Schizophrenic

Yesterday, as I was bicycling down a winding road with trees on one side and a field on the other, I was lost in one of those soothing reveries I get when I'm in my zone. This one had something to do with planting honeysuckle in our backyard, as the honeysuckle that was draped all over the trees made me feel as though I was riding through a Bath and Body works store. And seriously, who wouldn't want their backyard to smell like a Bath and Body works store? And perhaps when I got husband-dear to plant that honeysuckle, I could also get him to consider putting in a patio. And maybe some flowerbeds. And thus my mind wandered on, creating an endless honey-do list, like it does on any normal ride or run. But when this reverie was rudely interrupted by a gigantic truck toting what looked like a part of a jet engine roaring by me and on to the flight line, I realized that perhaps this wasn't an entirely normal ride. After all, how many people regularly bicycle along a flight line filled with planes, control towers, and important looking equipment? Honestly, when you stop and think about it, having access to any military installation definitely falls under the "quirky" category of things in life.

For me, the base is mainly associated with groceries, church, but most importantly, working out. The gym as well as the indoor pool are free, and as an ID holder I have free access to most roads on base for running, cycling, rollerblading, hula-hooping, singing and dancing a la Gene Kelly, or whatever else strikes my fancy. But now think about it. How many of you, before you go grocery shopping, to the gym, or to church, have to pass through a gate manned by people carrying REALLY BIG guns? For those of you who have been military dependents longer than you care to remember, let me just point out to you that this is really not the norm. Because unless you frequent the lesser echelons of urban America on a regular basis, being greeted by big burly people with weapons is really not the norm. And snooty doormen are really not the same thing, no matter how many times they ask you for the name of the tenant you're visiting.

It's easy to forget about the oddness of life on base. Sticking to the traffic rules might be the hardest one to remember, but all the other things just become part of "normal life". But when you stop and think about them, how sensible are they, really? I mean, why do we stop when retreat is played? I've got frozen goods in the back of my car, the kids are waiting for me, and I really need to cook dinner, but when I hear that tune, I stop. Even though it means it's time to go home, which, technically, I was trying to do until that song came on. Seriously. Or how about the whole "people driving around in camo cars pretending they're in the desert" concept? We're in the south, there's not a desert in sight, but I barely notice them anymore. Or all the "do not enter, firing range" signs? Actually, I need to take that one back. Anyone who's lived in rural America has come across those, although they may be more along the lines of "Michigan militia training area", or "We shoot all intruders", or "deer hunting season in progress". Either way, visiting a base on a regular basis just really messes with your head. It makes you think that wearing camo is the norm, school buses are all blue, and America is made up of really young and fit people.

And yesterday, as husband-dear and I embarked on a mini-training triathlon on base (750m swim, 10 mile bike, 3 mile run), I was really made aware of this for probably the first time. You see, we don't usually bicycle on base. We have tons of beautiful roads around our house, and can easily ride 50 miles without doubling back once, while the longest loop on base is only about 10 miles. Having said that, our house offers nothing better than a little round redneck pool, so we were stuck carrying out our little training session on base. And when I ride my bike, I'm used to seeing woods, cotton fields, barley fields, soy fields, houses, and tons of dogs. But yesterday could not have been more different. I saw planes, fire trucks, control towers, engine parts the size of our house, lots of people in flight suits doing all sorts of all important things, and more planes. It was interesting, not in the least, because none of these people had apparently ever seen a bicycle before, and thus we had some interesting encounters, one especially remarkable one involving a little maintenance truck swerving all over the road because it wasn't sure on which side it should let us pass (hint: the right).
But then our run took us to the other side of base. And there we got to run along the horse fields and stables, in between two huge sparkling lakes, through the woods, past a beautiful collection of houses, the elementary school, and the child development center. It was almost schizophrenic. And I would have said something about it to husband-dear, had my tongue not been hanging down to my knees, and I not been dying a slow death. Hence today's blog.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. At all. After all, it's free, and so who am I to say anything at all. but it was just, well, schizophrenic. Dichotomous. An unexpected contrast. Discrepant. Incongruous. Disparate. And above all, like really, really weird. Dude.