Smith Hill

As I have emphasized (to ad-nauseum) lately, my means of achieving the long-term goal of giving my kids a healthy Dad - has taken the form of bicycling.

For almost a year now, I have been on a fairly regular regimen of physical exercise. It began with "running" with Ab last year in preparation for the "Pumpkin Run". Now AA has decided that he would like to take a stab at the "Pumpkin Run".

Anyway, earlier this summer, I moved from running (well - trotting) to bicycling. And in words similar to those of the prophet - "bicycling have I loved; but running have I hated".

My brother-in-law, who lives over the stone path and through a patch of woods away from me, has served as something of a cross between an inspiration and an antagonist throughout this "fitness" phase of my life. Neither of us are very competitive but he always seems to outrun me- and with much less heavy breathing. . . and he almost never does all the warm-up exercising and stretching things.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I like to ride on the Silver Comet Trail - which is not too far away, but I have also taken to riding over the country backroads near our home. About two months ago, my brother-in-law invested in a new road bike.

If it has some sort of qualifying superlative then that means its more special; so his is not a bicycle - its a road-bike.

I remember in the 70's when the banana-seated, low-riding, high- handle-bars bicycles suddenly went out of fashion and everyone was riding "10-speeds". Well that was a specialty bicycle for awhile but then there were higher grades of 10-speeds.

I once knew a guy that rode a Schwinn - how we envied him.

So my brother-in-law bought this specialty - road bike. I have not really made a big deal of the fact that my bicycle is a hybrid, but then again, I am not one to put on airs.

This road bike looks somewhat similar to an anorexic version of a 10-speed.

It has really skinny tires and a really skinny seat ... so much so that I warned him that if he hit a pothole, he would certainly have to have that bicycle surgically removed.

My brother-in-law didn't ride on our little country backroads when he had his Walmart bicycle. But now that he has this Greyhound-looking thing, he wants to ride with me.

So we ride, about three to four days a week.

And he is always ahead of me.

I complain about the hills; he complains about me complaining.... he just has some sort of weird aversion to coasting.

Tonight as we were riding and I was laboring up yet another hill - needing a small paper bag to breathe into - I realized that he and I are different.

He rides to complete the ride. I ride for the sake of the ride - the sheer enjoyment of it.

He barely notices when some mangy old Pit-Bull-wieler boroughs under it's fence and makes a mad dash for our ankles. . . but I take it all in.
I make it a point to "moo" at all the cows when we ride by - as they stare rudely. He almost never "moo's" at the cows.
I think about what it would be like to get forced off the road by oncoming cars and careen wildly down the sheer ravine beside us . . .
. . .I look ahead . . .
. . . way ahead - and see that while I don't know know what he's thinking - he's probably not thinking that.

And when I top one of those murderous hills . . . I want to meander for a moment. I struggled to the top, I deserve the right to lollygag aimlessly for a moment.... and try to breathe.

He hits the top and just keeps going.

Unless of course, he turns around and rides in circles a few moments because I have fallen woefully behind.

While we approach the ride very differently, I can tell you we both love what AA and I refer to as the "pay-off". I have taught him that when you have to climb a hill, just remember there is always a pay-off - that's the big ride downhill.

There is something very liberating about speeding down a big hill - the wind whistling, hair blowing - feet pumping at a remarkable rate of speed!

Nothing like the pay-off.

Tonight as I took the descent on our last big hill of the day, I remembered "Smith Hill" in Cedartown, Georgia.

Unless you lived in my neighborhood, you wouldn't know about Smith Hill, because the name of the road was actually "Hillside Drive". I am not sure why the kids in the neighborhood took to calling it Smith Hill - maybe someone named Smith lived there.

I just know that Smith Hill was something of a rite of passage. It was not for the novice. There was some legend about some girl that misused her hand brakes on Smith Hill - and flew over her handle-bars. You didn't dare risk it with training wheels. And when I got my Western Flyer with banana-seat and high handle-bars and a single hand brake to accompany my coaster brakes - I kept my right hand well clear of the hand-brake when going down Smith Hill - for fear of becoming another legend.

I have been back there since growing up and saw that Smith Hill was not as steep as other hills in the neighborhood - even the one in front of my house.... but it had a wide and smooth curve and it stretched out over about three blocks and you could get some real speed going down it!

The mysterious curve, the speed, and the stories about "handle-bar-girl" all just added to the mystic of that hill.

Tonight I felt a little of that "Smith Hill-thrill" .... and while my brother-in-law arrived at the destination well ahead of me - as usual -
- I wonder if his ride was worth as much as mine.