Hundreds of miles from my chair, Hurricane Florence is still spinning out in the Atlantic. Seven miles from my chair, surfers are hitting the swells at Higgins Beach. I should be out there, too, and it’s not for lack of trying that I’m not.

I bolted out of work yesterday to catch an hour or two in the surf before sunset. However, even though I was on time, the waves and wind weren’t. The swells were too small and not steep enough to make venturing out on the body board worth it. So, after chatting with a few friends I bumped into while watching the sets roll in, I went home. After a day of hoping for waves, I was little bummed out, so I decided a bike ride was in order. Thirty minutes later, I was on my single speed, lights at the ready, heading out for a solo cruise on some local trails. My mood was good because I was riding and the waves, after all, had to build by Tuesday.

This morning, my enthuisasm renewed, I awoke at 5:30, fed the pets, made some coffee, put my wet suit halfway on and loaded up the truck. Bouy reports showed a solid 3-foot swell, good winds and the skies outside my window were brigtening up nicely. As promising as all that was, I remembered last night’s disappointment and threw my running gear into the truck. I was not to be disappointed (by the waves, at least). The waves were larger, cleaner and steeper than Monday night so I parked, pulled my wetsuit up and when I pulled the zipper on my wet suit, it jammed. Completely. Not moving. Stuck.

I had no choice but to strip down to a towel in the parking lot and see if I could undo the zipper. After a few tugs, I freed it. Completely. Too completely. I sheared two zipper teeth clean-off and pulled the right side out of the zipper altogether so the zipper was only attached to the left half. With the water at a toast 59 degrees, the air pushing maybe 50 degrees, that was that; no waves for me.

So I changed into my running gear, drove to another nearby trail system and went for a 20 minute run. At first, I ran a little harder than usual because I was bummed out again and was beginning to wonder if I would miss this swell entirely. But, the pace proved fun and I found myself sprinting up hills and between trees. After all, I reasoned, I’ve got an old back up suit to use tonight and this morning really couldn’t be any nicer. Now I was running harder for the pleasure of it.

When I was finished, I remembered a sign my dad gave me years ago. It used to hang in his office and it says, “It is easy enough to be pleasant when life flows along like a song, but the man worthwhile is the one who will smile when everything goes dead wrong.”

Good lesson, Dad. Glad I’m finally getting it. (Now, if you could swing a little heavenly luck my way this afternoon, I’d appreciate it. Thanks.)

A few weeks ago, Mary got Kristen’s old mountain bike to use and abuse as she sees fit. Yesterday, as Scott put it, mountain biking Bill met relationship Bill on Mary’s second ride with Kristen. Six of us met after work at Bradbury, geared up and split off by gender. Four guys followed by two ladies, all destined to meet up a little over an hour later. But that was only after one collision (Casey sprinted past me, through a puddle and right into a stumbling Kevin – Keystone Cops, man, front tires hit and they fell in opposite directions), one fall (Mary stuck in her pedals), and pedaling against large swarms of riders (popular night). After the ride, we all headed to Gritty’s for food and beer. Good times.

It’s been great watching Mary try mountain again. She seems to be having fun with it, and, well, that’s all that matters with mountain biking. (Otherwise, there wouldn’t be any laughing over stories about bikes, bumps, stitches, slipped joints, bruises, and a myraid other busted stuff mechanical and human.) So, among chores, visits and loafing this weekend, we’ll be discussing the finer points of pulling a wheelie and getting behind the seat for descents. And good times await.