Middle Aged in Moab
by:
RoadTripper from Highlands Ranch, CO
When I was young, old age was an abstraction. I was busy with the here and the now, and any subtle whining I picked up from the old men was dismissed as the white flags of middle age. Well, the here and now has become the middle age of then and, reluctantly, I have succumbed to my own little form of white flag waving. Atrophy is a bitch with a short attention span, and the hunger of a famished ghoul. This and that has led to paunch and pouch; it snuck up on me. So, what to do? What to do? Get on your bike, that trusty steed! On to Moab, the only reality show worth watching. Grunt it up Amasa Back, and on to Porcupine. Slickrock in the morning. And a commitment to saddle time. This note is not for the young--you lucky souls have youth. Savor it. This is for the rest of us. Fight a battle you know you'll lose. But go out swingin'
