Cold cross training

It is time to show a bit more love for my fat bike.

Despite being the newcomer in my bike family, it has rapidly risen up the ranks and has taken top spot as my favourite. It is not hard to understand why. It has opened up the entire year for biking. No matter how cold it gets (unless it is below -25, then forget it!!) and no matter how wet it gets, the fat bike can be relied on to give me a wonderful ride. I no longer have to remain confined to my stationary bike for more than 6 months of the year. It has broken me out of my indoor prison and has me out in nature much, much more often than ever before. It has transformed my life and I am so grateful.

But this kind of special attention from me, this shameless favouritism, has not gotten to its head set. Instead, in an act of selfless graciousness, it has helped me appreciate my other bikes so much more.

When I used to ride my road bike, I required the conditions to be rather perfect. The temperature had to be warm, the wind had to be reasonably mild, and there could be no serious threat of rain. But now that I have ridden in severe cold and sloppy mud, I am much more open to the elements. And I actually enjoy them. The wind does not make furious as it once did, and the cold certainly does not seem so bad, since it is still much warmer than the depths of winter.

As for my mountain bike, the fat bike has made me a much better climber. Hills that used to daunt me are no longer so threatening and many of them are almost routine now. I have such better balance, I have a better sense of line, and I know where to push and where to lay off to keep my traction and keep my forward momentum. I feel like I am a better rider than I have ever been, and whether it is true or not, the feeling is wonderful.

And, last but not least, I am simply fitter from all the riding throughout the cold months, and so, when I transitioned to my other bikes, I could ride long and hard right from the bat. When I used the stationary for the winter, it took about 2 weeks to a full month to get back in outdoor shape, and my rides were shorter and exhausting. No longer.

So, thank you, my dear fat bike. You are well known for leaving almost no imprint on the ground when you travel along trails, but I assure you, you have had a huge impact on my life and I will never be the same.

Palindromic pedaling

Here is a quick thought.

I went for a road ride today, and the path was quite simple. I headed out away from the house, I turned around, and then I came back home. One might think that my ride was composed of two identical parts, with the second a mere repetition of the first.. Not quite. Instead, they were more like two parts of a palindrome.

In case you are not too familiar with this term. a palindrome is a word that can be read the same forward and backward – like Mom, Dad, Toot, and Madam I’m Adam. You see how very natural these words look, so easy to read. But remember, these are the exception, not the rule. A more typical palindrome would look like this: cyclingnilcyc. This also reads the same forward and backward, but the backward part (the second half) is completely nonsensical and quite different from the first. In fact, it was really hard to type.

This was what my ride was like today. On the way out, I was energetic, the wind was behind me much of the way, and the sunshine was warm on my skin. But, on the way back, it was the mirror image … in the true sense of the word, in that it seemed the same, but it was in fact laterally inverted. The wind was super strong and totally in my face, my energy and strength levels were fading under the constant exertion, and it was damn cold – especially since I had decided to wear my hot weather kit, complete with short sleeve jersey and shorts.

Ironically, when I was nearing the end of the ride, I listened to the greatest hits from Abba. How appropriate. Hahah.

Reflections in the bike mirror

I finished a long day at work, and the weather outside is nice and warm. Instead of going for a bike ride, I decided to go for a walk and think about what I might blog about. I find walking extremely meditative, especially if I am on trails that are away from traffic – both foot and car. And today was no exception. My mind ran free and decided to back pedal many years into the past, probing my distant memories. And for some reason, it settled on the times when I trained my oldest son to ride the bike.

Now I am a teacher by profession, and I have had more than my fair share of successes in the classroom, and so you might think that I would apply the same principles towards training my own children in the sacred art of riding a bike. I mean, it is a rite of passage, for god’s sake, and not something to do lightly and haphazardly.

So you would think.

But for some reason, I did not even think to consider the proper sequence of progression that would lead to maximum success with minimum pain and frustration. These days, I read article after article about how children should scoot first, by simply removing the pedals on a bike, so that they can learn balance before they have to tackle pedaling. And really, if I had sat down and really pondered the skills necessary for proficiency on a bike, I might have even come up with such a strategy myself, thereby making me a pioneer of today’s great instruction methodologies, blazing the trails so that others might follow.

But alas, that was not the case at all. In fact, I think I purposefully gave myself a lobotomy and opted to go by sheer instinct, merely doing what seemed natural for me. Be ready to cringe, dear readers, as I reveal to you my barbaric techniques.

We started by getting him a high level and quite expensive tricycle, because nothing is too good for our first born, right? It was a pretty green and orange, making it the envy of the entire neighbourhood – not that we knew of any other kids in our neghbourhood, but if there were other kids, they would have been green (and orange) in envy.

The problem was that this tricycle, as wonderful and hip as it was, proved to be too large for our child. He could not easily reach the pedals, even when we placed blocks on the pedals to shorten the distance. (Yes, we actually put blocks on the pedals. Feel free to judge with abandon!) So, instead of riding it, he had to scoot around with his foot on the back support between the wheels. He got really good at scooting, but this was not helping him at all in the biking department.

Eventually he got tall enough to ride it, and sure enough, with some prompting and urging and pleading (and yes, even threatening – please don’t report me!), he soon was able to pedal the tricycle around the driveway. As his confidence grew, we extended this to the park behind our house. But strangely, as he grew larger and larger, he stopped biking and resumed scooting, doing it for many years until the bike was far too small for him.

