Enlisting Father Time as my companion.

It wasn’t unlike the opening minutes of a 12 round fight; circling my antagonist with my guard up probing for any weaknesses that I could exploit to my advantage, but I quickly found there were none at my disposal.

Unfortunately for me this foe is unlike any that I have encountered, my jabs will not dissuade my opponent from ultimately having me on the ropes at his mercy.

The most prudent thing that I can do is to bob and weave until the inevitable flurry of blows comes to pass; sadly I am cognizant of the fact that this is a fight that I will not emerge from as the victor.

Time always emerges as the victor.
Time always emerges as the victor.

It is Father Time serving in this ongoing role as my opponent and proverbial pugilist, I realize that any punch combination that he dispenses will be nothing short of lethal, I figured out long ago that utilizing the old adage of “If you can’t beat them join them” would be especially valuable in my future entanglements with him.

Father Time will always win in a KO.
Father Time will always win in a KO.

A little more than a year ago, I rediscovered my childhood passion for bike riding after dodging a close call with becoming the fat guy that my ravenous appetite always deemed that I could eventually become if I wasn’t careful.

The realization of this fact was yet another right cross from Father Time that left me on the canvas dazed, but not down for the count.

It was an eureka moment as I begrudgingly realized that it wasn’t the dry cleaners shrinking my suits and making then uncomfortably snug around my waist, but it was my metabolism not-so subtly letting me know that those carbohydrates that I used to effortlessly vaporize in years past weren’t going to be at my disposal anymore.

Over the course of a month and a half after getting back into the habit of riding the bike again, I lost the 16 pounds that I gained during the confines of a three week business trip. Riding my bike is now a normal part of my existence and it serves a dual purpose, the element of exercise and the benefit of riding in concert with Father Time, in place of my futile attempts to displace the tenuous grip that he has on my existence.

I pause before heading down into the Jones Fall trail.
I pause before heading down into the Jones Fall trail.

As I ride, I am accompanied by the memories which encompass my triumphs, defeats; slights both real and imagined; the grudges that I’ve harbored and still hold and the wisdom imparted to me by some of the most pivotal people in my life. Without fail it always makes for an enlightening journey, as each ride is never the same. Although I may still cross the same creek beds, trails; hills; streams; intersections and the like each time feels as if it is my first ride.

The East river looking Eastbound.
The East river in Baltimore City looking Eastbound.
Taking a gander at Herring Run from above the bridge riding through Baltimore City.
Taking a gander at Herring Run from above the bridge while riding through Baltimore City, near the Morgan State University campus.

When I am coasting along at 20 mph, I am at peace because Father Time refrains from being my opponent; opting to become my companion, serving as that motivating force that pushes me at the 10 mile mark to notch another 10 miles onto the ride, simply because the annals of time have opened to share something else with me that the years have saw fit to cloud over …

An overlook of the Jones Falls Trail.
An overlook of the Jones Falls Trail.
Passing by a wood carving in Druid Hill Park envious at my speed.
Passing by a wood carving in Baltimore’s Druid Hill Park who looks as if it is envious at my speed.
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