I Called Him Peter

The clouds were back in the evening sky and I told myself I wouldn't make all those photo-stops that, invariably, shorten any ride. I stopped anyway. In the progression of Spring into Summer, it is the Scarlet Larkspur's time to bloom, and a bunch of it growing along one of the singletracks was looking especially neon bright in the 7pm light. I stopped there, beside them, too. Unsatisfied with the camera's results, I none-the-less had this sense that I should get moving. Barely one rotation back into the ride I came to a sudden, surprised stop. There was someone standing there, someone I hadn't noticed before, someone who didn't appear to be trying to hide but...

In an instant I recognized Steven and called him a name he may never have been called before - I called him Peter. Where the heck that came from I still don't know. Some brain circuit must have been fried by the sudden surprise (I know, what surprise isn't sudden?), but I did know his name wasn't Peter, and I said as much, "wait, you're not Peter," but my thought processes could get no further than that. As I waited for the reboot to finish, I hoped that he couldn't tell I was trying to figure out his real name for the next thirty seconds or so that we stood there talking.

Gradually, like the a Spectrum router, the lights began to come on one after another. The first thing I realized was that he was dressed for a ride, yet no bike was in sight. Hmmm? Then I noticed the hammer held in his right hand, one of those little geology hammers - I carry a similar, though slightly larger one, when I hike. I'm not saying he was trying to hide that hammer, but it wasn't obvious and his posture suggested...

what, exactly?

He - Peter / Steven - wasn't going to hit me with it, was he? Just for getting his name wrong? And then failing to correct the mistake in a timely manner? And discovering him, doing what exactly, out here on this trail with a little hammer? By now you probably know I was thinking about a certain song about a kid named Maxwell who knocked people on the head with a little silver hammer. I needed to move away from that image so I asked him the obvious question - rock hunting?

there is a reason I call that conical hill...

the beehive

Scarlet Larkspur