August 2019 – Joe Kerper

Nailed it!

I took my daughter mountain biking on Sunday. We’ve been mountain biking together before, but this was a real ride, MY ride. The one I take when I want to be alone, relax and not think about anything as my wheels hurtle downhill at an insane speed.

So I surprised myself and invited my 10-year-old, who has no serious mountain biking experience, to my place. You know the one. Where you go to be you, recharge and forget everything else.

My ride is in the Buffalo Creek Recreation Area. There are LOTS of trail options here. Here is one. I usually begin on a trail named “Nice Kitty” which is anything but. It’s a lung-busting, intense climb–at least the way I ride it. I’ve taken to calling it “Bad Kitty.” My ride usually runs anywhere from 25-45 miles and takes a few hours depending on how I feel. There are so many options in this area that it’s a real joy to explore. And if you get there early enough as I almost always do, the solitude is incredible.

*The start of “Nice Kitty;” don’t let the name fool you.*

So we got up at 5am, ate and were riding in the cool pre-dawn light at 6:30. Nice Kitty was upon us a few minutes later. And then it started. If you have kids you probably can image what “it” is…the whining and asking to go home.

The top of “Nice Kitty” isn’t the most scenic, but it’s a welcome change to the relentless steep trail below. A fire over a decade ago denuded the top.

“Nope.” I said. “We talked about this. We’ve got a 20-mile ride to do today and all day to do it in.” The whining was the same as it always is, but miraculously, my reaction to it was completely new. Somewhere in my brain a switch had been thrown and no matter the complaints or protests, I simply smiled–and meant it; I was having an incredible day and was confident that she would too.

I knew she was pulling out all the stops when I heard: “But Daaaaaaad, I have to get home soon so I’ll have time to clean my room.” The smile was on my face again. And now, as I was preparing to respond, I knew something was missing…my usual frustration was nowhere to be found. I felt lighter, happier, without the weight of my usual responses, which may have been gruff, sarcastic or even occasionally mean. I couldn’t understand why I was thinking so differently today. The smile was on my face, I was thinking about the sun beginning to light up the pine trees above us and how much fun was still in store for us.

“It’s 20 miles kiddo. You can either enjoy them or hate them, I have no control over that. I know what I’m choosing. Look at the sun hitting the tips of the trees above us…this is gorgeous.” And I smiled.

This went on for about 10 miles. And the happiness switch in my head was still engaged. No matter how she moaned or whined or asked to go home, the smile was with me. And none of the gruffness or sarcasm that I would usually have responded with. I’m well and truly addicted to this feeling at this point.

The biking was slow as you may imagine. I’d ride ahead, wait and repeat. Every time I’d see her approaching I was impressed with how well she was riding. I told her so every time she reached me. And I was still smiling. It was exhausting climbing, I was sweating, and in the cool of the still early morning, my sunglasses fogged up every time I paused to wait.

Some of the Colorado Trail is so beautiful you have to stop and appreciate it.

Finally it was upon us. I was paused, left foot on the ground, right clipped into my eggbeater clipless pedal, turned around looking for her. She zipped through a section of roots, pedaled through and up a tight switchback and then briefly hit the pedals hard in a short out-of-the-seat sprint and stopped next to me. I was smiling again…proud of her grit and skill.

The downturned lips foreshadowed her tone. “WHY are you so POSITIVE?!”

The laugh bubbled up from somewhere in my belly full of warmth, love and pride without even a hint of frustration. I didn’t know the answer to her question. I felt as perplexed as she so obviously was.

“I don’t know. I’m having the time of my life. This is my favorite ride in the world, I’m sharing it with you and watching you ride stuff that I never could have with your experience. I’m so proud of you.”

I left it there. “Ready?” I asked after she returned her water bottle to its holder. She nodded and I started off.

We’d finished Nice Kitty, taken a connector trail whose name I always forget and were biking the Colorado Trail; something changed in her there.

I was already impressed with her riding but after that brief interaction something happened. She’d found something inside of herself. She was twice the rider I’d seen earlier. Faster, braver, tougher–and most especially, happier.

She’d found her switch and flipped it.

We cruised down through rutted, root covered and sandy descents and clicked into low gear to grind our way up steep switchbacks, saying hello to hikers and moving over to make way for faster bikers on the trail. Now we were both smiling.

How you decide to experience life is what makes you ecstatic or miserable.

