Me eyes opened as the sound of the radio pierced my ears. There was a smile on my face because I knew the day stored something great for me and my friends. I crawled out of bed and made some unintelligible noise directed at Chris who was reading a magazine on my couch. After showering and getting ready for the day, we biked over to Brandon’s house where he offered us bagels and orange juice. We ate the oily bread and talked about our lives.
From there, we piled into Chris’ flesh colored pick-up truck, affectionately called “the peen-mobile”. This is a 1980s Japanese vehicle that is not made for three people to occupy. Brandon sat in the middle on the way there, and I on the way back. Let me just say, 4th gear is no fun. Anyway, we made it to “The Spot” in Boulder after the snug ride. Our bikes were piled up in the back. We walked into the building, strapped on our climbing shoes and started working through some “problems” as the bouldering nerds like to call it. It was such a different experience from my first time climbing. You don’t realize how much you rely on ropes until they are taken away. Despite the ground being padded, eighteen feet is a long way down. After two hours of destroying our backs and forearms, we headed out.
As the “peen-mobile” pulled up to Tim’s house, he was sitting on his porch studying and drinking some scotch. We joined him for a cigar and a glass. The smoke billowed through our beards and hair as we talked about heaven, hell, hiking and Tim’s recently deceased landlord. Afterwards, we ditched the peen and hopped on our bikes. I couldn’t help but notice how much nicer drivers are to cyclists in Boulder. We weaved in and out of lanes until our path ended at “The Mountain Sun”. There we shared a pint and some of the best fries my mouth has ever encountered.
With no specific plan or destination we embarked on a long bike ride through Boulder (after a quick stint at the bike shop for some new cages). There we rode, three in a row, making our way through the crowds of runners and roadies. I felt so graceful and so awkward all at once. The air outside was fresh and clean. My palms were aching from the leaning of my weight on them. Driving through the park as the hippies banged on their djembes and other hand drums, I felt a release. Through the sweat my body poured out the stress of my life and the thoughts that consume me.
That night, we sat around in Tim and Jaime’s living room and discussed the important stuff, like love and God. I didn’t really get any answers, but it felt good to be a part of a community. I am truly grateful for the relationships I have in my life through church and life. Days like these make me feel honored to be alive.
