As they shut behind us, the flimsy little doors did not seem up to the job of keeping us in the gondola. The gondola was tipsy anyway and was really more like a bucket but “gondola” sounds better. No one wants go crashing to their death from a bucket, yet plummeting from the heights of a gondola sounds much better. Still not good though. Through the mad dash of the last week, it seemed like forever since the three of us had been alone together. We even had to run off some interlopers who wanted to get in the bucket with us, lurching the death trap back and forth in the process.
The gondola was lifted trembling into the air and we could see past the concrete aggregate to the green walls of mountain that encircle Altamont. I thought of the past few days and if they were how I would have wanted to spend my last. There was Friday, the day of running. For me, that meant 18 miles. While there is no such thing as a free lunch in running around Altamont, I had mapped a route which promised to be just about as flat as one could hope. It was glorious. Big leaves provided enough shade to make the hot parts tolerable. Most of all, I kept a steady pace through the whole thing and saw some beautiful parts of the city.
A city whose beautiful people were running in a massive race that afternoon. Ok, 1,000 is not massive for all y’all, but it is big for around here. What was more fun than being at the starting line was that the finish was a short walk away. Seeing the top harriers was impressive, but cheering the tons of people I know but did not know ran was much, much better. The sounds of clapping and a “good job” have put a wind behind my back in more than one race, and it was good to be that guy for someone else.
We stopped at the top of the wheel, momentarily suspended and lurching. Surely we would start again, but no one knew how long that would be. I thought of the Legendary JC’s, closing out yesterday’s Festival, urging their listeners to let go and get into the moment. Not that they needed much instruction on being in the moment at that point. Most had gotten there through the power of fermentation, but others, like myself, could not resist the power of people coming together in a beautiful place to enjoy one another. When I say I have not been high since Dick Chaney was Secretary of Defense, that includes beer too. Were I not the Iceman, I would not be anywhere near such an event. Having a role to play, I was happy oblige and happy to not go unnoticed.
About this time the wheel started to turn again, moving at a decent pace now. In full swing, the gondola drifted along like a gull on a sea breeze. Awkward in some circumstances, this was it’s purpose. Across from me, my Sweet Lady and Tallulah continued to take in the sights as the ground came up to meet us and then retreated. Deciding spontaneously to skip the weekly ritual at the Great Temple, we had come out to do errands as a family and found ourselves here. If it were to all end at this point, it could not have chosen a sweeter time.
But we were not through. Not yet anyway. The gondola descended a final time and let us off onto the pavement again. Back on earth, we came home to a dinner of fresh green from a local farm. I would never have bought mustard greens, but we’ve paid to get a box of fresh produce every week. I’m way too cheap not to eat what I’ve already bought. After dinner, I went out to gather lettuce, sweet peas, and garlic from our own garden. Neighbors stopped by to chat. On my way back in, I was met by the smell of fresh bread cooling on the stove. To say that I am grateful for these last three days is wholly inadequate to the joy they have contained, but it is what I’ve got.