Biking and beaches, thoughts and observations

Memorial Day was sweet. I woke up to my dad sarcastically asking me if I was going to let my alarm go off all day long, at noon. I decided it was a good as time as ever to wake up (and shut my alarm), so I did. My mom made me a sandwich and I read the paper. It’s always small on Mondays, and especially so today because of the holiday.

At around 3:00 PM I set out for a bike ride. I ended up going in two big circles through Abington and Rockland, for what I figure was somewhere between 10-12 miles. It was sweaty, so along the way I stopped at Chris’ house and we talked about chicas, played with Fenway, and tossed the Frisbee around. He also showed me his mom’s new car, a Pontiac Grand Prix. And I got a glass of water. After that, I headed off towards Whitman Center, following the old route down Raynor and to Regal, past the brass deer with the big testicles, through the dangerous four-way-stop intersection, up the hill and down Route 18.

The well-endowed deer is still around, but the giant cow that used to be at Johnson’s isn’t at the garage on Route 18 anymore. Where could it have gone?

Seeing all the old sights and following the old route brought back so many memories. There are so many physical places that I remember or am somehow attached to. Every street I ride down has at least a dozen memories attached to it. I can probably name the families that live in half the houses on the streets. I hit the rotary in Whitman and remember how Rob Howlett and I used to ride around after dark on warm spring nights as school was close to being out. I remember we’d enjoy the new pavement on Washington Street and talk about how hot Ashley Cunningham was as we passed her house. I remember the side streets that Andrew Hammond and I went down that 95º summer day, and the kids from Whitman we met. And where are they now? I haven’t seen Rob or Andrew in probably four years. I remember riding to Melissa Spaziani’s house all the time when we were going out, since I was too young to drive, and I’d stash my bike behind the back stairs. I remember when Rob and I found that guy, bloodied on the train platform. Riding through a drenching thunderstorm on Plymouth Street, many miles from home. Caught in a rainstorm on North Ave. driving home from Chris’ aunt’s house. Fuck, so many memories, and these only scratch the surface.

It’s all a bit depressing, really, because these kinds of things are all in the past, and even today’s bike ride seems more a part of the past than my future. How much longer will I be able to ride around on my Haro in dirty jeans and a tattered shirt and still feel like I’m a kid? When will it no longer be OK to stop at the playground at Beaver Brook, get on the swings, and pump my legs as hard as I can, still trying to swing over the bar but only feeling that thud as I reach the top and gravity sends me back down? When will I have to stop dodging cars and beating traffic lights… and grow up?

I look around and can name at least a dozen kids I know who’ve joined the military, and are off fighting and dying or at least training to do so, and kids with jobs and kids and spouses. They’re the same age as me, if not a bit younger. And I’m nearly 21 years old and riding around town on my Haro like I’m still 14 and watching the baseball games behind the junior high every day after school. I guess, on some level, it doesn’t feel right to be doing this still. And yet it feels so good; it’s a part of me I don’t want to let go. I can’t imagine myself being old and doing adult things all the time. I’m still a kid at heart, and want to act like one—at least sometimes.

Argh. Anyway, I got home and had our Memorial Day barbecue, which was delicious. Steak tips, hot dogs, cheeseburgers, chicken, potato and macaroni salad. Yum!

After dinner, I headed off to Marshfield to meet Chris, Josh, Matt, and Lyse down at Rexhame Beach. It was a truly picturesque night: by the time I got there it was twilight and the cloudless sky was this delicate shade of orange fading into light blue. Everything was a silhouette; the houses along the beach were stark black, their American flags similarly black against the beautiful gradient of the sky. The waves kicked up with startling force and the water was surprisingly warm for high tide.

We played some Frisbee, trying out best to keep our eye on the dark disk against the increasingly dark sky. I ended up with a frisbee to the teeth (I couldn’t see it!) and consequently had a mouthful of sand. The frisbee ended up in the ocean—twice—and the first time Matt saved it after about three minutes of wading around deeper and deeper into the water. We all cheered and jumped on him, but in all the excitement he lost hold on the frisbee and it got lost in the water again. I found it about four minutes later in even deeper water. At this point, the clothes I hadn’t intended on swimming in were, for all intents and purposes, soaked.

We took our newly-immortal frisbee, Leon Spaulding, back to Josh’s house, along with ourselves and our shoes. Yvonne and Merica had arrived there, and we all hung around, throwing Easter eggs at each other and eating marshmallows. Later, we played poker and I ended up broke—good thing we were only playing with chips! Chris and Matt left after a few hands, and the rest of us then went to Wendy’s to get Frosties. Then I headed home.

Some general observations from tonight:

• Mosquitoes are terrible, especially in Marshfield.
• I lost the game nearly every fifteen minutes. It’s terrible, and I can’t seem to get the game off my mind.
• Never throw Easter eggs at someone’s face in the dark. You may break his glasses!
• Pasta grows fuzzy white mold when it’s been left on the stove for weeks.
• State Police totally disregard speed limits on the highway. Fuck that.
• I still don’t have two of my four grades. WTF!

It’s 5:20 AM now. I’d say it’s time for bed. Good night/morning!