Today is a beautiful day - Labor Day- a holiday in the U.S. so we saw many people riding bicycles and Motorcycles as we rode up Emigration Canyon, by the reservoir, and to the top of Big Mountain. What a fun ride. The sun was just warm enough and the wind blowing into my face through my helmet just added to the feeling of movement and the excitement of the ride. The colors are turning into the Fall colors of orange, yellow, and red up the canyons, which then was part of the great experience of our whole ride. We stopped and took some pictures and also had time to share stories with others who were using the long weekend for a motorcycle ride.
How fortunate I am to have adult children who include me in their lives and share the things they love. Because my father, Bernard (Bud) died at age 62 after more than 10 years of the ravages of Parkinson's disease, we had very little opportunity to share adult life together and almost no time for him to know Sharen and our children. I am truely grateful for my good health and my family.
Our ride today reminded me of another bike ride Mark and I took in the year 2001, a few months after their daughter Sophia was born. Mark and I rode our Mountain Bikes up Mill Creek Canyon. I didn't take a camera so do not have pictures but I did write a poem about the experience of Father and Son. That I will share below.
MILL CREEK CANYON
R. "Bernie" Johnson 07/31/2001
The sun was hot with a gentle breeze, On that day in June when we flexed our knees -
And unloaded our bikes at the base of the hill, to test our strength and endurance and will.
The ride was special for me - the Dad. I was with my son - the first I had.
We were doing those "Man" things that make you sweat - and grunt and fart and other things
like that.
The Hill was long and went straight up, or so it seemed for the "Older" pup.
But I set the pace with Son behind, and started up the hill to climb.
I went TOO fast - I suppose it was pride. I could not go slow with my son by my side,
And in a few miles my lungs they burned, and I signaled to stop for a rest - well earned.
I was ready to ABORT, "I can't go on.", I said to my son with a face that was long -
and breaths that were shallow and quick, like those that would come from one that was sick.
"Let's rest for awhile," said my son with a smile, "We may have hit the imaginary 'Wall' already
as we peddled too fast and to strong and too steady - long before we were warmed up and ready.
And my son, of course, was right. As the minutes went by we were ready for flight -
And continued our ride up that beautiful canyon, enjoying the smells and the sounds as companions.
Our return to the valley was a different meter - 42 miles per the hour was much sweeter,
than the snails crawl up at 4-6 miles per, with the frequent stops to lick our fun.
But going down our pedals flew, and my blond locks reached to the sky - though just a few.
"What a gift." I thought as we reached our truck, that we could have this time - Dad and Son -
this good luck
To play together - to enjoy good health - to share a new babe - an enormous wealth.
All of the sweat, the tears and the pain , the fearful planning for young lives - not in vain.
Each child has chosen a path of her own, and each path has brought the young adults back home.
To share their lives and their love with each other - to enjoy their parents (Mom and Dad) like
sister or brother.
I hope for more rides and as many more smiles - and probably some tears as we travel the miles-
that our lives provide us as family and friends - during these years as we approach the end -
of one fine existence and reach for the other - where brother and sister and father and mother-
and friends that you care for and those you have served - will meet at a new mountain canyon - well
deserved.
Another great ride with a new bike beneath you, and the excitement, with friends, of a new life to
great you.
R. "Bernie" Johnson, 07/31/2001
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