Grab Life by the Handlebars

This morning I lost a 6500-chip pot to a sucker with a one-card out. That probably doesn't mean anything to you, but trust me, it's bad, agonizing and the worst kind of luck, the kind that can make you mutter all your golfing words and mope for a week, if you let it, but I'm proud to say I only moped for ten minutes. I did mutter all my golfing words, through gritted teeth. For the entire ten minutes.

I don't want to write much or very often about poker, because it's a subject that appeals to a terribly limited audience. The one worthwhile point in this small tale is that when you face a setback, particularly a frustrating or unexpected or unfair one, it's what you do next that matters most. After you finish moping and muttering your golfing words. That fact that idiots pursue draws like that is the reason I make extra money each month playing poker. Sometimes, however the idiots have to win. Or they wouldn't keep coming back to lose money.

But on this particular Sunday I decided I was in no frame of mind to revenge myself on the next idiot to come along. It was probably more likely, given my frustration and slightly shaken confidence, that if I kept playing it was more likely that I would play like one of them. It made me feel good that I had the good sense to step away from the computer. I read a couple of more chapters of Elmore Leonard and then called my friend Doug. The morning had been cloudy and unpromising but Doug said it had already burned off on the Westside. He had a few hours to spare before a family commitment so we decided to go on a bike ride. I threw the bike in the back seat of the convertible and headed over to Tualatin to for a ride and a visit.

On the way over I listened to part of the Mariner game and took the back road to Tualatin with the top down, stopped at Wankers Corner for a quart of chocolate milk and one of those little carrot cakes with the white icing wrapped in plastic wrap. I love those.

It was so great to see Doug and Gretchen. They are two cheerful, genuine people that it is just a pleasure to be around them. Doug has a beautiful touring bike he bought at REI, so I was a little embarassed to show up with my garage sale reject Murray ten speed with the chipped paint, but he greeted me with his customary goofy grin and adjusted my seat, which was far too low for me.

The bike ride itself was a disaster. I nearly ralphed, because chocolate milk and carrot cake are not the most advisible meal prior to strenuous activity, and by the time we reached Grahams Ferry and Bell Rd, my bike broke down. The derailler was bent and the wheel was rubbing against the frame. Doug tried gamely to repair it with a portable tool kit he had, but the wrenches were metric and too small to generate enough torque. After struggling with it for several minutes (and with admirable patience, and no golfing words, not even when I tried to help and just got in the way) he gave up and called Gretchen on his cell phone to come rescue me. Gretchen only has a Prius, so I chained the bike to a small tree off to the side of the road and hitched a ride back with her to their house, where I started up the Vista Cruiser and retrieved the bike. I got lost on the way back. Not completely lost, just turned around, and took the most winding circuitous path imaginable in retracing the route from Doug's house to Wilsonville Rd. and back. I wound up by a school west of Wilsonville, then a Toyota dealership, then the Target on the north end of town, a real bumblebee route. By the time I got back Doug had returned from the remainder of the bike ride and was preparing crackers and hummus, two tall glasses of water and some wine. We feasted and talked Pac-10 football.

A hour pleasantly passed, and we probably told 4 or 5 stories we've told ten times before, about games we'd watched and players we remembered, and the details didn't matter at all. The important thing was the company, and the crackers and hummus. It was just the best possible way to spend an afternoon, just being around these two people I enjoy so much.

It got to be 4:52 and Doug really had to hustle, because they were supposed to be in Aurora by five for a housewarming at her brother Gordon's new farmhouse. He scooted upstairs to take a shower and I said goodbye. "Call me soon," I said, though I knew he'd probably be far too busy. Visits are something you have to pry out of Doug. He's extraordinarily good company, but such a creature of habit that getting him out of his routine is a bit of a challenge. I on the other hand have no routine and have difficulty planning anything--it's always a phone call 20 minutes before the visit. It's a wonder we ever see each other, but I'm always glad when we do.

Wilsonville, where my son Roger lives and works, is just down the road, so I stopped by his work to visit a few minutes. I bought Jamba Juices and we talked about what was going on. He and Justine are seeing each other again. "Friends with benefits," he said with a wide smile. He is happy, enjoying his friends and his favorite video game, "Call to Duty 4." I talked with him and his buddies at the Game Crazy Store for a few minutes, and we made plans to see a movie tomorrow, "Hellboy", based on a comic book. He got free tickets through his work. It's not for a second a movie I would ordinarily see; the point of it is to do something with Roger. The movie will no doubt be full of violence and mayhem, but I'll enjoy his company and something from the snack bar. It does always amaze me the technical wizardry in movies now, the remarkably inventive and powerful things they can do with computers and animation and graphics.

Roger had work to do and enemies to slay (a big part of his job is playing and demonstrating and talking about games, and in that sense he is one of the lucky few in life that really loves his work.) so I said goodbye and headed over to Charbonneau to play a little golf. I haven't been out many times this summer, so it was incredibly absorbing and relaxing to putt and chip and hit a few balls. I didn't play a round; I wanted to see what kind of a swing I had after the long layoff. My short game is fine--I even drained a few long putts, and chipped beautifully, but oh my, my swing was all over the lot, shanks and tops and pulls galore. I set to it a while and worked patiently, and by the time the sun fell below the tree line I was swinging a lot more smoothly. There are few things as pleasant in participatory sports than a golf ball in flight when you have hit it solidly and in rhythm: it's a deeply satisfying thing.

What an afternoon it had been, a little mini-vacation. Tomorrow it's back to the cell block, as Amie calls it, but I feel thoroughly rejuvenated and refreshed. I stopped on the way home and had one of those six dollar burgers at Carl's Jr., utterly delicious even without bacon. I played another two dollar tournament but I wasn't hitting any flops. Maybe I'll take a couple of days off and come back fresh, see the movie with Roger tomorrow and play nine holes at Meadows, a dusty nine-hole track, eight dollars a round, just down the road from work, on Tuesday.

I feel good, and blessed. It was about as lovely a summer day as you could hope for, I saw some of my favorite people, and I am rested and well fed and in good health. Charbonneau is a retirement community and I noticed some of the old fellows doddering around in their bent-backed way chasing after their golf ball, and I was struck by the realization that I'm not much younger, and the distance from me to them is not much longer than my best 3 woood and a wedge. I holed out twice chipping today, so maybe the journey from here to there can have a few highlights.