again.’  The fifth time this doesn’t occur to me and I turn up Ridge road, not the last climb before home. 

It seems easier now.