Got those Adventures in Dentistry, Jaw-Molly, Kickin' the Hydrocodone Blues - Part 2

Yeah . . . so . . . Wednesday afternoon, a few hours after getting home from my latest Adventure in Dentistry the local anesthetic under which the procedure proceeded wore off, I guess. I mean, I could feel things and there was some tenderness but it wasn't much really. A whole lot less than I anticipated at any rate.

Nonetheless, with this vial of hydrocodone and instructions to take it "every 6 hours for pain" I figured, why not? No one said it had to be actual PHYSICAL pain and I got a lot of angst, ya know? Maybe a little of that ol' existentialist ennui? And besides, this was MEDICINE, right?

Right . . .

Thursday morning I woke up, a tad groggier than usual, maybe a little more . . . distributed, let's say. Could it have been the hydro? One way to find out . . . "one every 6 hours" it said, so, let's see, it's been at least 12 hours, right? Right!

Fast forward to Sunday morning and the realization that those little white pills made for a great, if fairly unproductive, series of days. Time to give it a rest and get back to work. Right? Well . . . if you say so.

It didn't take long to realize just exactly how much that semi-synthetic opioid had gotten into me.

Agitation? Yep. Shakiness? You betcha! Disjointed reasoning? Um . . . huh? What's that?

It's not like I was just sitting in the middle of the room on the floor rocking and shaking. I did some work, got the laundry done, a few little chores here and there . . . but the entire time I felt that jones back there just asking for a little taste, maybe HALF a tab? What can it hurt, right?

Oh shit . . . really? It took THAT long to get here? And THAT long weren't no time at all.

The good news is . . . yes . . . I have a bicycle! A good bicycle, a great bicycle, a bicycle I fit on and ride on and like and can go . . . alright, alright . . . you get the picture.

The day was cool and bright. The time getting late and I had to get out and MOVE or I'd agree with that little voice belonging to Mr. Jones. So, out I goes. A little shaky, a little skittish, a little too aware that things were not as they were or would be but EXACTLY as they were (loop back to the "A little shaky, a little skittish . . " line and let it keep looping).

See? Shiny!

 But where to go? It's kind of hard to make a clear plan of action when there's that other thing going on, much less EXECUTE the plan. Still, I had front loaded the ride with purpose! I had a book I'd just finished reading and needed to return to the Library. Then I needed to find the site of the first Greenway project public meeting. Then I figured I'd ride to Brew-ha-ha, maybe further. Then I remembered The Radio Bar was holding their first Sunday Funday BBQ in the 'Hood. Then I thought . . . yeah . . . jones . . . shut UP!

Leaving the Capitol I ride down Lafayette and hear, as from a distance, "YEAH BIKE!" I pull up a bit, sit up, look around and sort of yell, "Where bike?" but not fully bellowing because as I turn to yell I see a man on a bike coming up from River Road through the parking lot on my right. I don't recognize him and he doesn't make any sort of recognition of me and I'm all confused and scanning for other bike people but no one seems to be there.

Did that just happen? Oh . . . shit . . .

Move on, move on, move on . . . go to the Carver Branch . . .take the book back . . . just go . . . now . . .

Ah, but, WHICH WAY to go? Shit . . . all the possible routes, or at least enough of the possible routes, leaped to mind creating a knot of images, turns, landmarks . . . DAMN . . . I looked right and saw the Levee. Oh . . . right . . . take the Levee to the Bridge get off at South, head up to Napoleon, take a right, two blocks and a bit and I'm there . . . phew . . . get on the Levee . . . where? . . . oh . . . right . . . at Florida . . . have to stop in the street to dismount and climb the curb and the decaying cross-tie "steps" and cross the railroad tracks and the next set of decaying cross-tie step-like objects before mounting the levee and my bike again but, okay, done, let's GO for fuck's sake already!

As I turn to drop down Florida to River Road and that stupid, ugly, insulting quasi access point I see another rider on the Levee slowly pull up to the bench just downriver of the steps and stop, one leg on the bench for support. He's back lit but I can tell it's a man and he seems to be waiting. Maybe this is the mystery "YEAH BIKE" guy?

Huh! As I'm walking up across all the obstacles to get to the levee top I think, against the bright sun back-lighting, that this is someone I know. He seems to be wearing black kit that is making the back-lighting more severe to my mind but the shape is familiar. I finally get close enough to recognize Beaux who asks, "Did you hear me yell YEAH BIKE?"

HAH! Relieved to know I DID hear someone yell I say, "Oh yes, yes I did. I wondered who that was," then begin babbling the tale of the wrong rider in the parking lot and the hydro and fucking Mr. Jones. He took it all in stride and we pushed off down river slaloming through the surprisingly large number of walkers on the Levee.

We weren't going fast and had a chance to sit up and chat a bit, one-handing the steering for the most part between knots of walkers. Turns out he was out for a little training ride, wanting to raise a sweat before doing a real training ride in St Francisville for the upcoming Rouge Roubaix. I continued to babble when I wasn't shouting "On your left!" and ringing my bell, perhaps a bit assholishly but, hey, it wasn't me, it was Mr. Jones doing it and he was still pretty damned insistent.

Yeah, down that ramp into that curve.

Beaux and I parted company at the Bridge, me swooping down the ramp onto South Boulevard, he continuing on downriver. I made it across the River Road onto South without having to slow down and got a little thrill out of that, not much because there isn't really a lot to it but, still, the downward acceleration, crossing the gravel without losing it, missing the motor cars, and speeding up to the red light at St Someone-or-other . . . it was enough to make me appreciate the joy of it, the pure flying freedom feeling of it.

In yet another - hopefully - final, episode, we reach the library and points beyond.