Despite my love for cycling in all its forms, my oldest son did not learn to ride a two-wheeled bike until much later than his friends. I really cannot explain to you why I allowed this to protract for such a long time, and it is certainly to my shame that I didn’t act sooner. But it happened and I must accept full responsibility for it.

Anyway, when my son was about ready to shave (kidding!), I figured it was time for him to master the art and science of biking. Strangely, I did not actually buy a bike for him to celebrate this momentous event. Instead, we discovered that my wife’s cousins had an old bike kicking around, a heavy steel piece of junk that was rusting away under a porch. Oh, how things have fallen since the chic tricycle of his youth! Forget the idea of getting a bike that fits him, that is perfect for him … nope, what mattered was that it was free. (Who was I at this time? I cannot even recognize myself!!)

Again, I did not construct a master plan, where my son would progress from basic simple skills to the more advanced skills, until they all came together in a magical symphony of pedaling and balancing. Instead, I placed him in our back yard and holding him firmly by the back seat (of the bike, not my son!), I pushed him around as he mimicked the motions of pedaling. Come on. Did I really think this would lead anywhere? All we did was go in circles in the backyard and get nowhere at all.

So, I took him out to the path behind our house, under the watchful eyes of drivers and passengers of cars that went by at high speed, and once again manned the back seat like a rudder, navigating him through the choppy seas of underdeveloped balance and a complete lack of timing. It was humiliating watching him, and again, to my utter shame, I got on his case more than once, giving him a stern talking to, expressing my displeasure that he was not acquiring the skills in short order. It had never entered my mind at the time that this might have had to do with my absolutely dreadful teaching techniques.

We went back and forth on the trail relentlessly, me pushing, him trying to pedal, and then him falling to the left, to the right, forward, back, until he had absolutely no confidence and he knew that I was embarrassed to be out there with him. I think back on this and I really feel for him. I have always been a person who has gained physical skills very quickly, almost immediately, like I was meant to do most sports out there, and this ease of acquisition made it really hard for me to understand my son’s struggles.

Which is strange because I see struggles all the time at school, and so you would think I would be more considerate, more understanding. Not at all. I have always been extra hard and demanding on my children when learning new skills. As I did my walk today, I had a bit of an epiphany about this. I am even more demanding of myself when I learn something, and so, to me, I was being a little easy on them. But this is just sickness. I have been far too hard on myself throughout my life, which is something that likely needs to be discussed with a therapist, and just because I was a bastard to myself, this certainly does not vindicate my treatment of my boys when they were learning a new skill like biking.

Somehow, in the end, my oldest son learned to ride – despite all of my foolish and slightly torturous methods. And while he had gained the rudimentary skills, he had no desire to go further and develop these skills to the highest level, enjoying the absolute thrill of riding in the process. I think I sucked the joy entirely out of the process and I feel mostly to blame for my son’s apparent apathy towards biking.

Looking back on all this, I would certainly not blame my oldest son for never taking up biking ever again. But there is some good news here at the end. As he progressed into his twenties and ventured out into the world on his own, he came to realize that he needed some form of transportation to explore the new and exciting world extending from his doorstep. While he can walk really fast, sometimes giving nearby cars a run for their money, he realized that it was just not fast enough. He could not see enough of the world. Much like his old man, he does not like the idea of driving, and so this left him with the humble bike.

Today, I am proud to report that he rides very often in the river valley, alone on his wonderful metal steed, and he says that he loves it. I could almost cry. Despite all of the emotional abuse and terribly ineffective teaching methods, despite my condemnation and judgement, a love for cycling has emerged from it all. I could not be happier. What a sigh of relief, what a huge burden taken from my shoulders. I shudder to think that I could have turned my own child against my most cherished recreational activity, this wondrous and heavenly thing called biking. But in a miracle, sunshine has blazed through the dark clouds and passion for riding bikes has erupted in his soul.

In a couple of weeks, my son and I will be riding together in the river valley. No longer will I be the teacher – thank goodness for that!! – but instead, we will be riding side by side, equal in pace and passion for biking. I no longer need to look back, reflecting on the past, because both of us have our gaze set firmly on the future bike paths, and they look like a whole lot of fun.

Getting the train back on the rails

When I left you last, the rear derailleur for my mountain bike was in the condition shown below:

On the day after this disaster, it was time to do some surgery. Allow me to describe to you the minor miracle that followed.

I snipped the cable tie holding it to the frame (using a scalpel?), and after removing the shifter cable, I brought it over to my work desk. When I analyzed it more closely, I realized that it was in far worse shape than I had thought. Its pulse was shallow and fading fast. I had a strong suspicion that it was beyond hope and that I would have to buy another one, but I would not give up without a fight. I put on my scrubs (read, ratty work clothes and protective glasses), laid out all of my tools, clean and gleaming, and then I got to work.

The first problem was the cage.

It was seriously bent – both folded and twisted. So, I placed it in a vice and using a hammer, a wrench, and a whole lot of prayer, I gently but firmly brought it back into shape. This was a nervous operation because the last time I did this, I used too much force and snapped a piece off of it. But not this time. Slowly but steadily, I brought it back into its proper condition, and when done, I was really happy with the results. It was close to being pristine. I was getting a bit more optimistic, since this was the most challenging part of the restoration process.

