The Cabin's Writers in the Attic Anthology: Detour

Page 96

JIM SEVERSON

THE RIDE OF SHAME The distance of the Ride of Shame is exactly one mile. It’s straight south on 13th Street, from Resseguie to River. I don’t recall how much time the Ride of Shame took. It felt endless, a lifetime. Eternal. Or maybe three quarters of an hour when you consider all the stops for sadness, memories and contemplation. A long time for a short bike ride. This ride is no Tour de France. No peloton, no stages…or so I think at the beginning. There’s a single rider, me, with a sizeable backpack, a daypack strapped to the handlebars, and a bicycle rack loaded with a stack of luggage secured to my rear rack by three or four bungee cords. When I’m on the bike, the stack is nearly as tall as me. At the end of this ride, for the first time in my life, I’ll take up residence in a homeless shelter. Almost anyone who’s lived in Boise for any length of time knows the location: River and 13th. It’s alternatively known as the Rescue Mission (or “the Mission”), the River of Life (or ROL), or simply, the men’s shelter. Formerly, Community House. Look for the big neon “Boise Rescue Mission Jesus Saves” sign on the corner of the otherwise non-descript building. That is the terminus of what I’ve come to know as the Ride of Shame. Okay, the shortish backstory: I lost my job in the summer of 2011. With the ongoing economic downturn and a crappy resume that accomplished little more than highlighting 15 years of underemployment (my BA and 88


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