I’m sitting on a park bench near Treaty Rock in Post Falls, writing this today. I love writing in nature. This place looks rocky, wooded and wild. I’m loving the environment.
Next I intended to ride my bike directly home, but I saw the sign for Treaty Rock Park, and I’ve always wanted to see this place. So I took the trail around to the other side of the small, rocky hill, where there’s a cliff with an inscription on it.
The inscription purportedly records a deal between Chief Seltice of the Coeur d’Alene tribe, and Frederick Post, of sale of the land so that Mr. Post could build a sawmill next to the Spokane River. This was the beginning of Post Falls, Idaho.
When I was at the bank earlier today a man approached me as I was locking up my bicycle. He was full of questions.
“How long have you been riding this?” he asked. Well, I obviously don’t look like an athlete. I told him I’ve been riding just this year and a bit the year before.
“I guess you’ve found things to do in retirement,” he said. I told him I’m not retired and that I earn my income as a writer on the internet.
He said, “And you make enough money to support yourself?”
“Yes,” I told him. I didn’t go into the details about how much my income has decreased during the last eighteen months due to the cardiac arrest and later demise of the Squidoo writing site.
“I’d like to have someone write about my life,” he said. “That would be quite a story.”
I told him I’d do it, but I don’t know how serious he was. He seemed to think that it would take only about six weeks with occasional face to face meetings. Oh, if only life was that easy. Well, if it was a short memoir, that might work.
He seemed like the kind of man who would have a lot to say. Maybe he should go ahead and retire, then write that memoir himself.
While I was at Treaty Rock Park I made this product review video:
I’m still out on my bike ride, mourning the loss of summer. It was sunny when I started out a few hours ago. Now puffy white clouds cover the sun, and the air is chilly, not happy-making at all.
No matter where I go in this town I get freeway noise. That really bothers me. I’ll bet most people don’t notice anymore…. But until last year I was a mountain dweller in the center of a forest and there were no large highways around, so the noise level of living in “civilization” is ominous.
I need to get back on my bicycle and ride west… two and a half miles, that is all. I’ll be home in half an hour. Then I can shut my apartment door and if the guy upstairs isn’t playing his music too loud again, I can have a few hours of peace and quiet.
I look forward to that. Peace. Quiet. Sounds good.
Post script from home:
I was riding my bike down Seltice Avenue on the way home when a man rode up on a bike from behind me, then stopped just ahead of me and said, “Would you like to race?”
“Not really,” I said. “You win! I concede!”
Now, I’m a competitive person at times but I think a man on a racing bicycle is going to win a race anytime against an old woman on a cruiser who is, well, somewhat of a weakling. The fact that I can now ride a bike fairly well has nothing to do with my overall fitness. Yes, I’ve developed some muscles and burned some fat, but I’m still 62 and not all that athletic.
“You don’t recognize me, do you?” he said. “I’m the guy from church.”
Oh! No, now how could I recognize him when his back was to me. So I got closer and sure enough, it was a man I’ve talked to at church, and not just a few times. I still wasn’t interested in racing even though I now thought of this person as “safe” and not “maybe scary.”
He kindly slowed down and we talked a while as we pedaled west toward our church and our homes. After we got past the church the bike path turned into a narrow sidewalk, and I told him to go ahead of me because I’m not so steady on my bike that I think I can ride next to someone else on a sidewalk.
He waited for me at the corner where he has to turn to get to his home, and while we were there he looked over my bike. He worked for many years as a bicycle mechanic, and had some comments about the way I’d put together the bike. He thought the handlebars were too high. Then he noticed that one of the nuts that held the front tire on was missing!
Sure enough, one had come loose. It was gone, and I had no idea how long I’d been riding the bicycle in that condition.
He told me it was safe enough to ride so long as the nut on the other side wasn’t loose… but as I was only two blocks from my home at that point, I decided to walk it home. My plan: to take a nut from my other broken bicycle to fix it, and to write to the manufacturer for the exact part since it is a shiny silver nut that will look a lot better on the bike than an old rusty nut. Yes, I’m loving the shiny new bike and don’t want to ruin it.
I thanked him for finding and pointing out the flaws in my bicycle, and for saving my life. He said it could have hurt me if the tire fell off but it probably wouldn’t have killed me. That’s positive thinking!
So after all that, as I walked the bike home, I realized how much Jesus loves me, because He arranged for me to meet up with this bike mechanic man today, and he was able to draw my attention to the fact that my bicycle had a potentially dangerous flaw. I believe with all my heart that this is evidence of Jesus watching over me and taking care of me.