Two nights ago after a long rainy work shift in central west end I was making my way home.
The trail was flooded right at the entrance of the long tunnel and I didn’t feel comfortable trying to navigate the muddy banks like I had earlier in the day.
(This photo is from earlier in the day.)
So I set out to skate the optional street directions from google maps.
It added a mile, but so what, my night was coming to a close and I had a warm sleeping bag, tea,
waiting for me only minutes away.
I allowed myself to get carried away in the flow of music and my thoughts began to drift about between food, the cracks in the sidewalk, and a general overlook of my day.
Even with the rain, and the cold I was pretty happy
and I was skating fast…
Crack, whizzzk, smaassshhhhh.
There was a wire hanging off a street pole over the dimly lit sidewalk and it caught what would have been my face and eyes had my helmet not magically made contact with it first.
I felt my feet fly out from under me,
The wire slid up and over my helmet knocking me to the ground but not without first bending my neck to a newly discovered neck position for me…
I hit the ground with a dull thud.
It being dark and the slam happening so fast didn’t really give me any feelings of needing to maintain my pride.
I let out a soft breathe of sad resentment towards the wire then checked my neck and face for any more serious things.
(In my experience, some cuts and lacerations happen so fast you might not even feel them.)
But luckily I was okay.
So I skated the rest of the way home thankful that nothing more had happened.
When I got home I did my usual unpacking of things,
laying my rings in their spot on the shelf,
putting my skates into their nook in the corner,
unpacking my pack, washing my lunch container, etc…
all with my helmet still on.
I’m inside, fully inside a house wearing my helmet. The music is still playing and I am comfortable.
And I can’t stress it enough how comfortable my helmet is.
But then the time comes to remove it.
I pull my helmet off with one hand like a warrior. It’s part of the ritual.
Then I say the following in a deep bellowing voice, something like what I imagine a Viking would sound like..
(my helmets name)
You have protected me for another day in my pursuit of happiness.”
And I say it with all sincerity,
Then I kiss my helmet and place it on the shelf where it sits overlooking the space I call my home currently.
I love my helmet,
I love that it keeps me safe,
It keeps all of my thoughts, memories and secrets swirling around in the space that is my mind.
Ragnar is more than just a helmet to me, it is a piece of armor I wear both to protect me,
but also as a statement to the world-
Helmets are badass.
Why do you think kings, and knights, and Vikings, and every other warrior wore them??
Kids see me and I know I am putting out a positive message.
Ragnar and I are warriors of the good cause.
So protect that skull of yours basically is what I’m saying.
Also, helmet hair is a style…
– kaleboston a.k.a. Ragnar,