cotton eye joe

I love stories.
and I am curious.
and my mind is always going, pondering, conjecturing, creating, supposing.



I have two daughters learning how to drive.
this allows for many great conversations, as well as observations of those who drive... well, we'll just say less well than others.
the other day someone sped past us at a good twenty miles over the speed limit, changing lanes constantly (and without blinkers) to find the fastest path.
"geez, what a stupid driver," my daughter said.
"I like to think there's a reason for that," I replied, "like his wife's in labor in the back seat and he's got to get her to the hospital."
"oh, right. or, he's just a stupid driver."

I like to make up stories that paint us all in the best light.
except not always when I'm biking.

here's the thing about biking: when you pass a cyclist---or get passed by a cyclist---you have no idea where they're coming from, where they're going, how long they've been riding, where they started, when they'll end, none of it.
you can guess by looking at how many water bottles they have, what they're wearing, and how much (and what) stuff is in their back pockets, but it's always conjecture.
you can't know.
so . . . you can't say
"oh, they're going so fast because they just started/they're doing sprints/they're almost home."
or
"they're going so slow because they've been out for five hours already and they're just finishing up."
or
"they probably got a ride to the middle of the hill so they could make it to the top without dying."
and on and on.

I can still make up stories---it's hard to make me stop---but I can't know if someone is on their first 5 miles or their last 5, if they're halfway through a seven-hour grind or halfway through a one-hour spin.
maybe it's a recovery day, and that's why they're going so slowly.
maybe they're doing sprints, and that's why they're inconsistent.
maybe they're having a great day, maybe it's a crappy day.
I can't know.

now the big ah-ha:
all of life is like this.

we can't know where someone has come from, where they're going, if it's a great day, if it's a cruddy one, if they're focused on a goal, if their mind is a hundred miles away. everyone out there is a cotton eye joe.
the best thing we can do is wish them well along their journey, offer them a little prayer of Godspeed, and dance, anyway.

kill ratio

my son is a gamer. luckily he manages to hold down a part-time job, go to school, and earn decent grades while being one.
my friend ivy is an incredible cycling machine and fabulous all-round athlete.

what they have in common---besides the fact that ivy's a pilot and my son would like to become one---is that they both talk about kill ratios.

I cannot speak to the gaming version, but in the cycling world it's just this silly little game we play when out riding . . . how many people we pass divided by how many pass us.

it makes me smile.

some days I have a positive (greater than 1) kill ratio; some days I don't. to be honest, most days it's not at the forefront of my brain.
but this morning I choose an excellent time of day to have a positive kill ratio: late mid morning. the serious guys are out early, lunchtime, and after work . . . often the late-mid-morning crowd is more female, more aged, and---dare I say it---more relaxed.
I passed the first person not quite 2 miles into my ride, starting me off in the positive.
the next two came in a lump about 3 miles later.
then one more.
and no one passed me: we're talking a 4:0 very positive ratio!

and then came sight of the next cyclist ahead of me, someone I was gradually approaching.
and I was flummoxed.

what I saw first was the trailer behind the bike, obviously carrying a small child. then I saw the woman riding the bike.
I wanted to give her all my kills, and slink back home, slacker that I was. how fast would I climb a canyon towing a trailer and toddler?? not very, methinks.

so I had to decide: do I count this as a kill?
maybe half a kill.
maybe it should be neutral.

maybe I should subtract one of my previous kills, in honor of her efforts.

I didn't resolve the issue on my ride: it actually caused me to stop playing the game.
in fact, maybe that should be my next training move: buy a trailer and start out just hauling the empty contraption around. then maybe I could borrow someone's small child. small being key.

or maybe I can just hope to not encounter her again on one of my rides.

I don't think my son goes through these mental gyrations while he's playing his games. however, I like my version of the game better because I really don't understand how to work those silly little controller thingees . . . it's much easier to ride a bicycle.
in fact, it's one of those things you never forget how to do, whether you ever pass anyone, get passed by others, or simply have an amazingly peaceful time all by yourself.