If I’ve learned one thing in this short life, it’s that we have no choice but to make the best of the time we have and love all the furry creatures that happen to cross our paths. Here are a couple entries in that spirit.
Derailleurs:
A couple months ago, I was riding my bike in Florida Canyon near Balboa Park after work. I’m not sure if the chain jammed or the derailleur hit a rock, but the next thing I knew the derailleur was in the rear wheel and I was skidding down the trail. I walked about a mile back home and found a hidden canyon along the way.
I tried for a while to fix it myself. I ordered a new derailleur and hanger, a very obscure part that Specialized miraculously still sells (it is a 2011 bike). Once I found the right parts, it was easy to swap out the derailleur and hanger. By this time, my shifter cable was pretty frayed and there was no way I was going to be able to feed it through the derailleur. So I took the bike into my favorite bike shop, Stubborn Goat in North Park.
There are many expenditures in life that feel deeply unpleasant, like car insurance, rent, and parking tickets. But paying an expert bike mechanic to work on your trusty steed is one of the most positive exchanges in life. In a world of profiteers and self-ordained experts, there’s something reassuring about interacting with an honest, skilled, and unassuming mechanic who is clearly passionate about both working on and riding bicycles.
The guys at Stubborn Goat replaced my cable and housing and completely rebuilt the rear wheel, which had lost a couple spokes in the derailleur incident (the wheel was already on its last leg). Since then, I’ve been riding some new and old trails, including Horsethief Canyon, Hollenbeck Canyon, and up near Corte Madera. Riding up, down, and around through shrub canyons, oak groves, and sunset ridges transformed from brown to green by the recent rains is quite an energizing experience. I have been taking long breaks, sitting for many minutes and enjoying silence, clean air, sunshine, and otherwise recharging that vital energy of emptiness that is constantly being depleted by an urban environment that can’t seem to leave the nothingness alone.
Maisey:
When I first met Maisey (Maz), she was a very grouchy and prickly old lady. Scowling, she often sat right next to me, near enough that I could pet her, but not too close. Her grumpy disposition seemed to validate my experience, frequently disappointed by a world that could be so much better if it dared to try. She quickly became my favorite.
Her best friend Sharkbait loved her too. Wherever she sat, Sharkbait would soon be there, cuddling next to her. Eventually he would cuddle too close, she would hiss and run away, Sharkbait would soon follow, and the game would repeat. But in the last few months of her life, she began to change. She came closer to me and Raf, often settling down on our laps. When Sharkbait was sitting in his box or near his fish toy, Maisey joined him. After years of never uttering a sound, she began meowing, often when food was imminent, but sometimes for no apparent reason, perhaps to communicate with the many feline ghosts that likely haunt the space.
Her final weeks of life were challenging. Having lost most of her teeth, she drooled often. Sitting with her became a messy and smelly experience. It was hard to see Maisey suffer. Eventually she lost her ability to eat, and on Thursday, February 16th, she crawled under the bed and breathed her last breaths, in the home where she spent her entire life.
Maisey was a foster cat who didn’t get along very well with humans or other cats, and never got adopted. Her parents (Raf’s family friends) decided to take her in permanently and she became a fixture of the house where Raf and I now live and care for the cats, while their parents are living and working abroad.
We buried Maisey in the backyard, with Sharkbait on a leash alongside. In a way, there was something positive about handling, experiencing, and seeing her death. It doesn’t quite feel right or real when death is hidden away, and a creature that was once part of your life simply vanishes. I am happy that her suffering has ended, and I will miss her. Rest in peace, Maisey.
Corte Madera:
Horsethief Canyon:
Hollenbeck Canyon:
Maisey:
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