ELDERTIMES
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The Ups and Downs of Tandem Touring
By Russ Dieter
September 25, 2010
Snce 1972 most of our vacations have been on a tandem bicycle. Judy once asked, “Can’t we ever go anywhere without a bicycle?” I said, “I guess we could, but why would any one want to?”
Tandem bicycle touring is a lot like married life in general, in that it involves flexibility, understanding, compassion, ability and willingness to work together, closeness, trust, and overlooking faults.. Judy has all these qualities, and is a great “stoker” for our tandem. The stoker has to sense when the “captain” (the bulkier person in the front) is shifting gears, easing up on pedal pressure, pushing harder, leaning right or left for turns, braking. When he raises his rear from the seat, she can anticipate a bump, or a short interval of coasting and a welcome crotch-cooling. .
Usually Judy and I on our Ibis or Santana tandem are a harmonious team. We may even burst into song, a la Gene Autry, “Back in the saddle again; back where a friend is a friend,” etc. But not always. Occasionally her obstinacy meets my intransigence, and we are in trouble.
Consider a day in our three week long 1982 tour of Greece. We had to choose whether to go over Mount Parnassus, my choice, or around it, her choice, to Delphi. I prevailed, but at a cost. Imagine a spouse pouting in sullen silence only 6 inches behind you as you climb for 12 miles. Those daggers she shot into my back were discomfiting. Silence persisted when we stopped in Polydrosos, a small shaded village, where fountain water came from the mouth of a brass lion embedded in the trunk of a huge tree. Beautiful views emerged as we climbed the winding, smooth surfaced road with no traffic. As we neared the top, at 5000 feet, we saw a sign, “Ski Parnassus”. Judy said, “I told you this was a hill.”
Then appeared the glorious panorama at the top of the pass, including not only the crags of Delphi, but also the blue waters of the Gulf of Corinth, shimmering in the distance, and acres and acres of grey-green olive trees. We saw an old woman tending a flock of sheep.
Unable to remain upset in the presence of such pastoral beauty, we reconciled and had a most amazing descent—noiseless, smooth, no blind corners, no bad road patches, just a perfectly graded road leading us down to the sacred site of Delphi via a series of graceful curves. We arrived just as the tour buses were loading all the people for their trips back to Athens. We had the place to ourselves.
Another time, as we cycled in the Bordeaux, Judy was firing French phrases at me. I became more and more irritated at my lack of comprehension and finally said, “You can keep talking, but I’m going to stop listening.” This was akin to shooting myself in the foot. How dumb. More sullen silence and daggers in my back until I apologized for my gaffe.
There are other types of disruptions of tandem harmony. In October 1974 I broke my right wrist just before we flew to Vermont for a bike tour celebrating the 10th anniversary of the International Bicycle Touring Society. I thought that with a fiberglass cast I could handle the captain’s job. I found on the first day of the tour that I was wrong. I did not have enough strength to apply the rear brake, and we had 75 hilly miles to cover. I was able to transfer the brake so that Judy controlled it, but she cannot see the road, so I would shout “brake”, “let up”, “brake”, “let up”. This worked OK, but the delay in set up put us an hour behind the other cyclists, and by late afternoon we were tired, but could not stop to rest because it was getting dark. Another cyclist joined us and we chatted with him as we struggled the last 10 miles. When we got to the hotel room, Judy threw herself on the bed and started bawling. I said, “Why cry now; we’re here.” She said, “I wanted to cry for the last 10 miles, but couldn’t because of that other cyclist.” I said, “Well, you can stay here and cry. I’m going to dinner.” Not the most gallant response, but I did bring her a dessert.Judy has many fine qualities, but the ability to read a map is not one of them. I’m not much better, so we get lost. We joke about the good news being that we’re pedaling fast and making good time. The bad news is we’re going in the wrong direction. We tend to blame each other for this.
Even though we say we like a smooth trouble-free trip, it is often the ragged edge of unpredictability that leaves us with memories. We had taken a wrong turn near Montbazon, France, along the Indre river and came to a road sign “Sans Issue” (dead end, no exit). It was a beautiful back country road. so we decided to follow it a bit, and were rewarded with the sight of a picturesque wind mill, covered by flowering vines, with an unusual spiral metal stairway to the top. Nearby one wall of the stone farm house bore flowers and a sketch of a dove, along with a message of peace, saying it must be earned. (“La paix sera le bonheur de toute l’humanite. La paix se gagne. Elle ne s’attend pas.”)
Over the years we have learned that tandem touring can reveal the twists and turns and ups and downs of the psychological as well as the physical terrain, and it makes life interesting.
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CHEMO BRAIN
By Diane Morgan
September 25,2010
The first time I ever saw those words was on a pamphlet I picked up in one of the radiology waiting rooms at the University of Miami's Sylvester Cancer Center in the summer of 2006.
