03-30-2017, 04:47 AM
A couple of weeks ago I came home from a ride and found a note on my door that said my good buddy John was in the hospital and that it didn't look good, that I should go see him.
Some back story...John was a bow hunting buddy of mine and we shot archery tournaments together every Sunday for 20 years. We spoke on the phone every night, celebrated Christmases and birthdays together. We hunted all over this country, and Canada and I spent 9 days on the Alaskan tundra in a tent with him. He helped me move into this house. John was a funny guy and wrote a comedy column for Bowhunter Magazine for decades called " Maggie's Meanderings" . Exaggerated stories of our group of bowhunting buddy's times together. He called us the Dumb Bunch in his column because of the funny things we did..or the stuff he claimed we did . John would travel to other states and put on shows for their state bowhunting organizations and I often went with him. John gave everybody in the group names, and is the one who gave me the nickname "the Ferret" because he said I was small and fast and usually got what I was going after. He was also a part time motorcyclist and I sold him my GS 850G Suzuki. When John retired after many uears at the GE aircraft engine plant, he gave up bowhunting and took up trap shooting. Spending all his time at the gun range. As so often happens with friends, we drifted apart due to different interests, but I still consider him family.
Of course after finding the note I rode right down to the hospital to see him. When I walked in his room I thought I was in the wrong room. The guy in the bed didn't look like John. John was big, barrel chested, strong as a bull, thick head of hair. Looked like a lumber jack. Could climb mountains after elk with little effort. Now, he has cancer. He's lost 60 pounds, and all his hair. He looks old and feeble and weak. He can barely talk, or breath. He is being fed meals through a tube, is being fed oxygen and has a gazillion wires and monitors hooked to him. I ride down every Tuesday and visit, only mostly it's just me sitting there by his bed watching him hanging onto life. He's still in there though. Last Tuesday when I was sitting there a Chaplain came in to see him. She said " you must be popular, they tell me you get a lot of visitors". John weakly said " I owe a lot of people money". The guy is still funny even in such pain. Not sure how this is going to come out. It doesn't look good and the disease can be very unforgiving. I leave his room heartbroken and depressed. The ride home is theraputic.
John makes me more determined than ever to get up every day that I can, pull on my riding clothes, fire up one of the bikes and go for a ride. I don't want to miss a single day of riding. Not a single one. We just don't know how many days we have.
Already rode this morning, but typing this makes me want to go for another ride. Look at the sun, breath the air, smell the spring flowers that are beginning to bloom, feel the temperature change, feel the bike pulling me forward, leaning left, leaning right, feeling the gears change. I don't want to miss a thing.
Some back story...John was a bow hunting buddy of mine and we shot archery tournaments together every Sunday for 20 years. We spoke on the phone every night, celebrated Christmases and birthdays together. We hunted all over this country, and Canada and I spent 9 days on the Alaskan tundra in a tent with him. He helped me move into this house. John was a funny guy and wrote a comedy column for Bowhunter Magazine for decades called " Maggie's Meanderings" . Exaggerated stories of our group of bowhunting buddy's times together. He called us the Dumb Bunch in his column because of the funny things we did..or the stuff he claimed we did . John would travel to other states and put on shows for their state bowhunting organizations and I often went with him. John gave everybody in the group names, and is the one who gave me the nickname "the Ferret" because he said I was small and fast and usually got what I was going after. He was also a part time motorcyclist and I sold him my GS 850G Suzuki. When John retired after many uears at the GE aircraft engine plant, he gave up bowhunting and took up trap shooting. Spending all his time at the gun range. As so often happens with friends, we drifted apart due to different interests, but I still consider him family.
Of course after finding the note I rode right down to the hospital to see him. When I walked in his room I thought I was in the wrong room. The guy in the bed didn't look like John. John was big, barrel chested, strong as a bull, thick head of hair. Looked like a lumber jack. Could climb mountains after elk with little effort. Now, he has cancer. He's lost 60 pounds, and all his hair. He looks old and feeble and weak. He can barely talk, or breath. He is being fed meals through a tube, is being fed oxygen and has a gazillion wires and monitors hooked to him. I ride down every Tuesday and visit, only mostly it's just me sitting there by his bed watching him hanging onto life. He's still in there though. Last Tuesday when I was sitting there a Chaplain came in to see him. She said " you must be popular, they tell me you get a lot of visitors". John weakly said " I owe a lot of people money". The guy is still funny even in such pain. Not sure how this is going to come out. It doesn't look good and the disease can be very unforgiving. I leave his room heartbroken and depressed. The ride home is theraputic.
John makes me more determined than ever to get up every day that I can, pull on my riding clothes, fire up one of the bikes and go for a ride. I don't want to miss a single day of riding. Not a single one. We just don't know how many days we have.
Already rode this morning, but typing this makes me want to go for another ride. Look at the sun, breath the air, smell the spring flowers that are beginning to bloom, feel the temperature change, feel the bike pulling me forward, leaning left, leaning right, feeling the gears change. I don't want to miss a thing.
