West Des Moines, IA

He’s gripping a nearly empty Budweiser in one hand and a recently uncapped Fat Tire in the other. He leans forward from the stool setting both of them on the floor and steps forward to the man seated across from him on a similar wooden stool, gripping the man’s head in his grease covered hands.
“Bald spot in that graying hair, now I see it. Vanity is fleeting, wisdom is forever. Don’t dye your hair.”
He releases his grip on the man’s head and chuckles.
“Funny thing is they told me that in AA.”
“Not to dye your hair?” I nod upwards towards his shiny bald head.
“No, smartass, the wisdom bit.”

He sits back down, finishing off the Budweiser and tossing it towards the towering trash can to his left. He misses. The can rattles on the floor and rolls towards a bench. There are four empty cans already residing underneath it.
He turns my way, “How old are you, 26-27?”
I shake my head no. “You give me too much credit.”
“Got any kids?”
Again, I shake my head no. “I live out of that van out there.”

He picks up the beer and leans in to cheers me. I curve my wrist bringing the beer in towards me.
“Isn’t that a picture of your kid on the wall, licking that trainer?”
He lets a laugh slip and leans in.
“I love him. Don’t think I don’t. But if someone would have told me, actually told me, how much work a kid entails. Well, I don’t know. We might have had a talk about it. Just makes me want to apologize to my parents if I was anything like he is. People tell you how hard it is and, believe me, it is 150 times harder.”

I stand up and walk towards a photo pinned above the workbench to my right. The shop is a cluttered seek-n-find, the ultimate Where’s Waldo of bike shops. I want to photograph the walls and create a puzzle for my niece & nephews, (Find a three gallon jug of cheese balls, two microwaves, hockey equipment, three calendars, thirteen hammers, seven pool cues, four jars of beer bottle caps) but the scandalous is intertwined with the more typical bike shop findings.

I mistakenly tune back in to his next story of his colonoscopy and kidney stones, and use the time to collect my empties and bring them into the adjoining room towards an empty pile near the fridge. I spot the pool table the cues belong to, hiding underneath saddle bags and boxes of unopened apparel.

There’s something to be said for this clutter free, kid free, diesel chugging lifestyle of mine. Not quite sure what exactly it is yet.