Next was the upper pulley wheel.

The problem here was that the bolt holding it in place, as well as one of the bearing plates, were entirely missing. It had been ripped clean off the derailleur and those pieces were lost on the trail somewhere, in an unmarked grave. Where would I find their replacements? Fortunately, I tend to keep my old, worn-out components in a couple of bins in my shop, and this practice proved to be invaluable. I happened to have a very similar derailleur in the bin, and sure enough, it had the proper bolt and bearing plate. Sweet good fortune!! They fit perfectly, and when I assembled it back together, it was wonderfully operational.

The final pieces of the derailleur puzzle were for the hanger and hanger bolt.

The bolt (shown as 1 in the first diagram) was missing the limiting washer and washer, as circled on the left of the same diagram. But again, my old derailleur had those parts as well. And the actual hanger (in the second diagram) was completely mangled and stripped, but it is actually designed to do this, and I happened to have purchased extras for this part. So, I was able to attach the derailleur back on the bike and thread the chain through it. So far, so good.

I then replaced the shifter cable, which had been bent to a 90 degree angle in the catastrophe, and while I did so, I snipped the end of the cable housing (which was frayed and bent as well) and replaced it with a piece of old cable housing (yes, also in my invaluable old bins). I have shown the region below, using a picture of my actual bike (well, when it was first purchased).

I attached the cable to the derailleur, and after replacing the rear rim (since one of the spokes was destroyed) with my spare rim, I tuned it all up and it appeared to be working quite well. Surprisingly well.

And I am happy to report that I took it out on the local trails yesterday and it was solid and reliable for the entire trip. I am one very happy bike doctor. My patient survived (after many hours of surgery in my shop) and is back living its life to the fullest. I couldn’t be more proud. (and my wife is delighted because it did not cost us a thing. LOL)

Mechanical disadvantage

I think the gods of biking have a vicious sense of humour.

The forecast for today was sunshine throughout the morning and afternoon, with reasonably warm temperatures, and because the ground was pretty dry, I felt it was a good opportunity to go out for another mountain bike ride in the river valley. On the way out, I had nothing but green lights at every intersection and I felt totally charmed.

In retrospect, this should have been a fair warning. I am never this lucky .. not ever! … and in the grand cosmic balance sheet, I was due for a bunch of negative things to happen … or one big disaster.

The ride was excellent for the first couple of hours, and apart from a bit of tiredness in my legs, I was on point in stamina and technique. But then, on a relatively harmless trail with plenty of space around me, I looked behind me briefly to see if anyone was trailing me so I could pull off to the side and allow them to go by me. There was no one, and when I turned my head back very quickly, I realized that my bike was heading directly towards a tree … at high speed! I had very little time to react, and as I veered away from it, my left shoulder slammed painfully into it.

I swear I heard a bit of a snap (or it could have been a crack or pop), and I was quite convinced that I had broken my shoulder. I rode the next several minutes, waiting to feel any of the classic symptoms of numbness or weakness or agony, but there was only good old fashioned pain. I dodged a bullet. At least I could dodge something, because I certainly couldn’t dodge that damned stationary tree.

It was only pain, something I am more than familiar with on my bike, and so I began riding once again with confidence and intensity. It all went well until I got to the most challenging portion of my ride, full of steep climbs and highly technical sections. On one such climb, right near the top of a very steep hill, my drivetrain jammed and I came to a dead stop.

WTF?

Before I looked down, I thought back on the agreement I made with my wife. I had suggested to her that it would be best if I drive to the river valley, so that when I inevitably experience a mechanical failure, I can simply drive it back and fix it at home. But she was worried that leaving a car alone in a parking lot will lead our vehicle being broken into and even stolen. So, the plan was modified. I asked that she make breakfast earlier in the morning, so that I would have plenty of time to ride out to the river valley, complete my ride, and be back before lunch at 1 pm. She agreed.

And you know, I felt pretty good about this. I knew there was a chance that I could suffer some kind of breakdown on the ride, but in my backpack are tools to solve almost all problems. The likelihood of something happening that could not be fixed on site was so very small. Did I mention the biking gods were laughing?

When I finally looked down at my drivetrain, to my horror I saw that my rear derailleur was completely mangled and instead of dangling down, it was projected straight upward. Not good. When I assessed the damage, many of the issues were indeed solvable. The derailleur hanger was bent and the thread were totally stripped, but I had a new hanger in my bag so I was ready. One of my spokes had been snapped by the swinging derailleur, but I could simply entwine it around the adjacent spoke and the wheel would still be rideable and get me home. The front brake rotor was bent and making a huge screech each revolution, but I could simply adjust it by loosening the bolt and realigning it.

But the deal breaker was the derailleur itself. The lower part of the derailleur had been ripped apart, and one of the bolts that holds one of the jockey wheels in place was gone.

(Here is a picture of a healthy derailleur. I have circled the jockey wheel that had been ripped off.)

I searched the trail for minutes trying to find it, but it was nowhere to be found. I was screwed. If the part is completely gone, I cannot fix it. Dammit!!

