Just in the last few days, I've received unexpected comments on my blog - comments not so much about what I'd written - but imparting information. Most of you surely know this, but I didn't know it until after I'd begun my blog: Comments are blind. I cannot respond to your comment as if you'd sent me a personal email.
I can add a comment below yours, but otherwise I am helpless to continue our contact. If you never look at that post again - and never see my comment-to-your-comment, you will think I didn't care about what you said or who you are. Not so.
First, just this morning I heard from a guy who emailed me after I described (in the Rivendell Reader) how I'd been scared off my bike in Tucson. I was straining at the leash to get out of that town. Rivendell Reader readers, 50 of them, wrote me with comments and suggestions. One of them, Don Weinshenker, wrote glowing reports about cycling in Minneapolis.
Now I hear from Don (in a comment) that he has moved here to Denver this year. Don, if you read this, send me a note at firstname.lastname@example.org and let me know where you're living and when we can get together for a Welcome to Denver coffee. Thanks!
More mysteriously... In the early-mid '60s, I lived in Bloomington IN and worked in the motorcycle business for Fox's Cycle Sales, offering at that time BSA, Yamaha and BMW.
I'll waste a sentence to remind you that 1964 was a long time ago. Someone who has discovered my blog (and was a motorcyclist in Bloomington in those primitive days) has posted two comments, both provocative and revealing insider knowledge, both posted anonymously.
Please, Mr or Ms Anonymous, write me at the above email address and reveal your identity. Almost no one in my life now except my old boss Boyd Fox remembers those days. Be great to hear from you...
It's cold here in the Mile-High City. I have to wear tights and long sleeves when I ride the trainer out on our patio, even with no forward motion, no breeze.
You know, I feel that I appreciate my friends as much as most people do...maybe more than some. Get hurt, become not-so-mobile, and you rely on your friends more than you ever imagined you would.
A certain amount of helplessness repositions us in relation to your world. Might be good for us once in a great while.
I've given some thought to my levels of happiness and sadness during my hospitalization and recuperation. On balance, I don't think my average relative state of happiness has changed much. I don't know that I'd have believed that about myself. Remarkable, huh?
We're far more resiliant that we know, I'm delighted to say...