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Another Year

Patrick Ball with Lori's Trek Madone
Today marks another year of my holiday on earth, over half-a-century, (exactly 20,819 days old) sounds ominous doesn’t it. What can one say about this accomplishment? Let’s examine days remembered. As a young boy, say, six or seven years old, when we met any of my grandfathers (on my fathers side) friends attending a field trial (at the fox hunters camp), a hunting trip, softball game, a trip to the county fair, or just a visit to the barber shop all I remember thinking was, “Boy this ole’ guy sure is old.” As kids we didn’t exactly have a respectful command of the english language, did we? Then you mature, and reach the teen years, now it’s “Who is - this - ole’ geezer?” 

What do small children think when they meet an elderly person? “Wow! Look at those thick bushy eyebrows, big ears, wrinkled skin, that oversize nose,” or maybe it’s the wooly hair that sprouts from these body parts, or all the above. My grandfather had one of those great names you always remember (Lawrence Ball), he was somewhat of a celebrity in our family. This must have been why we always watched Lawrence Welk on TV during our weekly visits (not sure why we were forced to watch Hee-Haw). My grandparents lived on a small farm with a white slatted fence, and the elegant mailing address R.R. #2 Canton, Ill. I remember this because Grandma used to send me to get the mail from the silver mailbox at the edge of the gravel road.

Lawrence Ball
My Dad had eight brothers and sisters, all married and on average had three to four kids, so when we visited Grandma’s house it was quite a crowd. What made my Grandfather so popular among the kids was all the animals he raised, chickens, ducks, Guineas, hogs, a few cows, a goat, and best of all he had the most beautiful horses. He raced trotters with a flimsy two-wheel red buggy at the county fair. When you visited grandpa there was always a chance you would be invited to the barn to pet and feed his prized horses. If not, there was always the fun of chasing the goat around the yard, (when he wasn’t chasing you). All the adults were content to find a chair under the large Walnut tree in the front yard, catch a cool breeze, and watch from the sidelines. Wow, that was over 50 years ago. Now I understand what Einstein meant when he said, “It’s all relative.” 

Since my 50th birthday, my declared goal is to ride my age on or near my birthday.  I’ve been a devoted bicyclist since about 15 years old. One of my first jobs was delivering the Canton Daily Ledger, on my sting-ray bike, after school. My dream was to get a real bike, like the ones they rode in Le Tour de France. So, Mom said “Save your money” and during my High School years bought what I considered my first real bicycle. It was a ten-speed Mercier, a French bike. Mom took me to Peoria, which back then was the big-city for me, and this bike (this really impressed me) had to be special ordered from France (we waited a month for it). It was a beautiful piece of machinery, steel frame, hand crafted lugs, and fast, boy, was it fast. Little did I realize at the time cycling at that early age established a habit that allowed me to build a fitness base that has served me well over the years. Well, this is a round-about way to get to this years accomplishment. Earlier this week Lori and I completed a metric century (100 kilometers - 62 miles) on our bicycles. I’ll admit as you get older it does get harder. With a strict training regiment you wake up each morning with sore muscles and realize this is not as easy as it used to be. You soon discover the power of Advil - curious, when will professional athletes be banned from sports using this performance enhancing drug I wonder . . . 

Anyway, looking back childhood does pass quickly, amazingly it’s the active years between 30-50 you really don’t seem to notice time is passing at all. At least I didn’t. Maybe that’s how my grandparents saw it as well. You’re so busy with work, kids, a garden, exercise, social relationships, family, friends, pets, travel, life just gets in the way. You simply don’t take time to think about it. Then, you visit your now elderly parents. “Patrick, would you ride uptown and pick up the mail.” Sure Mom. As you walk-in to the Post Office someone stops you (that you do not recognize) to exchange a friendly greeting. A grade school or high school friend with one of their children (now in their 20s). Ok, let’s face reality, now, to their children, the blank expression on their face says,  “Who is - this - ole’ geezer?”
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