As we pedaled along the Elliot Bay Trail between Civil and Nautical Twilight, Softcore began to engage me in a conversation of a deeply metaphysical nature and although I found his take on the matter lucid and illuminating, I just couldn’t connect.
The vibrant streaks of orange and pink outlining the Bay with the silhouetted Olympics behind drew my attention so powerfully that I had to beg off from the discussion with a plea for permission to wordlessly appreciate the aesthetic moment. Philosophical reflection, as appetizing as it usually is, was way more than I could stomach at the moment.
Similarly, as we hung out on beach number one, catching our collective breaths after portaging our bikes through the woods the first time, I couldn’t help but go all grouchy old man at the vocal stylings of one who, (in keeping with the monikers “Shuttup” and “Shows Up” Joe, I cannot but fondly think of as “Won’t Shut Up” Joe), accusing the singer of “gilding the lily” by attempting to pile on to what struck me as an already perfectly beautiful experience.
Likewise, I was my usual curmudgeonly self when having to hear another someone’s Bluetooth speaker create a public soundtrack to my suffering as I slowly mashed up towards the summit of Discovery Park; headphones there, son; I’ll take my bike ride through nature with nature’s own acoustic score, if you please.
All of which is to say that often—for me, anyway—enough is enough and sometimes, honestly, it’s almost too much as you begin to tip backwards down the stairs up which you’re carrying your rig, knowing full well, of course, that your own travails are nothing like those the Amazing Sergio overcame in bike-hiking his dreadnought through the trail earlier.
Perhaps I’m too easily satisfied at this stage in life; maybe more is better, but maybe, sometimes, as a beach fire that’s small enough to actually stand close around shows, less really is more.
The vibrant streaks of orange and pink outlining the Bay with the silhouetted Olympics behind drew my attention so powerfully that I had to beg off from the discussion with a plea for permission to wordlessly appreciate the aesthetic moment. Philosophical reflection, as appetizing as it usually is, was way more than I could stomach at the moment.
Similarly, as we hung out on beach number one, catching our collective breaths after portaging our bikes through the woods the first time, I couldn’t help but go all grouchy old man at the vocal stylings of one who, (in keeping with the monikers “Shuttup” and “Shows Up” Joe, I cannot but fondly think of as “Won’t Shut Up” Joe), accusing the singer of “gilding the lily” by attempting to pile on to what struck me as an already perfectly beautiful experience.
Likewise, I was my usual curmudgeonly self when having to hear another someone’s Bluetooth speaker create a public soundtrack to my suffering as I slowly mashed up towards the summit of Discovery Park; headphones there, son; I’ll take my bike ride through nature with nature’s own acoustic score, if you please.
All of which is to say that often—for me, anyway—enough is enough and sometimes, honestly, it’s almost too much as you begin to tip backwards down the stairs up which you’re carrying your rig, knowing full well, of course, that your own travails are nothing like those the Amazing Sergio overcame in bike-hiking his dreadnought through the trail earlier.
Perhaps I’m too easily satisfied at this stage in life; maybe more is better, but maybe, sometimes, as a beach fire that’s small enough to actually stand close around shows, less really is more.
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