W. and Me
My upcoming blog is proving to be a bit more complicated than initially thought; it’s taking me a little more time to put the pieces together. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this article that I wrote several months ago for the newsletter for the company I work for. Some of you have seen it before; hopefully you are not too bored by the repetition. I have added a postscript addressing the response received from the initial publishing. Although most of it was positive, the subject matter did rub a few people the wrong way.
~tms
The Hills operates five corporate sites in downtown Austin. I manage two of them. Mark is a member at one. When I arrive at 6:30am every morning, half-asleep and grumpy, not at all looking forward to an early morning of folding towels and wiping sweat off cardio equipment, Mark is there, unshaven, with bed-head hair, and wrinkled Nike t-shirt. For the first couple months I managed the joint, we grumbled a mutual, “Good morning,” while working on our initial cup of coffee of the day. Eventually, as tends to happen when people are forced into close proximity, we began to strike up conversations. Mark, however, isn’t much for small talk, and I suffer from a similar affliction. Our discourse was limited, at best. Perhaps that’s why we took a liking to one another—neither of us bored the other with the BS that might be part of such a superficial relationship. And life sauntered on…
Weeks later, I found Mark on the Stairmaster with his arm in a sling.
“What the hell happened to you?”
“Shattered my collar bone.”
“Shattered? When?”
“Sunday.” It was Tuesday.
“And you’re here?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“How’d ya do it?”
“Mountain biking.”
“I mountain bike.”
“Humph.”
“Greenbelt? Emma Long?”
“Crawford.”
“Crawford?”
“Crawford. Riding with George Bush.”
“Humph.”
A couple of months later, Mark was healed and ready to get back in the saddle. Now, I’m as much a bleeding-heart-liberal-commie-bastard as the next Austinite, but when someone invites you to go mountain biking with the former President of the United States, if you’re smart, you don’t say no. I don’t claim to be any mental giant, but I wasn’t about to decline the offer.
After the Secret Service scanned my Toyota Corolla for bombs at the gate of his Crawford ranch, the first person I saw, toolin’ around on his carbon fiber Trek, sportin’ a blue and white Coolmax Hawaiian shirt, was President George W. Bush, “Pull over by the garage,” he instructed. The four in our group exited our vehicles and shook the hand of the former leader of the free world. Weird. After showing off his quiver of bikes, he said, “Saddle up, boys.”
The ranch is quite beautiful. I had an image of central Texas scrub brush, but it is nothing of the sort. Plenty of trees, and rolling fields of grass and wild flowers. A couple small lakes, or large ponds. And the house and guest quarters, while very nice, are refreshingly modest. I expected something much bigger, ornate even, but it was tasteful, and attractive, and fit the setting perfectly. It is a very relaxed and pleasant atmosphere, which, I reckon, is the idea. And more importantly, some damn good singletrack. The President employees a full-time trail architect to keep the life’s blood of one of his most enjoyed past-times growing and groomed. When I say “trail architect,” I mean a talented local boy by the name of Manasa. Manasa has done an incredible job with the trail system on the ranch. I’m a mountain biker of more than 10 years, and I’ve had the good fortune to have ridden trails all across Canada from St. John’s, Newfoundland to the Alberta Rockies, and from the Alberta Rockies to the deserts of New Mexico, and I was truly impressed. The trails the President has built are challenging, and fast, and fun.
Initially, the Secret Service riding with us with their handguns poking out of the bottom of their bike jerseys and the guys with the M-16s trailing us on 4-wheelers, was a bit disconcerting. I was real careful not to make any sudden moves. “It’s just a Power Bar!” But the President has a way of putting you at ease. He is a cordial, gracious host, and conveys a sense of relaxed calm. Our entourage of 15 rode for a good two hours, stopping from time to time for the President to point out sections of the ranch. The guy’s in shape. Sixty-three years old with a maximum heart rate of 183, he is a strong rider and an excellent bike handler. Even I had trouble keeping up with him at times; it was his home trail, after all—at least that’s what I said to make myself feel better.
After the ride we were ushered to the guesthouse to shower up. We then met the President on the porch of the ranch house where we talked for a while about mountain biking and the local wildlife. The President has taken an interest in bird watching as of late. He seems to enjoy the simpler things in life now. Can’t blame him, President of the United States is a pretty stressful gig, I imagine. Shortly thereafter, we were invited inside for a lunch of grilled cheese and chicken salad sandwiches. Some of the people residing in the community near Crawford make the cheeses we were treated to. Might sound strange, but Wisconsin has nothing on Crawford cheese. The conversation was loose and easy. The President was charming, and charismatic, and showed a genuine interest in each of us. He has a curious mind and seems to truly like people.
After lunch we packed up our gear and headed south to Austin. It was an amazing day, and I have had the good fortune to have been back several times since. While I may not agree with his politics, one thing is for certain: he is a gentleman, and fun as hell to hang out with.
POSTSCRIPT
Since the initial publishing of this article, I have received a fair amount of grief regarding it’s content. There are a lot of people out there who, understandably, don’t like George Bush, or what he stands for. I sympathize. My politics falls on the far left. But what I was trying to convey in this article was an unbiased account of my experience that day. It was a bunch of dudes mountain biking, that’s all. Politics was not discussed. Some people think I should have boycotted the trip, but that would have disallowed a first-hand account of the man himself. And to understand why a man does what he does, mustn’t we first understand the man? What I learned is that George W. Bush as a person ain’t half-bad. He didn’t have horns and a tail. In fact, he’s a gentleman, and he treats people with respect, and he is a funny mother fucker, to boot. I will never defend the decisions he made while in the White House, but there is more to the man than we see on TV. And don’t we owe it to all of our fellow human beings to try to understand them as people? To put ourselves in their shoes? To be human to one another? Even George W. Bush?
