ex·haus·tion

 

Today I had my list of chores to do. I had planned it in my dreams of the steps to take the next day. I figured what routes to take and when to walk and when to ride and where to lock up and destination points. My goal was to get to the bank at 9AM and then ride to the computer shop at 10AM and get home in time for lunch.

Of course that didn’t work the way planned.

First, sleeping wasn’t good last night. Waking at 2AM and no matter the tossing and turning didn’t get back to REM time until 5AM. I was already behind my start time when I had my coffee and juice and egg biscuit.

Second, the bike seat I’d fuddled with yesterday still need to be tightened. Moved the bike to a spot where access to the nut could be twisted by the Allen wrench and set from the wobble. It seemed successful, but I was wrong.

Third, get the bills to be posted at the office of the mail and the deposit slip for the city rebate.

Forth, get the laptop computer and the keyboard and mouse and slide them into the dusty backpack.

Now, time for off my adventure.

Strapping on a backpack not worn for many years and venturing down through a neighborhood not observed or partaken, this route would lead me to familiar places and new adventures.

Everything seemed pretty normal. Stopping at the Malvern Boulevard and checking out the green stripes on the roadway and the white poles that are designated for bicycles, I await the traffic. It is pretty calm for these hours of the day so I proceed pass the pest exterminators and the lawn maintenance trucks. Turn up pass the Curley’s house and notice the street is blocked with construction. I turn to the apartments by the railroad tracks and dismount. It is time to walk.

Pass the plot of land with heavy machinery that used to be a building I walk over the bridge pass the building my grandfather died. Waiting patiently for the four ways light with turns and no signals, I proceed to the post office and drop in my mail.

Walking through the parking lots I realize the Ellwood street is now full of stores and no passage to the destination except the old Thompson street that used to be the first stop at the High’s Ice Cream for chocolate milk shake and Nabs crackers.

Up the hill pass the bank that used to be the Venice restaurant frequented many time on our ventures down Carytown. Cross the street to a lockup by the Baker’s Dozen and notice the new shops that used to be a parking lot. Deposited my rebate check from the city and decided to do the Carytown crawl.

Seems the slanted parking lot that was in front of Safeway then Ukrop’s has been filled in for more vacant shops. The sidewalks are pretty vacant since it is Wednesday but there are some new visions and changes.

There is a guy over there dancing to his reflection in the windows of Babe’s. There is another one wandering back and forth searching for something. There is a guy who passes talking to himself or ear buds unseen. There are young Goth couples and street side merchants but the way is clear.

I walk into the Carytown bicycle shop and as if I can get my seat tightened. There is nothing worst than a wobbly seat. They were amenable and pleasant and a twist of a wrench got be back on my way – with no charge.

The thing you notice when walking by people on the street is their conversations. It is not prying, but they are talking and you just happen to overhear them.

There were no shops I wanted or desired to shop, so I headed back to Floyd Avenue. It has become a time in life where I want to have a footstool to mount the pony. I find a spot and head east into the Fan.

I pass my first apartment building looking a bit for ware next to the rebuilt condos replacing the rest of the block. Luckily the traffic is light so I can take my time until I come to a ‘street closed’ construction sight. So far all I’ve seen are girls walking their dogs.

I pull over to the south and dismount. This is the 2000 block. My designation is 1900 block so I start walking.

There are several vacant lots where there were houses. There are vacant buildings covered in graffiti. It is not a welcoming place.

Then I hit the VCU area. More kids wearing black and gold seemingly ruling the streets. The old Sister’s of the Poor is now a parking lot; Binford’s (soon to be renamed) School grounds are empty as is the Stone Wall Café and the Texas-Wisconsin.

I finally arrive where I think I should be but it is not the right name. I walk another block down but figure I should turn around and try a place that says it repairs computers.

After locking up my pony and feeling rather tired, I go in and explain my problem to the tech guy and with a shaky pen fill in my information and leave my laptop to “hopefully” the professionals.

Now, how do I get out of here?

Walking for blocks and blocks is starting to take its toil. Still I press on to Park Avenue and then Hanover following the path I’d taken for years day and night to enter and escape the work world. The triangle park is full of kids but it takes me a bit to push through the light change. Every block that I stop is a little more struggle to start again.

I make it to the Boulevard and avoid all the traffic turning to get into the museum parking lot but I’m fading. I pull over and stop before what used to be St. Christopher’s and take a breath. I open my new water bottle and have a swig. My shirt and sweatshirt and underwear are soaked in sweat. Still there were miles to go.

Going pass familiar places on Stuart Avenue but the little girls in green skirts aren’t there and the house that was my second home seems to be remodeled but I can’t wait and observe.

I find the strength to peddle onto the bridge and into familiar ground but the legs are tired of delivering to my home. A rider in spandex passes me but he hasn’t been on my adventure.

I finally get back to Malvern Avenue and dismount. I’ll walk the rest of the way. Another drink of water is not refreshing me but I push on.

I stop at the end of each block. Breathe deep and try to relax but the muscles are tightening and the energy is fading. Finally turn into the alley of the next block and can see where I want to land. This is the rich block but they have the same amount of trashcans as everyone else.

Finally open the gate and park the pony (don’t forget the close the gate) then go into Mansland for a bottle of water and a seat.

I’m exhausted.

My arms are shaking and my legs are rubber. My feet move but they don’t know where they are going. My breathing is deep and reserved. What used to be a walk in the park is labored at this age.

I finally get enough energy to go inside and removed the wet garments and lay upon the bed. Ahhh!

After an hour, I’ve retrieved enough gumption to go back into the world for the ritual of the Tummy Temple. I’m not hungry but probably need to refuel from the morning egg biscuit.

Walking on legs that are still wobbly I enter the cathedral of food and drink only to have some guy hacking over the prepared food I had hoped to select to replenish my energy. I avoid the area but on return he is still there blowing his snot and whizzing. Is there a law against this?

I push my cart as I seldom do and my legs start feeling better. Loaf of bread, a couple of cans of soup and the usual bird seed and p-nuts fill the basket.

Still should I trust myself to go home after all this long adventure and prepare a meal that is surely needed or go back to the danger zone to procure a box of chicken parts or some other disgusting presentation of what is known as substance?

Safely back home in my comfortable chair re-hydrating on some silver cans of Colorado water and chewing on the legs of some poor fowl that were murdered days (?) ago, I reflect on the day’s adventure.

I did deposit the city check. I did get my bills mailed. I got my butt tightened. I found a shop who hopefully will fix my annoying keyboard with the possibility of a perhaps purchase of another laptop while remorse the lost of the shop I was intended to find. Maybe I’ll find my next adventure out of my safety zone?

Tonight I will sleep well, with tired legs, weary arms, blurred eyes and aching back.

Perhaps I have learned my limit of this age?