Our ride ended up being just shy of 26 miles. We took water breaks, snack breaks, faster-biker-passing-us breaks, can’t-breathe-anymore breaks and talked endlessly. It took hours longer than when I do it alone. But I wasn’t alone, I was sharing this with my daughter and it was the best ride of my life. It was a ride that didn’t last long enough.

When was the last time you looked back on your day and said “Nailed it!”?

What Should it Say?

I just finished my homework. Write a letter introducing my son–his dreams, strengths and weaknesses–to his kindergarten teacher.

Chance and I are very similar–we look alike; we’re both smart, stubborn and challenging to love. I often find myself frustrated with him. Or perhaps more accurately, I’m frustrated with my parenting of him. He’s wonderful and challenging and hard. I imagine he feels much the same way about me.

Someone is listening though. Yesterday the sermon was on patience. It’s a message that should resonate no matter what you do or don’t believe in. In a nutshell: Instead of rushing through, hurrying to get a job done, take your time.

So I took my time and wrote about Chance. His love of law enforcement, his dislike of bullies, his incredible knows-no-bounds imagination and the way he thoughtfully rations his hugs and seems to give them out when I need one most.

I understand my son better now. I love him more. I’m ready to be more patient. I’m prepared to forgive myself when I make a mistake. All because of that letter. It made me think. Or rather, I took the time to think about it. Had I rushed through I wouldn’t be in the place I am now.

What would you write about your kids? What would that letter say? Take a half-hour and write it. I bet you’ll be surprised.

In turn, I can’t help but wonder what Chance’s letter about me would say. Surely that I struggle with being patient. That I raise my voice at him sometimes; but also hopefully that I sit down and apologize when I make a mistake. Would he remember sitting on my lap operating the backhoe? Me doing pushups next to him after he’s pushed his sister? Reading his favorite story to him? Working with him to help him read a story to both of us? Building legos together?

I don’t know what Chance would write in his letter introducing me. I do know what I would like Chance’s letter to say, what it should say, if you will. I want a letter that I would proudly put on the fridge. That’s what I’m going to be thinking about the next time I feel the pull of impatience.

Writing for a Miracle: Part 2

Part 1

I called Home Depot again this morning; no joy.

Then, about an hour later, Diane from the pro desk called and said someone had returned my notebook. Wow. Yeah!

I was outside at the time, about to remove a stump with the backhoe. I promptly tried to return the tractor to the garage but forgot the roll bar was up. When the roll bar is up it impacts the top of the garage door.

With the roll bar down, the tractor fits nicely in the garage. With it up, bad things happen.

The extended roll bar ripped off the trim from the outside of the garage as I tried to drive it in…so I know what I’ll be fixing later today.

In my excitement to get my notebook back, I forgot to lower the roll bar and took out some trim. Oops. It happens. The shoulder puncture wound I could have gone without.

I also managed to have my shoulder stop a piece of falling trim. A nail punctured my right shoulder to the depth of about an inch. That smarts. After stopping the copious amounts of spurting blood, applying antiseptic, bandaging my shoulder and changing shirts, I popped two vitamin I tablets (ibuprofen).

This angle doesn’t show the cotton ball sized swelling under that bandage. When an inch of nail punctures your shoulder and bottoms out on bone, it hurts. Don’t worry, I’ll make it.

At Home Depot, I found Diane and got my notebook back, minus my pen. I’m conflicted on what my reaction should be. Who returns a notebook after stealing a nice pen from it? The way I add up karma points, returning one item while stealing another does not leave you at the same place as you started.

But maybe that’s not the best way to think about this. After all, I have the opportunity to create any story in my head about what happened, since I wasn’t there and will never know. So perhaps I should choose to see two people, the first person on the scene stole my birthday pen while the second person retuned the notebook. This scenario leaves me much happier. Thank you for returning my notebook.

The notebook is back, but notice the empty pen loop on the right side. Taking things that aren’t yours isn’t nice.

On the way home I stopped at The Abide Ride a burrito food truck in Aspen Park. I needed a pick me up. Wouldn’t it be great, I thought to myself, if they had Mexican Coke?

And as it turns out, that’s what I saw listed on the menu board.

“Sausage burrito and a Mexican Coke, please,” I said.

“We don’t have any Mexican Coke. Sorry. We have Coke in a can though,” said the woman in the truck.

“Uhhh. Oh well. It’s listed on the board. After the day I had I was really looking forward to a Mexican Coke. I can’t drink the canned stuff. It’s not the same,” I uttered, disappointed.

