Shouldn't they be called boxing mittens?

 

This is the type of thought that swims through the lagoon of my mind on long rides.  But really, look at them, do you see any individual fingers?  So, why are they boxing GLOVES?  Possibly more importantly, why was I riding home from Connecticut with a pair strapped to the rack atop my sleeping bag?  So many questions.  So many incomplete sentences.

I don't box.  This is clearly true because I'm still alive, as I suspect I'd be horribly and very temporarily bad at it.  But take a second look at the average boxing mitten (or glove, if you prefer) and notice the thin palm backed by over an inch of padding, or dare I say, insulation?  Seems like it could be the ultimate cold weather riding hand wear.  I'm not eager for the chill of winter to return just yet, but I'm excited to give this hypothesis a try once the days get short again.

But wait, that may explain why I possibly possess a pair of pugilistic paw protectors, yet fails to address the question of why I had them with me on my return trip Saturday.  I'll give a hint: I didn't have them on the out leg headed south.  See, I'm a sucker for a good roadside free pile, or often a bad one, for that matter.  Imagine, I'm just riding along when on the horizon appears a nondescript cardboard box nestled next to a mailbox, the sun dappling its matte finish, well, not at all.  I don't pedal any faster, yet still, my heart rate quickens.  Could it be?  Yes, my eyes just call the Sharpie imprint into resolution, the word, "FREE," on the side!  Sure, it could be singular lump of sodden pulp novels, but unless you look, you never know, and sometimes it is something ever so special, just what I wanted.

OK, that wasn't the case with the boxing mittens (don't fight it), and in fact, I'd already made a few pedal strokes away before the thought of using them as winter hand warmers occurred to me, but it can be just as good to find something you never knew you needed.  We live in a throw-away world, which is rather unfortunate, as once we use up this one, there isn't another anywhere readily at hand.  So sure, people are going to produce and buy new things, but it is nice that at least a few of those people make the ever so slightly harder effort to pass items along when done with them, rather than simply toss everything in the "round file".  And yeah, I don't mind at all being the person who squeezes the last bit of use out of them.

I might be cheap.  No, scratch the "might".  Then rewrite the sentence with "am".  Or just start the paragraph over from the beginning.

I'm cheap.  But that isn't the only reason I like finding rather than buying things.  Part of my ancestry is Lebanese, and I like to think, taken far enough back, there's some Bedouin in there.  Nomads are well suited for adventure and can even thrive in the discomfort such a lifestyle often offers, and I imagine a life of certainty would feel humdrum to them, lacking the thrill that the unknown can bring.  In accordance with this outlook, found items offer me the excitement of using what I am provided, not what I've driven to the store and selected.  Sometimes, I find just what I need, but often, what I have, along with a little creativity, can give an equal or better outcome.  More importantly, it gives me an experience, and that's worth "fighting" for!

More of this weekend's gutter finds

or to use my father's excellent turn of phrase

"Roadkill"