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Farm Water
Aug 16, 2009
I made an agreement with myself Saturday night that I would wake up Sunday AM and go for a bike ride. In previous years I thoroughly enjoyed bike riding but like most of my standard ways of getting exercise, it had been exceedingly lacking this summer.

So I popped up around 7:30, threw some water in my backpack, and stopped at a gas station down the street to drop $.75 on a free resource to make my tires road-worthy. I headed towards the Charles River paths knowing it would be somewhat busy and therefore unideal for a quick pace. However, my goal for this ride was less to set a land speed record than to reintroduce myself to an athletic activity I enjoy.

It was forecast to be a hot and humid day. As a result fit Bostonians and those trying to be fit, like me, were out in droves to get their workout in before the heat and humidity really set in. Boston regularly ranks among the more fit cities in the States but if I were to judge only by this one morning I couldn't imagine another city ranking higher. I was pretty consistently weaving in and out of runners and other bikers from Mass Ave. to the Hatch Shell before crossing the river and heading up the wider sidewalks of the Cambridge side. It was generally an unremarkable ride, though scenic. The water shimmered coolly and invitingly, the skyline slightly hazy (even at that early hour) but beautiful as ever from the slight distance allowed on the Cambridge bank, and of course there was a myriad of attractive women.

I returned home for breakfast and to quickly clean up and then went to sit in a park at the top of Summit Ave. to read and get some sun. I've realized it's very difficult for me to stay focused on a book for any prolonged amount of time so have been changing up my routine a bit to get away from distractions. Oh, and I am pale. Quite pale for this time of year. That played into it as well.

On the walk home I pulled out my Nalgene bottle full of water and found surprisingly a fair amount of ice remained. I took a few big gulps and surprisingly found myself back in Iowa.

There was just something about the water that took me back--quite vividly--to summer days at my grandparents farm. I saw myself working with my grandma on the farm, pruning trees, weeding, mowing, etc. There was something distinctive about the water on those summer afternoons. There was the difficulty of prying the orange pump up so the water would come out. It moved so easily the first half of the way but that second half, the movement that actually opened the valve, there was so much resistance. Once open it would puddle almost immediately at your feet because it came out far too quickly to capture 1/4 of it in your cup without splashing up and over. And don't even think of trying to stick your face under the spigot unless you are wholly prepared to have it run into your nose and cause a coughing fit. But eventually the re-purposed peanut butter jar (or as we got older, actual glass Mason jars) was filled with ice cold water.

The only real similarity was the feeling of relief that came from ice cold water on a hot and humid day. Different containers, different flavor, and most certainly different settings. But the same pleasure. Kind of. I can appreciate it now in a way I could have never done as a child.