So, I got out my zip tie and secured the derailleur (as well as the dangling chain) to my right chain stay of my bike frame, so it would not jam into my spokes again. Below is what it looks like. I have circled in red the derailleur that is attached to my chainstay.) Not pretty.

Then, it was time to scoot. That is when one foot is on a pedal, and the other foot pushes on the ground to move the bike forward, much like a scooter. Sound like fun? Well, I was located on the opposite side of U of A at the time, and I had to scoot for almost 2.5 hours to get home. Let me tell you, not so much fun at all. I am just glad that I did not injure myself in the process. My feet will be sore, and my shoulders as well from holding myself up on the handlebars while pushing, but otherwise, I am doing well enough.

Honestly, I don’t even want to look at that bike for a while. I was so devastated by what happened, and really, I have no explanation for how it happened. Did I snag a root, hit a rock? I have no idea at all.

But there is no doubt that the cosmic balance has been maintained. The next time I go for a mountain bike ride, I will be hoping for nothing but red lights at every single intersection. Then, my ride will be smooth and with absolutely no mechanicals. (But I will bring a rabbit’s foot, a lucky penny, and a horseshoe as well, just to be sure.)

Beautiful faces

I have to share with you something that happened today.

In the morning, I went for an epic ride in the river valley. Then, after lunch, I worked on some bikes in my shop. Finally, it was family time. So what did I do? Naturally, I went for a bike ride with my oldest son.

It was a bit of an adventure, since I took him on a ride that he had never experienced before. He is comfortable on paved bike paths, and he has been riding the river valley himself, but he has never been on the actual roads outside the city. So, we headed east from our house on a remote country road, and we rode both paved roads and gravel roads. The wind was strong, and when it blew in our direction, we were heroes and Tour de France champions. When it was in our faces, we were slugs and sloths, trudging our way along the road and barely making any progress. But we had a great conversation the entire time and it was rather magical.

But the most amazing thing happened when we got to the end of our ride. We had come to an intersection and were waiting for the light to turn. Beside us (at a safe distance) was a family of 4, with one mother and three kids.

While we waited, a large SUV was entering the intersection to make a left turn and to our surprise, the driver stuck her head completely out the window and shouted, “You have such beautiful faces!”

WTF?

And she continued. “So beautiful. Faces without masks. Actual faces. And it is so nice to see young kids with no masks. They have the most beautiful of faces!” Sha was staring right at us the entire time, smiling as big as the world.

My reaction was mixed. I was laughing my head off, because the scene was absolutely ridiculous, but I was also wondering what her motivation was. Was she just that excited to see people without masks, simply because she loved the look of the human visage, or was she an anti-masker and trying to make a public point? (Or was she on some serious drugs?)

Regardless, it was the strangest and most noteworthy event of the day. I just had to tell you, from one beautiful face to another.

A brief walk

Yet another morning kneeling in front of the porcelain altar. His stomach felt inside out with all the dry heaves, his knees were numb, and his mouth was filled with the putrid ashes of unanswered prayers. Just another day.

He returned to the bedroom, a bit shaky from his bathroom ordeal, and sat on the edge of the bed, beside all of the clothes he had laid out for himself earlier. The pants slid on far too easily over his spindly legs, the socks forced him to bend over so much that his spine seemed about ready to snap, and his shirt was loose on his skeletal frame.

At the kitchen, he chose his sturdy hiking boots and took a good amount of time lacing them up, trying so very hard to make knots that would remain tied for longer than 15 minutes. But his fingers were shaking again. Damned rheumatoid arthritis, he thought to himself with a sad smile. If only, if only.

The cellphone was right beside the door. He was required to bring it with him at all times, and for the past few months, he had been a good boy and listened to every instruction given to him. But where did that get him? Nothing had improved. Rather, things only got worse.

He remembered that there was once a time when he would go for epic bike rides for hours on end, in the most remote parts of the county, and every time he went without a phone or any other kind of identification. People had called him crazy in those days, but he just called it freedom.

So, for the first time in a long time, he left the cellphone there to gather dust. Instead, wearing his best exercise outfit on and with his walking boots on as tight as possible, he left his house and began his journey.

It was a slow walk along the sidewalk, with many of the steps being more of a shuffle than a stride, but he was progressing. The day was cloudy, which was fine with him since it matched his present mood. People periodically walked by him on his left and right, both old and young, and he looked upon them wistfully. There was a time when he could run like a gazelle, and one of his old coaches had even called him a greyhound for his speed and endurance. No longer, no longer.

The neighbourhood eventually came to an end, but there was a small sidewalk on his right that led to an open field and his true destination. Kirkland Hill. He had thought about it, dreamt about it, fantasized about it, for weeks on end. Today was the day when he would conquer it.

He exited the gate like he was being freed from prison, and when he had nothing but nature in front of him, he took giant breaths of the pure air. Sure, he coughed and gagged, as he always did, but this did not stop him. He was here for the full meal deal, and nothing was going to stop him from making the most of it. Nothing.

The singletrack took him to the west for a while and before long, he was at the foot of the hill. He looked up for a moment and whistled. It looked far steeper and far longer than it ever had before. Being honest with himself, he was pretty intimidated and briefly entertained the thought of turning around and going back to his home, back to safety and rest and routine and reduced expectations. No! He would see this through.

