“Pain is certain, suffering is optional.” The Buddha

On most every Sunday, you will find me on my motorcycle, Flaming Lips, riding with the Sons of Kauai, a ritual over eighteen years old. Last Sunday, true to form, I was on my machine, riding with my brothers and sisters. Quite predictably, we ended up sitting in that stark, urban park, right in the middle of downtown Waimea. 

Equally as predictable these days, at some point, I roll off on my own. Every damn person, who rides a bike, or who has ever ridden a bike, is going to tell you that when it is just you and your machine, you are living the poetry of the open road, one with your surroundings. There is a wonderful magnificence to those moments, a highway to the soul, an internal journey, hiding in plain sight.  I was having that kind of Sunday, until………………

This is about to be another one of those half-assed, thematic departures, my schizoid writing style.  I decided pass on a ride up to Kokee, where a cabin and a gathering awaited. I opted to remain behind and go off on my own, to hopefully to be at least teased with one of those poetic flashes. The parking lot at the Waimea Park bathrooms was empty, with the exception of an older looking Harley. The only thing I know about “classic” Harleys is that they are a mechanical nightmare, costly surprises with each breakdown.

After a brief exchange of Biker Love, the rider got on his bike. It made that clicking sound, the last gasps of a dying battery that many of us have suffered through. I immediately offered to push the bike, seeing if popping first gear would resuscitate this electrically, neutered beast. I grabbed hold of a bar, the back seat support, pushing for maybe 20 feet. Then, this arthritic puzzle of metal came to life, lurching forward and leaving yours truly, smacking his knees hard on the pavement, coming close to biting the spinning rear tire on my way down.

It is now days later and I really did hurt my knees very badly. So much of what we do is kind of unconscious. All of a sudden, when you can’t do some of the mindless shit, like walking up stairs, you can freeze in your immobility.  Keep in mind, I am a compulsive guy, who has been doing the same morning routine for years, which includes a Zen sit, a yoga practice and a cardio exercise, which used to be running and is now a stationary bike ride. All of a sudden, I am unable to do any of it, nothing at all. It leaves buckets of time, with energy to spare. There is only one thing to do and that is worry

In my past, I have known pain on a very intimate level, death holding its breath, waiting patiently and invisibly in the shadows. This time, my right knee quickly birthed a golf ball. My left knee decided to wait a while and make itself felt when it had the time. It’s funny, when you’re young, you can get banged up and your first thought is never a life and death kind of thing. A shitload of stuff happens when you get older. First, you are far more delicate and rigid, like it or not. Healing becomes a bit more of an ordeal, demanding patience, with confidence in increasing short supply as the body meets with the brittle nature of times passage. 

I haven’t been relaxed for days, ever since my knees kissed the black top. I have been worried about an endless array of details. Pain can become a too bright light, ferreting about, looking in the dark corners for lurking fear.

This afternoon and running into this evening, I started feeling familiar to myself. As a rule, I think of myself as an uncoordinated clod, but I do have moments when I am Fred Astaire for just a flash. Maybe, it is feeling like you are in perfect rhythm wherever you happen to be.

I am positive I am slowly getting better and believe me, I wouldn’t risk this becoming my epitaph, at least not yet and not now. I have some idea of where I am chronologically and I am not about to panic. My body is slowly letting me do more and more of exactly what I did, before I whacked my knees. I have gone to body school with decades of yoga and I know what it can do and what it can’t. Tonight, I walked up a row of stairs without thinking about holding on. My body knows you can’t fake that and I take it as a sign that things are coming back together. 

Man, pain can get your attention like nothing else.

EPILOGUE

Several days have passed. Flexibility is returning and pain, when it appears, is increasingly dull. The lumps are still lumping and I think that just takes a while, especially at my age. When you mix pain and age, it can make for an unpleasant, emotional meal, triggering a delightful array of fears, very hard to digest.

I am feeling better, with diminished fear flashes.