As a kid it seems like time is an endless commodity.
As we age a bit and numbers like 29, or 39 start to approach we feel the pinch a bit more. And when we get into our 40’s and 50’s, time becomes very precious.
As a teenager I could spend an entire weekend throwing a lacrosse ball, or riding the local homemade jump with my buddies. I didn’t really have anything else to do, or at least nothing I cared about doing. But these days, I don’t seem to have a moment to spare and scheduling is a full time task.
A few weeks back, you know, when Corona was still just a beer, I was in North Vancouver. I had a bit of work to do and near the end of the day, I organized a ride with my buddy Graham.
As we headed out, we planned a perfect little ride to squeeze in lots of trail and still have me back in time to catch the 5:45 ferry. We left the parking lot at the bottom of Mt. Fromme and pushed a fairly hard pace to make sure we could keep on schedule.
Ninety minutes later we were approaching the parking lot, still on time, and Graham told me about some more trails that lead way down the hill to his house.
“Lot’s of smooth jumps, perfect berms, and some steep rooty sections,” he said.
I looked at my watch, calculated some timelines, and figured we could manage the extra riding if I sprinted back up the hill, and got lucky with traffic on the way to Horseshoe Bay.
The trails were everything he said and well worth the pain caused by crushing my lungs and legs hammering back up to my truck. (Without Graham I might add. I question his level of loyalty)
I jumped in the truck and b-lined it for the ferry. My calculations had me home by 9, just as planned.
I missed my ferry by a couple of minutes and then the following ferry was seriously delayed. Murphy’s law kicked in hard on the other end and I was the second last car off the boat. I got home at midnight.
During all the waiting, I was kind of mad at myself for wasting three hours that I just can’t afford. But, as I relaxed and accepted the down time, I kept reliving the last trail section, chasing Graham and trying to hold his pace, almost clearing the jumps, and dreaming of the next time I get to ride there.
Maybe 30 minutes of riding that causes a three-hour delay is not responsible scheduling, but a waste of time? No way. That was well worth it, and next time I have to make a similar decision … expect me to be three hours late.
I’m James Durand and I’m Goin’ Ridin’…