He planted his foot on that hill like a flag, claiming it, and then began the climb. It started out gentle enough, and his breathing was rapid and scratchy, but it was bearable. He even looked to the sides every once in a while, checking out the scenery that had once been so familiar.

But then the hill got steeper and his steps got shorter, and each breath felt like a small knife was gouging his lungs, deeper and deeper with each step. If there was one advantage of the past months, it was his ability to tolerate pain. In fact, he had experienced nothing but pain for so long that it had become a kind of friend, a constant companion. So, he embraced this feeling, relaxing under the merciless internal incisions, and kept plodding on.

The sky suddenly turned dark and the wind picked up, blowing straight into his face. He kept his head down and leaned into the wind, keeping his steps short but consistent. He found himself swearing at the inclement weather with each and every step, like a profane litany or mantra, but it seemed to keep him going and so he kept it up. My mother would be so ashamed of me, he thought. He could almost taste the soap she used to wash his mouth out when he said any kind of swear words.

Mother Nature must have been listening and was none too pleased, because the wind got even stronger and it began to spit rain into his face, pelting him pretty hard. You gotta be kidding, he thought. Does everything have to be against me all the time?

He tried to remember those long bike rides when he had bonked, having absolutely no energy and with legs like jelly, and yet he still had many kilometres left to ride. There was no choice at that time but to keep moving, and so he always found a way to endure.

But the wind was so strong, and it was getting cold. He briefly loked up and saw that there was plenty of hill left to climb. He had come to a stop and had not even realized it. How long have I been standing here like this? he thought to himself.

“Come on, man. Keep moving. Don’t give up!” He was shouting this aloud, but his scratchy voice barely registered above the noise of the wind. Anything to keep himself going.

It was not enough. He collapsed on the path and curled up under the force of the elements. He was alone and stranded, much like he had been for months. It seemed his lot in life. Why the hell did he keep going?

There was no way he was walking any more, so instead, he began to crawl away from the trail and towards the cliff on his left. When he reached the ledge, he lay down panting, the cold ground penetrating his body, matching the temperature of his heart and his soul.

It was a huge drop with vicious rocks at the bottom. Just a few more steps and he could plummet off this cliff. What a way to go, he thought. Out with a bang.

But he would just lie there for a bit longer before he did anything rash. And while he did so, there was a break in the clouds and the sun came out for the first time that day. It was bright and warm, and the sight of it brought tears to his eyes.

He sat up and looked out upon the valley that surrounded his town. The forest sparkled emerald green, the lake was a startling blue, and the distant mountains were grey giants, majestic and towering. It was the most beautiful painting and it seemed to be just for him, like some kind of cosmic gift.

The tears were flowing freely. He had come to terms with the reality that cancer was a death sentence. But this scene, this incredible vista, reminded him that there was still something worth living for.

Quick bite

The gas tank was almost empty, both for the truck and Josh’s body. He had to stop driving or he would simply collapse and drive right off the road. With his luck, he would go right over a cliff and right to his death.

The town was small with not many signs to light up the night, which was perfect. He turned in at the first cafe he could find and parked along the side. Not in the front. He was not that stupid.

The little bells suspended above the door rang like wind chimes as he entered the small restaurant, but when he glanced around the establishment, there was almost no one there. He took a table at the back of the place, far from the door and the windows, and when he collapsed on the cushioned vinyl bench, he let out a big sigh of relief.

His eyes were closed and he was on the verge of sleep when he heard, “You look like you need a big cup of coffee.”

The waitress was highly attractive, with wavy dark hair, intense blue eyes, and with a smile that was crooked enough to be interesting, like she had some really good stories to tell, stories worth listening to.

“Yeah, I’ll take a few gallons of your strongest joe,” he said. “And a life, if you got it on the menu.”

“I can vouch for the coffee,” she said, “but I would not trust the life that this place cooks up for you. It can eat you up and spit you out.”

“Speaking from experience?” he asked playfully, feeling a bit more alert with such eye candy in front of him.

“With what I have lived through, mister, everything I say is from experience. Especially the bad stuff.”

“I hear that,” Josh said with a groan, thinking about the past few days on the road.

“But listen to me, talking your ear off when all you need is a serious dose of caffeine,” she said with a wink. “Be right back.”

In a few minutes, he had maybe the largest cup of coffee he had ever seen before. She wasn’t kidding. She also dropped off a menu, which had his stomach grumbling might fierce.

When she returned, he checked out the name tag on her pink shirt and said, “Lois, I would like to order a 12 ounce steak, a burger and fries, and two chocolate milkshakes.”

She looked around. “Are you expecting company? That’s plenty of food for one guy.”

He couldn’t help but look out the window as well. Seeing nothing, he said, “Nope, this is just for me. I haven’t eaten for what seems like days and I plan to make up for lost time.”

His stomach rumbled again, and when Lois heard this, she laughed. “Coming right up. And if you can finish it all, I will give you a 10% discount.”

“Tell you what,” Josh replied. “If I can eat it all, then you have to sit with me for a while.”

She smiled at that. “I will take that bet. But if you fail, then I know there is a dishwasher in the back who will be so glad to take a break so you can fill in for him.”

Josh laughed, and it came out more as a cough. Out of practice.

