Our riding territory
We wind through several neighborhoods on our rides each morning – some with wide ethnic diversity, some all white, some all black with a few Hispanics, then the multi-million dollar neighborhoods on A1A. Each one is unique.
Our two favorites are the sections on A1A for the views and scenery, and the all-black neighborhood in southwest Delray for the people. Besides having hands-down the most courteous and thoughtful drivers on our thirty-five mile rides, we’ve come to know a number of regulars in the southwest area.
There’s the thirty-something guy, deep ebony skin, at least 6’4” and 250 lbs, who’s often outside chatting with neighbors and friends on the weekend mornings. He always has a big smile for us and a booming “Hey, girls!” His voice is so resonant that Chelsea calls him “the pastor”. Like all our regulars, he was so used to seeing both of us that when I rode without Chelsea for several months, he regularly hollered, “Hey, your friend is missing!” “Hey, your friend is still missing!”
There’s Pauline, more the color of espresso, who’s tall and carries a fair amount of extra weight, with her short hair frequently pulled up helter-skelter into a hair tie, usually dressed in a t-shirt and shorts. She’s incredibly active. We see her walking the neighborhood with large sacks of what appear to be cans; other times she’s at the bus stop a half mile away; we see her walking purposefully through the cemetery on her way somewhere; we see her attacking the weeds and trimming the trees in her yard; we see her maintaining the flowering vines on the cemetery fence.
We may see her at 5:30 in the morning on our way out, or we may see her at whatever time we happen through again on our way home. And every time, without fail, Pauline has a big smile and hello for us. “Heeyy!” she hollers, faithfully.
When I started riding alone, while Chelsea was in California, she’d inevitably call out, “What ya doin’ by yo’self? Where’s yo’ fren’?” I’d always call back, “California!”, and the next time she’d holler again, “What ya doin’ by yo’self? Where’s yo’ fren’?” She was so glad to see Chelsea back with me!
We look for Pauline every day, and feel better every day knowing we exchanged our greetings.
Then there’s the cheerful wizened old man who rides a bicycle around the neighborhood. We’d see each other occasionally and smile, but that’s all, until one glorious morning, when the early morning sun shone golden on everything it touched. I was on cloud nine.
I’d been distracted watching a side street, and suddenly looked up to see him right in front of me. The gold in the sun turned his skin amber, and his smile was so big, the sun glowed off his gold front teeth, looking for all the world like a nugget of King Midas’s gold.
“Hey, Baby!” he called out to me in his southern drawl, laughing at our near miss. “Hey!” I laughed back. I smiled all the way home, thinking of that simple and direct joy, and how great a single smile can feel.
We can’t forget the older man who sits quietly in his small front yard, just watching life go by. He lives in a very small house, and seems to share it with several others, a rotating cast of characters, with him being the only constant. There’s a goodly amount of activity at the house on and off – fixing bicycles, having a lawn party, peeling cable to sell the copper inside, doing yard work.
But mostly, he’s just sitting there quietly, watching life go by. And every day without fail we wave, and he waves back.