I had completed five months of chemotherapy, undergone surgery and was about to start five weeks of daily radiation. I figured the worst was behind me and indeed it was. But I did wonder what effect all the medical technology might be having on my body. So when I saw "Chemo Brain" listed as the topic of a lecture offered by the university, I was interested. Then I saw the date. It had already passed. But I made a mental note to ask my medical oncologist about it later.
I was a couple of weeks into treatment when my microwave oven konked out. Since there is no way to survive a summer in Miami without the convenience of a microwave, I knew I had to get a new one as soon as possible.
As indicated, radiation was easy compared to what I endured earlier. The major hassle was getting up at 7 am in order to catch my Special Transportation Services ride at 8 am, traveling countless miles to pick up other riders and hopefully arriving at the downtown medical center in time for my 10:15 am treatment, which took five minutes. Then I would go to the cafeteria - which had surprsingly good soups and ham and cheese croissants - before waiting for my ride back home. If I was lucky, I got home by 1 pm.
I was still on the weak side but decided I would ask my Cuban neighbor Adalberto Mendez, who had served as my chauffeur when I was undergoing tests and surgery, to pick me up after I returned from radiation and take me to Best Buy to purchase a new microwave. At the same time I would pick up some groceries at the nearby Target and Whole Foods stores. He agreed. It should be noted Adalberto is fluent in English so there was never a communication problem.
I found a nice little microwave on sale, he loaded it into his car, then joined me in shopping for groceries. When we got back to our apartment building one of the valets loaded everything on his cart and delivered it to my apartment. And that is when I experienced some kind of brain failure. There were two capable men who could have easily put the box with the microwave on the counter but instead I told them to put the groceries there and set the microwave on the floor. After they left I slowly put away the groceries and should have quit then. It had been a busy day for a cancer patient and I definitely felt tired. So I sat down in the living room and tried to watch TV. But I found myslf obsessed with the microwave. I went back into the kitchen and decided I did not need help to get it out of the box and onto the counter.
At that point I should have been singing "What Kind of Fool Am I?"
I have no memory of how I managed to lift the box from the floor and onto my kitchen table. But then I realized the microwave was tightly packed with molded Styrofoam all around it and there was no way I could lift it out or rip the sturdy cardboard box. I felt frustrated and confused. Instead of putting the microwave back on the floor I thought I could simply move it from my table to the counter and get help the following day. I was not about to lift it again, so I decided I would make use of my nearby typing chair with rollers. The plan was to ease the box onto the chair, then push it across to the counter. But....
When I tried to tilt the box onto the chair it slipped out of my hands, the chair shot backwards and the brand new microwave went crashing to the floor. I spent the next few minutes in total shock. I could not believe I had done something so flagrantly stupid. Moving slowly, I checked the damage. There was an ominous clank as I opened the flaps on the box and I could see the frame was bent so badly the door would not close. The microwave may have been inoperable but I swear it was flashing DUMMY. DUMMY, DUMMY over and over. It haunted me so much I got out a dolly from one of my walk-in closets, eased the box onto it and hauled it down to the trash room at the end of the hall. I hoped nobody saw me.
All that night and into the next morning as I traveled to radiation, I could not get the wrecked microwave out of my mind. What to do? I was too ashamed to call Adalberto. I decided to take the bus to Best Buy and see if I could arrange to have one delivered. The store was more than happy to oblige - without any delivery fee. And I didn't even have to tell them my pathetic story.
The next day UPS delivered the new microwave in a heavy duty plastic bag. By that time I had regained enough sense to leave it on the floor. I subequently called the building concierge, which is one of the common amenities in Miami Beach condos and hotels, and asked if she could send someone to help me. A short time later one of the maintenance men arrived and as I held the bag and then the box, he lifted out the microwave, set it on the counter and plugged it in. I was so happy I felt like kissing him but decided he would rather have a tip.
After completing radiation a few weeks later I visited my medical oncologist. One of the first questions I asked was "What is chemo brain?" She looked amused and answered it was still being studied but was generally considered to be a type of memory lapse. "Did you expeience something like that?" she asked.
"Well, I wouldn't exactly call it a memory LAPSE," I responded. "It was more like a total loss of common sense." And then I blurted out my tale of woe, adding it was out of character for me. She did not say much but I noticed she was taking a lot of notes. I suspect they are included in the 95 pages of my medical file later faxed to Santa Rosa.
Once my doctors agreed I was well enough to return to California, I called Adalberto and asked him to take me to the U-haul Store to get packing boxes and other supplies. As we drove over the causeway I confessed to wrecking the brand new microwave.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he admonished. "I would have taken you back to the store."
"Be truthful." I responded. "If your wife had done something like that, you would have felt like strangling her. Right?"
He smiled and quickly admitted "Yes, I would have."
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