It wasn’t even a contest. He finished that meal with room to spare, and he even asked for apple pie to finish it off. Lois shook her head as she grabbed the empty plates. “That was some mighty fine eating, Tex. I will be right back so you can cash in on your bet.”

Josh leaned back and breathed deeply, feeling the relaxation settling into his bones. And he smiled when he heard the sound of Lois sitting down opposite him.

“Now don’t go sleeping on me, big boy. Otherwise, I might take insult.”

“Don’t you worry,” he said. “I haven’t been with a pretty woman like you for as long as I can remember, and I am not going to squander it.”

“Sweet talker,” she said. “So what do you want to talk about. I have about 30 minutes for my break, and I am hoping you can make it interesting.”

Josh and Lois talked for the full 30 minutes and more. It started with light and humorous topics, but in short order, they got to deeper issues . Josh found himself baring his soul near the end of it, telling more about his life to this waitress than he had to anyone else, even family. There was something magical about this woman and he wished the night would last forever.

But the alarm sounded on his watch.

“Lois, I’m afraid that I have to go now,” he said with real regret. “This has been a real treat for me. Thank you.”

She didn’t even try to mask her disappointment. “The pleasure was all mine, Josh. I just wish you could stick around for a while and we could truly get to know each other.”

Such a tempting invitation, and for a moment, he even considered it. But then bright lights lit up the cafe, and all choices were gone.

“Lois, I have to tell you. This has been one of the most special moments of my life and I hate to see it come to an end. You have to believe this.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, looking around at the disturbance. “What’s going on?”

Josh stood up and as he approached the door, he said, “Remember me this way, please Lois? I need you to remember this side of me. Promise me.”

Lois looked at him intently, her blue eyes searching his for something. “Alright, Josh, I may not understand any of this, but I promise.”

“Thank you,” he said, opening the front door of the cafe.

“On the ground, Campbell!” came a voice from a megaphone. “Hands where we can see them.”

Josh immediately complied, and while lying prone, he looked up to see Lois standing there in the doorway. She had tears in her eyes. Josh couldn’t remember the last time someone had cried for him.

“This is going to sound crazy,” Josh said, his cheek buried in the dirt. “But do you think you could wait a couple of years for a guy like me. When I return, I promise to never leave again. If you would have me.”

“Shut your hole, Campbell,” the officer said while cuffing him. But Josh did not pay him any mind. His eyes were locked on Lois’s and his heart was racing fast.

Lois just stood there, and Josh sighed. “Never mind. It was stupid of me to ask.”

But as the officer placed him on his feet and directed him to the back of the police cruiser, he heard, “Josh, I will wait for you. I promise.”

He smiled. His body was imprisoned but his heart was set free.

The Guide

“Why did you have to bring him?” Rebecca asked with her typical whine. “I thought it would be just the two of us.”

“I had to bring little Sammy, because apparently, he is able to track this beast.,” Rod said in his typical deep voice. “That’s true, isn’t it little Sammy? I mean, we have been walking for a long time and I have yet to see any kind of beast.”

“It’s honest to god truth, sir,” Sam said, his slight form crouched over like he was expecting a blow. “No one can track the beast better than good old Sam.”

“But why can’t we take the main trails, since they are nearby,” Rebecca said. “My hair is full of cobwebs and my white shoes are getting dirtier by the minute.”

“I’m sorry, missus,” Sam said. “The creature takes whatever path it wishes and we must follow.”

“Yeah, Becca, and I am sure that the beast does not want to walk the main roads. Not very good for its health,” Rod said with a big bellowing laugh. He gave her a big bear hug , lifting her off her feet and swinging her around like they were at a dance.

Sam looked at them out of the corner of his eye, and somehow, Rebecca caught him.

“What are you looking at, freak?” she said with a snarl. “Just keep your nose on the spoor or you might just get that nose broken. Right Rod?” She somehow managed to flutter her eyelids, despite the mask of disgust and fury.

Rod looked at him. “Becca’s right. You have only one job and you should stick to it.”

“Of course, sir. And I think the spoor is getting stronger. We must be getting close.”

“You hear that, Becca?” Rod said. “It should not be long before you see old Rod in action. Until then, just pretend that little Sammy is not here.”

“That will not be a problem,” she said in a huff. “I will think of him as a tiny, harmless, and really ugly bug, and then not think of him at all.”

Sam continued moving forward, staying close to the ground and looking intently at the ground. Every once in a while, he would stop and sniff the air, then he would be off again. The other two simply followed behind him, talking like two lovers out for a casual stroll.

They soon came to a clearing. The trees formed a tight wall in every direction, enclosing a grassy sward. In the centre of the space was a huge natural rock, no less than 20 feet high, that seemed to be flattened at the very top.

“We are here,” Sam said, “just like I said it would be. You see, Sam is the greatest beast tracker in Devoll County.”

Rod snorted. “I don’t see a beast anywhere, little Sammy. Unless it happens to be the big rock itself. Really scary stuff. Too bad I forgot to bring my hammer and chisel to fight it.”

Rebecca laughed and Rod gave her a big kiss.

Unbeknownst to the loving couple, Sam began to walk towards the rock and he was singing softly to himself. “Come out, come out, wherever you are. I have brought you them as instructed.” He repeated it over and over like a nursery rhyme, and it soon had the intended effect.

