Shakedown 1975

You start out making lunch plans and before you know it, it feels like a getaway.

When I suggested getting together, my friend countered with an invitation to hit the the pool and have barbecue, a plan no sane person would resist in this weather. It was so appealing, I got up after 7 1/2 hours sleep instead of my usual nine so I could get my walk out of the way before it hit 97 degrees today.

Obviously a tad cooler than my usual mid-day walk, I nonetheless headed directly to the river, walking through the sprinklers on Brown's Island and spotting a stand-up paddle boarder in the James. While I've seen plenty of SUP-ing in the ocean, it was my first time in the river.

Walking back through Jackson Ward, I saw that a recent sign - "The world will ride here" (trumpeting the big UCI road world championship races coming in September)-  had already been defaced since I first saw the sign two days ago.

"So what?" the anonymous marker asked. Children, please.

Once home, I changed from sweaty walking clothes into a bathing suit and went to meet my friend for our aquatic lunch. She was awaiting my arrival in her cute bathing suit cover-up, pool bag in hand.

Heading east to Varina, she commented on how delightful it is that Richmond gets rural within ten minutes of downtown. As a long-time devotee of Route 5 and points east, I heartily agree. I even use it to begin my trips to the Outer Banks every year, to the consternation of people who think it's an odd, indirect route.

She was right about the charm of the pool complex, which she described as seriously old school: a cinder block building, a snack shack and a pool that enforced an hourly adult swim. It reminded me a lot of the pool my family grew up going to, the one that formed my impression of what a neighborhood pool should be.

Experience had taught her to come before lunch because there'd be fewer kids and she was spot on. Oh, sure, there were a few in the shallow end, including an adorable father who would sit his little daughter on the side, demonstrate a stroke and then help her do it.

Personally, I had no intention of swimming. I was there to cool my core and shrivel my skin, nothing more. "When's the last time you were at a pool?" my friend asked. Except for a backyard pool in the country and a birthday pool party, both of which involved sitting on the side and dangling my legs in the water, it had been ages.

"Yea, I think it was about 30 years for me before here," she admitted. But unlike me, she had been a competitive swimmer in her youth and was reveling in having a place to swim laps again. But since you can't very well go three decades without swimming and jump right back into laps, she'd swim two laps and join me for conversation in the 5' depths of the pool before returning to her workout.

I told her some of my Portland stories and she shared gossip and details of her trek to The Shack in Staunton. We discussed the lack of infrastructure in Virginia to get small farm produce to restaurants, back routes from J-Ward to Church Hill and the princess and the pea theory.

After an hour, she'd finished her laps and I was looking like a prune but feeling deliciously cool to the core, so we dried off to head to Ronnie's Barbecue, which used to be Ronnie's Ribs when I went to its Main Street location in the Bottom. I hadn't even realized Ronnie had moved, but there he was at that cinder block building (which has been home to so many things) at the intersection of New Market Road and Varina Road.

Tooling along past fields and sparse housing, she observed, "It feels like 1975 out here, simpler times," saying it's become part of her pool routine to head to Ronnie's after the pool and then home for a nap. Now there's a solid summer day plan.

Ronnie's new digs were small with only two short counters in the front window with chairs. The idea seemed to be take-out, but we joined the all-male clientele to eat in. Saying she always got ribs, today instead she chose brisket while I was the one who got the three bone rib plate with beans and slaw.

Sitting in the front window chowing down, I paused to listen to voices and she looked at me grinning. "Yep, they're listening to the stories," she said, using a phrase I hadn't heard since my grandmother used it to describe her favorite soap operas.

Damn, 1975 probably was the last time I heard a soap opera on TV.

We made valiant attempts but neither of us finished every bite, although I did leave all my bones sucked clean, for what that's worth. Driving back,she commented on how entering Richmond from the east gives you a completely different perspective on the city, one that reminds you of its industrial and working roots, one that she'd been unaware of before joining the pool.

Stuffed, sitting on our beach towels with the air conditioning in her car chilling our still wet bathing suits and cover-ups, we decided we need to do this again...and again. A new summer ritual was initiated today.

"It's only a few hours we were gone, but it feels like we had a holiday," she enthused before we separated to both go work.

Like riding a bike, apparently you never forget how to enjoy the pool. Simpler times.