I Better Stick to Cycling

Last week, I regaled you with a round-trip river ride from Cementon to Jim Thorpe. I was feeling pretty proud of myself, so I took advantage of the beautiful weather for a few more long rides throughout the weekend. To keep myself honest, I also did a 3.5-mile run. After all, I am a highly conditioned, well-trained athlete. Or so I thought. My body sent me a reminder that I'm getting old last when the mere act of walking caused pain. I had a shin splint on my right leg, and the thigh muscles were swollen. I was unable to even stretch it. So I had to rest a few days, and decided to take up another past-time that would get me outside and give me a chance to pit my wits against one of the wiliest creatures known to mankind - trout. I lost. In fact, I was humiliated.

What got me going on this short-lived adventure was a phone call from Hokie Joe. He had some trout for me. I love trout so I was there in a flash. I'm a shitty cook but have a friend who was willing to cook me some trout in exchange for 90% of the fish. Deal. It was delicious. I decided then and there both to begin fishing again and learn how to cook.

When I first quit drinking in 1985, my AA sponsor was an avid fisherman. We went out every day over most of a year, from the unpredictable Delaware River to the mighty Lackawaxen. No matter how hard I tried, I caught nothing. But at the end of that apprenticeship, and just as trout season was ending, I finally caught my first trout in Belfast. After that, I went on a streak the reminder of that season.

For reasons I no longer remember, I stopped. My luck vanished, too. I'd take my son out from time and time, and the only time he'd be successful was when he did exactly the opposite of what I instructed. The same is also true of my grandson. He'd catch fish, but only if he ignored me.

The call from Hokie Joe sparked my interest again. I no longer had any fishing tackle, so I had to outfit myself. At Walmart, there's practically nothing. The Chinese trade war that Trump claims to be winning is obviously having a negative impact on both fishing gear and bicycles. At Mucha's, located in Nazareth, the only thing I could find were ice-fishing rods and reels. I bought two of them, got myself a license, and hit the Lehigh River near a waterfall on Saturday night.

My timing was perfect. The rain had just stopped and I was using red worms as bait. But to get to the river at that waterfall was no easy feat. I had to descend a pile of rocks, and my footing was precarious. I cast into the river. Nothing. Several minutes went by and I tried again. Nothing again. I decided to move just a little bit, lost my footing and went in, head first. So now I'm soaked head to toe and basically had to crawl up the rocks back to the Palmer bike path and limp a half mile back top my car.

Undeterred, I went fishing again on Sunday. This time it was a pay-to-fish campground and I brought my grandson. We were going to fish a small trout pond. Couldn't miss/. But we did. Neither one of us could cast the ice fishing rod. We kept getting lines tangled, and at one point, I was encased in fishing line.

I was back on the bike last night.