Thursday, April 21, 2011

The Green Jeep

This is an experiment in free form writing.  I will give myself roughly half an hour to write freely from my thought flow.  What follows will be the result.

Today while walking to the post office, I passed by a green jeep.

A jeep for sale, 2004, that's what it said in the window.

A Wrangler, two seats and space in the back for something, for things, for packs and tents, for canteens and bicycles.

I'd like to take it somewhere, if I could drive, if I wasn't so terrified of the act.

Whenever I used to get behind the wheel of a care I would feel as if I were moving something too unwieldy, too powerful for myself, like trying to successfully maneuver graceful with a lethal piano strapped to my back, or to my front and back rather.

I see it becoming part of people, an extension of self, the vehicle, as if moving it were as simple as moving their legs to walk.

That's how it is with my bicycle though, is it similar?

I miss riding my bike terribly.

I'd like that green jeep just to take the bike somewhere nice and ride it, somewhere dangerous even.  I'm not afraid of crashing on the bike like I am of crashing the jeep.

I've done it enough times, once fell asleep riding home late at night, just for a moment I think, all of a sudden the world just started tilting, out of nowhere, and everything was tilting and I couldn't do anything to stop it and suddenly there was hard ground, I was sliding, skidding.

It hurt but not too bad, my knees and my elbows were bloodied badly but no one saw, that's all I was worried about was someone seeing.

I still have the scar, on my arm, near my elbow, it's hardly visible, you'd have to be told it was there to notice it, some on my knees too but I hardly think about those because I don't look at them as often.

I miss riding though, ever since that crash the back wheel has been bent out of shape and I've been too lazy, too poor to get it fixed and so I never ride anymore.

Used to ride through the forest preserves, just a few blocks from my house, they had a nice dirt path, went on for miles through the woods, sometimes so far away from the streets that you could almost forget the cars were there always zooming by.

And there was this one part, this one part where the trail disappeared almost completely, just sort of faded into this little secluded meadow, and you would ride through the grasses, through the weeds, through a little path cut by all the bicyclist going through before you, until you got to this log blocking the way and you would have no choice but to pick up your bike and walk over the log until you found the path on the other side.

I used to be able to do thirty, thirty-five miles on that bike.

Used to make it from where I lived all the way north into the deep suburbs, I'd get to that point and then turn around and go all the way back.

The best part was finding those water pumps along the way, where you had to stop because you were so damn thirsty and all your water was gone so you got off and staggered over to the pump and worked it for a good half a minute while the summer heat beat down on you, sweating, and then you felt the water coming, heard it, and then it splashed down from the pipe and you couldn't get your face down there fast enough to drink it.

The water, always full of iron, always tasted like blood.

Reminds me of losing teeth, mouth full of blood, swallowing it because it had no where else to go.

Like the time I had to have four teeth pulled out, yanked on, the dentist was getting tired just pulling on them while I was awake, listening to Kenny G on some crappy headphones while he was working up a sweat trying to pull out that damn tooth.

And I was drugged, oh I was drugged up good but I could still feel the pressure, some of the pain, tears rolling down as that fucking dentist tugged and tugged.

End of time...