A red glow began to form at the top of the rock and a deep, guttural sound echoed around the space, reflected by the trees and amplifying, resonating, until the couple began to take notice.

“Finally,” Rod said. “Now Becca, I want you to stand back and give me room to do my business.”

“Okay,” she said. “Just make sure you are careful.”

She took many steps backward. At the same time, Rod brought out his sword and whirled it around him to limber up and prepare himself for battle.

“Come on, demon,” he shouted above the din. “Come and meet your doom.”

The red glow on the top of the rock coalesced into a huge, human-like form. It was covered in red skin, it had wicked claws and fangs, and its limbs were bulging with muscles.

When it spotted Rod, it leaped off the rock and landed a few feet away. Rod was a very large man, but he was the size of a child when compared with the demon.

To his credit, he stood there undaunted and without hesitation, he delivered a vicious swing towards the demon’s body.

But the demon grabbed the blade with one of its hands, stopping it right in its path. The sharp blade did no damage whatsoever, and Rod’s mouth was open in shock.

That was the last expression Rod ever had. The demon ripped the sword out of Rod’s hand, casually tossing it to the other end of the sward. It then grabbed Rod’s torso with both hands, the talons penetrating deeply into his arms and chest, and then the demon lifted Rod right off the ground. While Rebecca was screaming in horror and fright, it bit Rod’s head clean off the shoulders and crushed the skull, with blood and bits of brain spilling from its teeth.

The demon tossed the rest of the body aside and began to walk towards Rebecca, who continued to wail and cry uncontrollably.

“Wait! Wait!” came the voice of Sam as he ran towards the demon.

The demon turned to the little man, covered in blood. “Why must I wait? You promised me a feast.”

“Haven’t I fed you well these past few weeks, Lord?”

“Yes, you have. What do you propose?”

“I simply need to ask Rebecca a question first.”

“Do so, but do not waste my time. I am famished and might just eat all three of you.”

“As you say, Lord,” Sam replied.

He then turned to Rebecca, who was curled up on the ground and shaking. “Rebecca, you have one chance here.”

“What chance is that?” she said with a quivering voice.

“If you consent to remain with me for the rest of your life, then the demon will not kill you. But if you reject me, then you will surely die.”

“No!” she shouted. “I would never stay with you. I don’t care if I die.”

Sam shrugged and nodded to the demon. The demon made short work of her, but made a surprising mess in the process. Some of the blood even splattered Sam, who had to bring out his handkerchief to wipe it. The handkerchief showed signs of dried blood on it.

“I will return to the village and find you next meal,” Sam said, whistling while he walked away from the scene of carnage.

As he walked, he said to himself, “In time, I will no longer be called Little Sammy. It will be Lord Sam and all will bow before me or die.” His laugh echoed through the trees, as evil as the grunts and howls that were coming from the demon as it feasted on the rest of Rod.

Head to head battle

It felt like a sledgehammer hit the right side of my head. My cheek was stinging, my right eye was crying, and I could see so many stars that I swear there was a familiar constellation in there somewhere. I could even taste a bit of blood. This was not good.

I put both hands on the ground and slowly pushed myself up, knowing that I could not afford to remain on the ground for too long. Otherwise, I would become a literal punching bag. Not a career I was interested in pursuing.

“Get up, you little dork,” came a deep voice behind me. Turk. Who gave a kid a name like Turk? It was like the parents wanted him to become a jerk and a ruffian.

I got back on my feet, and I swayed a little as I tried to get my balance. I needed to get out of there as fast as possible, but it felt like I had drunk a full 40 pounder of vodka … not that I had ever done something like that. But the way I was feeling seemed very consistent with the descriptions given by my more worldly-wise classmates.

The onlookers had formed a circle around us, as was typical of a school fight, so that it would remain out of sight from the teachers and unfortunately, it would also guarantee that one of the fighters could not run away. Like me, for example.

“Turn around and fight me like a man,” Turk continued, reading directly from the young tyrant handbook.

That was exactly what I wasn’t going to do. I liked my neurons the way they were, and I could not afford to lose any more from a senseless fight.

I got my feet moving and I tried to push through the growing crowd, all of whom were sniffing blood and being drawn to this scene of a potential massacre, but they would have none of it. They simply pushed me back into the human ring, forcing me to try another location. I was systematically testing the circle for weaknesses, while the bully was trying to expose all of my weaknesses. It was ironic, and I would have laughed if I was not so terrified.

I soon saw a break and I went for it, thinking I had found my avenue of escape. But instead, I met up with Eric. His wheelchair took up a lot of space, and there was no going around it.

“Hey Phil,” he said with a bit of a smile on his face. “Looks like you got yourself into a bit of trouble, eh?”

“You could say that,” I answered breathlessly, looking behind me as the Turk monstrosity approached me slowly, pounding his adult-sized fists together like two bricks. Pretty soon, my head would be between them and I would be squashed like a bug.

“Eric, could you please let me past you? It is a matter of life and death.”

“No,” he said.

“No?” I answered, in shock. “But I thought we were friends … once.”

“We were, once,” he said with a sad smile. “And that is why I will not let you run. That is the worst thing you could do.”

