SMOOTH RIDING - 3 June 2011
3rd June, 2011
Joel’s bike sold the day after we posted it. The new owner, a landscaper in town, came through the gate, cash in hand, and swooned over the garden. I had a mad moment of wanting to say, “buy the house and we’ll throw in the bike for free.”
So, one boat and one bike gone, one more of each to go. My Princess Pashley is still waiting for a buyer, as is the kayak. Perhaps my bike is too English, too dignified for this profane place, although anyone who’s known me long enough while they might describe me as the former, would hardly describe me as the latter. Pashley can at first appear stately, maybe even prim, with her upright bearing and skirt-guard. But let me tell you, she’s a tough old biddy. Her hard leather saddle breaks you in before you, it. I want to say this is not a bike for pussies, but…
Joel bought her for me some 12 years ago, a birthday present, specially ordered from England where they are handmade and I remember the joy I felt and with which he unveiled her on that sunny August morning. I think of her as more of a Queen than a Princess. She certainly rules on the street, her solid frame softened by curves in just the right places, her serious basket and no-nonsense bell. She’s a step-aside-I’m-coming-through dame and by association her attitude as rubbed off on me. But she awaits her new owner still, her photograph pinned outside Stop & Shop. Joel’s bike came with balls; mine demands them.
And then there’s the kayak, stashed now in is its canvas portage bag it, too, awaits new owners.
When Joel and I first met he had an earlier version of this kayak-for-two and one of the many adventures we shared the first week we met was taking an early breakfast in her on a smooth September sea. I sat in front, which struck me at the time as chivalrous, but in hindsight I realize it was the first of many gestures Joel has made over the years, letting me take the lead. It takes a rare man.
I remember the thrill of our strokes synchronizing, his invisible, but tangible presence seated directly behind me, and the feeling, which I had already experienced with him, of being seen. About a hundred yards offshore we rested the oars and ate toasted Portuguese muffins dripping with butter and apricot jam, accompanied by a flask of coffee. Over the years we’ve kayak-ed up the full moon’s silver path or rowed parallel to shore and into the harbor where we would dock in order to shop at the farmer’s market. I remember several years when Amy’s birthday came around I would pick a posy from the garden and Joel would take me out to sea until her spirit called “here” and then I might sing to her before casting the posy overboard, watching it and her drift away from me.
A few years ago a severe summer storm smashed the Klepper against the bulkhead before ripping it from its mooring and disappearing it forever. A couple of years later I threw a surprise party for Joel’s 65th birthday, at which he was surprise yet again when I presented him with the pennant of his new Klepper, courtesy of family and friends.
Much as Princess Pashley is the royalty of the bicycle kingdom, so it could be said that the Klepper is the Rolls Royce of kayaks. Hand-crafted in Germany, decked-out in blue canvas, its two interior, inflatable pontoons make it impossible to capsize her. For us she was our sea tandem, the vessel in which we learned to intuitively listen to each other in order to stroke in harmony. As in all good relationships if you want a smooth ride you leave your ego behind.