Great Race
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I wanted to say something. I had nothing to say. I went looking for inspiration, old photographs; something to “grab me”.
And this morning, these old photos spoke to me. They said - I’m not sure what - but something.
Look at those young men.
Boys?
Yes, I think boys. Kids not really grown up, not yet.
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The first picture is from the summer of 1980. Four boys who recently graduated from high school.
I see bright shining faces.
The second photo is from the same event three years forward - 1983.
Again, four boys, one guy is a different guy, a new guy who replaced another guy. Still, four boys, a little bit closer to becoming - men.
What I note from the faces, 1980 versus 1983, is less shine in those three years older faces.
The 1983 boys look a little more uncertain.
Their faces seem to say; “what comes next?”
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The event was an annual central New York event; a triathlon held on a big, long Finger Lake.
This event, every summer, I checked, it’s still happening - “The Great Race”.
One boy runs X number of miles. He hands off to another boy who cycles X number of miles. And then that boy hands off to two more boys who paddle out into the lake and back for X miles to complete - this Great Race.
I remember this event. I remember that the boy’s friends came to watch. The friends joined in the day’s festivities. They came to cheer the boys on.
After the race, some of the boys drank beer, listened to a band (I think) and hung out on green summer grass with other (not in the photographs) good friends.
Some friendly competition and organized fun on summer days,
Boys, friends, beer. Summer days 1980 and 1983, way back when;
When I was sure (1980) and then not - so - sure (1983);
when I was young.
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Epilogue:
Even with great friends, we really don’t know so very much about other people’s lives; their journey, their joy, their pain.
I do know some things, however.
I do know something about these boys who all grew up and became men. My friends.
One guy, last I heard, became an attorney and moved to San Francisco. (I’ve lost touch with this particular old friend.)
One guy became a medical doctor. He retired and lives in a suburb of Syracuse now. All through the years, from then until now, at a distance, we’ve remained great friends.
One guy, I’m not sure about all the things he’s done. I believe he played in a Coast Guard Band at one time. I believe that he still plays a horn instrument. A trumpet perhaps. He worked on computers (I think) at one time in the past - for UPS. For a long time, I lost track of this friend, and then - round about - via Facebook - we reconnected. Reunited with this great old friend. “Reunited and it feels so good.” (song lyric)
One guy, he’s a freak. He’s lived in several places; CT, FL and now TX. He’s done a bunch of things, nothing much of note. Dreamer… I heard that he still wants to be a Rock Star. He likes to travel with his beautiful wife and write. Wow, what a guy.
And then, the other guy, he’s gone now. He “caught his train” to his next destination. He received a tough roll of the dice with the birth lottery. His childhood wasn’t the best of the bunch. In spite of that, he lived a “rich” (too short) life. He liked to play in bands also. Horns, I think, like the other guy. He was a good guy, a deep thinker, a good friend to all. He lived a tough life, and he left us too soon, too young. But he is not forgotten. Gone, but still… a friend.
That’s what I know about the five boys in those two pictures.
One gone, four with lots of stories to tell and still (I’m thinking) many good stories to come.
Future Substack material. Great Races ahead.
On foot. On wheels. On water.
Five boys, four men left running. The race, our Great Race, it’s still going.
More about fun than competition, I think. Fun with good friends.
Onward