“Oh, I can think of many things that are a lot worse than running. I just want to live to see another day with most of my body parts intact.” I felt instantly guilty, seeing Eric’s shrivelled legs.

“Just wait for a second, Turk,” Eric said, seeing the behemoth looming over my shoulder and about to do serious damage. “Let me talk to Phil for a second and I guarantee that he will be back in the ring to fight.”

Turk thought for a moment, then said, “Okay Eric, but don’t take too long. The teachers will be coming soon and I need to hurt this little jerk.”

I breathed a sigh of relief for the reprieve, glad that Turk could show at least a little humanity in the face of a paraplegic.

“Thanks, Eric,” I said. “Now if you could just let me by ….”

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere, Phil,” he said. “I meant what I said to Turk. You are going to fight him very soon.”

Tears were coming back into my eyes. “But he is going to kill me. Is that what you want?”

He then looked intently at me, with a very serious expression. “Do you wat to win this fight, Phil? Do you want to beat Turk?”

“What?” I said. “That is impossible. He is huge and I have no idea how to fight. It is a complete mismatch and in seconds, I will be lying bloody on this playground.”

“What if I told you that it didn’t have to be like that?”

“How? I don’t understand.”

“Just touch your head to mine for a moment and it will all become clear.”

It was the strangest request, but when I looked around at all the spectators, who were calling me all kinds of names and urging Turk to destroy me, I figured I had little choice.

I leaned down and brought my face close to his, thinking for a moment that he was going to kiss me. Now wouldn’t that score me a few points in this schoolyard!

Fortunately, he did not try to kiss me, but instead, he touched his forehead to mine. When he did so, I felt a surge of energy explode through my body, like I was struck by lightning. Those stars were back in my vision, and I longed to be out there among them, away from mindless brutes like Turk.

Hey Phil, came a voice in my head. It sounded like Eric, but I was staring right at him and his mouth hadn’t moved at all. What the hell?

Phil, we don’t have much time, came the voice again.

Eric? I thought.

Yeah, Phil, it’s me.

But how is this possible? How hard had Turk hit me in the head? This is a sign of a serious concussion … or worse.

We don’t have time to discuss the mechanics of cranial transmission, came the reply. You just need to trust me. Let me take over your body and I can help you defeat Turk.

I then remembered that Eric had been a black belt in kung fu before the accident. He had even won tournaments around the country. This could work out very well for me, as Twilight Zone as this moment was.

Okay, I thought. How do I do that?

Just relax all of your muscles, as if you were lying down at the beach on a hot day. In this way, you will detach from your body and transfer control to me.

So, I imagined I was in Hawaii, on the white sands with a gentle surf coming in, and the air was warm. It was not easy, since there were at least twenty screaming teenagers sharing the beach and ruining my moment, but somehow, I managed to disconnect from my muscles.

And when I let go, my body sprung into action. It spun on a dime and walked towards Turk with total confidence, relaxed and poised for action. I had tried time and time again to do this, emulating actors I had scene in action movies, but I was terrible at it. But now, I was witnessing it, in my very own body … so strange, but cool.

Turk smiled, looking every part the giant, the warrior, and my executioner. I wanted to run right then and there, but I had no control over my body anymore.

“Look, the little turd is not as chicken as I thought. Too bad I am still going to break all of your bones.” He began walking towards me like a slow avalanche.

I said nothing, which was rare for me. Instead, I felt my body settle into a fighting stance, my feet shoulder width apart, my knees bent, and my hands brought up before my chest.

Turk threw another big punch to the right side of my head, but instead of seeing stars yet again, I ducked under the punch and delivered a vicious uppercut, right to Turk’s chin.

His head snapped back and you could hear his teeth click together over the stunned silence of the spectators. Turk’s eyes were wide in disbelief.

My body did not allow Turk to recover fully. Instead, it delivered a right kick to the kidney, then a left kick to the groin, and when Turk was bent over, groaning, it finished with an elbow to the base of the neck. Turk collapsed to the ground like a big slab of beef and he never moved. The fight was over.

My body walked slowly back to the wheelchair, and the kids nearby moved out of my way. I was getting big time respect, something I had never witnessed before.

That was awesome, I thought.

No worries, the voice responded in my head. It was nice to back in an able body again, even if it is untrained and out of shape.

I have so many questions.

And apparently, a more than casual interest in Lucy. Does she know you are attracted to her?

I could feel my face turning red. She has no idea at all. Please don’t tell her. She is so far out of my league and she would simply laugh at me if I talked to her.

Well, Eric replied in my head, things might be different after today. But I will keep your secret, as long as you do me a favour as well.

What’s that?

You have to promise not to tell anyone about my special ability. I cannot afford this to get around. I am enough of a freak already in these kids’ minds.

It seemed only fair. You got yourself a deal.

When we reached the wheelchair, my forehead was brought down to Eric’s again and I felt the same surge of energy and bolt of electricity. Eric then looked at me and smiled.

“Thanks so much, Eric. You really saved me.”

“My pleasure,” he said, turning the chair and wheeling himself away from the crowd until he was out of sight.

Kids were pounding me on the back and trying to get my attention, but all I wanted to do was get out of there as well. So, I started to walk, and I noticed to my astonished delight that it was the same pantherlike grace that Eric had produced in me earlier.

I smiled. Things were never going to be the same again.