June 15, 2013. Biking in the Rain to Fish Creek.

June 15, 2013.  Biking in the Rain to Fish Creek.  The morning looked okay.  I checked the weather on my phone and read that rain was likely this afternoon.  But, the morning showed clear.  So, we climbed aboard the bikes and road into Fish Creek, about four miles from our campsite.  

Annie wanted to ride the road and I wanted to ride the trail through the woods.  “But, it has hills and mosquitoes,” she argued.

“Oh, baloney,” said I, “there’s just one little hill where we cross the road.  You can handle that.” 

Against her better judgment, she followed me as I set out on the trail.  A half-mile later, we mounted the hill by the road.  I peddled furiously and made the peak without dismounting the bike.  I looked back and Annie was pushing her bike up the hill with a look of growing distrust on her face.

“I told you about this one,” I reminded her self-righteously.  She frowned, then remounted.  Four-hundred yards further, there was another hill.  “I don’t remember this one,” I smiled weakly.  Another frown.  Then, five-hundred yards further, there was another . . . and, another . . .  and, another.  I stopped looking back.  I knew what awaited me.

After the 6^th or 7^th hill, I waited at the top as she pushed her bike up.  It is better to take your licking like a man I was taught.  She pushed her bike past me without a word.  That isn’t good.  I thought, “She’s too mad to talk to me.” 

“I’m pretty sure that’s the last one,” I said, trying to begin a dialogue.  Silence. 

We finished the trail without additional inclines.  As we pulled onto the road, she started one of those, “Don’t you ever . . . !" conversations.  Did I say “conversation”?  A conversation it was not.  Only one of us talked and, boy that girl can talk!  Next time, we’ll take the road. 

We made it to town without further incident.  We went to the harbor to watch the boats come and go.  The boaters knew something we didn’t.  They didn’t come and they didn’t go.  They just sat in the harbor.  Hummm.

I got a BB gun for Christmas when I was 8 or 9.  The first thing I did was go outside to hunt birds.  I spotted a sparrow sitting on a limb, singing.  I took a bead on him and fired.  My innocent victim fell to the ground lifeless.  I walked over and picked up its limp body.  I felt a wave of sickness as I felt the soft, downy victim of my mean-spiritedness.  The bird had done nothing but sing, and I killed it for no reason. 

I never shot another songbird.  When circumstances allowed it, I began to feed birds in our yard.  It was and is an act of atonement.  It is as if I can, somehow, make up for the senseless killing of a sparrow nearly sixty years ago.

It isn’t unusual for me to spend hundreds of dollars each winter to feed birds.  Still, I feel like it is my duty.  Duty is important.

So, we were sitting on a park bench, watching the boats not coming and going when I felt something warm and wet hit my arm.  It was nasty.  I looked up and there was a sparrow sitting on the limb above me.  I figure he is a migratory descendant of that sparrow I shot on Christmas day.  It was a message from birddom that my atonement isn’t complete.  I suppose I’ll buy more bird feed next winter. 

We stopped at one of the stores where I encouraged Annie to buy something she liked - anything to take her mind off the hills on the trail through the woods.  She was in the store thirty minutes and when she emerged, the rains came.  It was then that I knew what the boaters knew that we didn't.  We were four miles from Harvey.  So, we rode through the rain to the campsite. 

That was my Saturday.  How was yours?