June 5, 2003

From Gerald R. Lucas

I feel pretty good today. I just had a good run on-campus. I went to the gym expecting to run on the treadmill, but after waiting a while for the present bovines to finish, I decided to try the course outside. I'm glad I did. While the day is sunny, a cool breeze followed me around the mile-an-a-half trail by Lake Kneedeep, around the baseball diamonds, and near the pool. After a couple of laps, I ended my run with a lounge on the serendipitous bleachers and still made it back to my office for my office hours.

Even before my run, I woke up a bit late and had some coffee while I finished Gilgamesh. Revisiting the primary epics reminds me why I chose literature as a profession. Unfortunately, there's more to my job than literary discourse, but I believe I truly shine when I'm lucky enough to land the errant lit class. Looking at Gilgamesh again was a pleasure. This 5000-year-old poem seems so contemporary while concomitantly alien. The lessons are the same, as significant now as they were when the poet first spoke of Uruk's famous king and his companion.

After reconsidering Gilgamesh, I prepared my lesson for this evening and went into the office. After a bit of office work and a talk with the chair, I had my run. A good day, and I look forward to tonight’s class.

I guess part of my outlook today comes from my upcoming motorcycle training course this Monday. I have, as you all know, been looking forward to this for a long time -- since last summer when I first read Neil Peart’s Ghost Rider. Since then, I have read much about riders and their motorcycles, some literary, but most just romanticized accounts of the open road and freedom. It's hard to write about this without waxing romantic. I know, and I suspect much of my future writing on this site will also support this observation.

So, this weekend I will be heading to Atlanta to get my safety gear and spend the weekend with Tim and Tab, something that I've neglected for a while. Almost time to teach, so I’ll write more later.