Waiting to Go

Well well well. I know that I have been neglecting my bloggerly duties lately, and our multitudes of readers are just hankering for another post. Sorry we let you down for a while there. I promise it won’t be the last time we slack off in this whole blogging endeavor!

First- happy birthday, Ariel.  Thank you for being one of a handful of people who take an interest in our travels and for believing in us being adorable.

As Jared said before, I have been spending a great deal of time sewing lately.  I suppose I am preparing our “riding costumes” for the rolling freak show to come.  Beyond that, I have been spending disturbing amounts of time on the internet without much to show for it.  I’ve also been fooling around a bit on Gimp making cryptic images such as this one:

Something I’ve been pondering lately is how true it is that learning through experience is really the only way something becomes officially imprinted on my brain.  Whether it be wheel-truing, sewing, or just dealing with people.  A book, instruction manual, or advice from a friend will only get you so far. It won’t teach you the subtleties and nuances of how much to tighten loose spokes or how to feel where the needle is going to pierce through the fabric or how to confront someone about something that is bothering you.  Sometimes you have to fuck some shit up before you really get it all figured out.  It will probably hurt sometimes- ouch that needle just went through my cuticle, but in the end you will learn how to deal with it better the next time around. Or you might forget if enough time elapses and you’ll have to start the experiential learning process all over again.

Another thing I have been pondering lately is how isolation affects me.  I suppose that for the past few years I thrived on the unpredictability of living in somewhat densely populated places like Columbus and Tucson.  Watching the film Repo Man last week made me sorta miss the city.  What made me happiest was to spend my days wandering around the cities where I lived and talking to people or observing strange phenomena.  I enjoyed working part-time jobs that would send me all over the city.  Inevitably I would find that patterns would emerge and strange coincidences would occur frequently.  The idea that there is meaning behind interconnected coincidences seems to be one of the important themes underlying Repo Man.

If I spend too much time inside I feel that I am no longer in the world but rather in some sort of stage set or something.  It’s like being stuck in a Samuel Beckett play, but instead of Waiting for Godot we are just waiting to go.  In the meantime Jared and I do what any typical Beckett character does- talk, complain, eat, argue, read wikipedia, compete against each other in made up games, exercise, sleep, contemplate suicide (j/k).

I can’t wait until October 1st when we leave on bicycle again so we can talk on bikes, complain on bikes, eat on bikes, argue on bikes, read wikipedia on bikes, compete against each other in made up games on bikes, exercise on bikes, sleep on bikes on the ground, and contemplate suicide on bikes. (not j/k -J)

Here’s why I love Beckett so much.  We are really all just waiting for Godot in some way or another.  Our earthly stay is confined by our deaths and in a way we are all just biding your time until that day and in the process scrambling to latch on to anything that could possibly lend significance to our lives.  If you can’t accept that then please either let me know how you found a way around it or remove your head from that deep cavern in your arse.

The other day Jared and I rode bikes to the library.  Though the library wasn’t very far the ride there was terrifying.  Jacksonville takes the bike out of bike-friendly.  The old roads and decentralized infrastructure make it feel as though we are going to war every time we take our bikes out.  I accused Jared of stubbornness and self-righteousness for his refusal to ride on the sidewalk on our way to the library.  Yes, sidewalk riding is illegal and in most cases idiotic and more dangerous than the alternative.  However, if you could see what we’re up against I think you’d understand.  The road to the library is an old 4 lane road with absolutely space between you and the curb.  The speed limit is 45 and the traffic is heavy.  The only people we’ve seen riding bikes here have been on the sidewalk, so as far as the drivers are concerned the sidewalk is the bike lane.  As much as I’d love to blaze the trail for other cyclists in the Jacksonville area, I’m really not sure that I’m quite ready to meet Godot yet.

Back to Godot.  Interestingly enough I read this bit on Wikipedia- Hugh Kenner in his essay “The Cartesian Centaur” ^[49] reports that Beckett once, when asked about the meaning of Godot, mentioned “a veteran racing cyclist, bald, a ‘stayer,’ recurrent placeman in town-to-town and national championships, Christian name elusive, surname Godeau, pronounced, of course, no differently from Godot.” Waiting for Godot is clearly not about track cycling, but is said that Beckett himself did wait for French cyclist Roger Godeau (1920-2000; a professional cyclist from 1943 to 1961), outside the velodrome in Roubaix.

Alright now back to the whole lattice of coincidence.  I just made that random discovery as I was looking up Godot.  I’m not surprised that Beckett’s real-life Godot was a cyclist.  Not surprised one bit.

-L

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