“Well I can’t get a new board every time something on the menu changes,” she said back to me. Here was an option that I would never have considered. A new one every time something changes. Seemed a bit extreme.

“Ok.” I said as politely as possible. “Well if you wanted to update what you don’t offer any more, perhaps you could just cover up the Mexican Coke portion.” With tape or a post it…or paint over it, I thought.

A noncommittal stare and my burrito were all I received in return.

So my takeaway is this: If you have a choice of inventing a story about something that happens to you, why not choose the best possible one you can? If I were sitting here, picturing a person stealing my pen because they felt they deserved it for returning my notebook to Home Depot, I would feel completely different than I do after imagining two people, one of whom stole my pen and the other a doing the right thing and returning my notebook. Try it out sometime, it’s a surprisingly cathartic experience.

Frustration comes from wishing things were different than they are. At the end of the day, all I can do is be the best person I know how to be and hope my kids take notice. At least tonight I’ll be able to continue writing about my life in my notebook, albeit with a replacement pen.

Writing for a Miracle: Part 1

I’ve been writing with an orange TiScribe titanium pen since March. It was a birthday present for myself.

I love writing. I love great pens. And this was one of the best…in titanium, with a futuristic orange ceramic coating. God I loved this pen.

Anyone who has ever hunted or backpacked with me knows that I mark the weight of every item on the item so I’m not tempted to take “just one more thing.” Those ounces add up folks. So a great pen in one of the lightest materials possible was an awesome gift for myself. Nailed it, if I do say so!

Yesterday I lost that damn pen. And they no longer seem to make it. And I don’t have a single photo of the damn thing!

Here’s the email I sent to Kelvin, the owner of Urban Survival Gear, hoping for a miracle. Cross your fingers for me.

Kelvin:

I’m in mourning. After months of daily use, my beloved orange tiscribe bolt v2.0 pen is no longer with me. It was hard getting out of bed this morning.

When I looked at the clear plastic piece of…well you know…that I now have to write with, I’d like to tell you that I shed a tear, but that’s not what happened. I was pissed. I lost my damn pen in a home depot parking lot yesterday. I survived waiting in line for 10 minutes followed by 45 minutes of the pro desk trying to special order some PVC fittings for me that by all rights should have already been in stock in the store. My 5-and 10-year-old kids did remarkably well for the first 20 minutes, but after that well, again I’d like to embellish my story here with hair flying, checkout candy displays being destroyed and the police being called, but that’s not what happened. My kids were probably better behaved than I was. (They usually are because thankfully they both take after their mother.)

After loading all of our stuff in the car, ensuring the kids were buckled properly and then returning the cart (and almost being run over by a gentleman driving at about 30 mph in the parking lot—his tires actually squealed as I was bracing for the impact that thankfully never came) I managed to forget my notebook and pen in the cart. I called the home depot and no joy. My pen and the notebook it was clipped onto have not been located. It would take a special kind of person to return a “found” tiscribe pen. I’d like to think that I’m that kind of person, but honestly I’m glad I’ve never been put in that situation.

This pen has been everywhere with me since March. It’s a member of our family and my best friend (I don’t get out much, and when I do, people try to run me over in parking lots).

So I looked on your website today, ready to swallow the pill of having to purchase another one. You know what I discovered. No orange ones in the regular length to be found. Reluctantly I ordered a mini, but Kelvin, let me be honest—a stonewashed mini won’t be the same as my original orange tiscribe. After spending the last two hours in 95 degree heat making my kids scour the parking lot and look in several hundred carts (just kidding, that home depot is a half hour away and I wouldn’t do that to my kids) I thought that I could check with you to see if maybe in addition to making and selling the best pen ever, you also deal in miracles and might be able to locate another orange tiscribe bolt v 2.0—even a scuffed or imperfect one would work.

Thanks for your help and understanding. I’m a little upset that losing this pen makes me upset. Should I be upset with you for making a pen that I loved so much that when I lost it, well, I lost it? I think not. It was bliss having this pen in my life for the brief period that I did. My notebook is better for it and god knows that my wife was happy I was writing things down and forgetting them less (I still managed to forget things, the pen wasn’t a miraculous device, though I think it came close.).

Can you make this day any better for me? Might you be able to locate an orange tiscribe bolt v2.0 for sale?

Joe

UPDATE: Three hours after I sent my email I heard back from a sympathetic Kelvin. The orange pens will return later this month! Great customer service from these guys again.

The saga continues. Part 2