Pickled

Our nearby neighbors have five kids. You don’t see that much these days. I have no idea if that’s a religiously driven situation or just a family plan preference. They are lovely people and we have a good relationship all up and down the age range, having employed each and every child except the youngest in one household chore or another. They have even hired my son, Tom, to do some business videos for the family business, so I feel like we have a good solid relationship. They are a very outdoorsey family that is always off to the desert or mountains with their RV or their truck with the offroad vehicles. There oldest daughter is a world class offroad bicycle champion who competes internationally. When they first built their home about ten years ago they left a large section of the side yard next to the road for a small offroad bicycle track, presumably to allow her to practice what has become her adult profession. It was a scruffy little mudpuddle of a track and a bit of an eyesore, but this is the Wild West, where every landowner is allowed to pretty much do as they please with their property. We do not have an HOA on our hilltop and I suspect that is very much a choice of the residents rather than just circumstantial. Therefore, we used to drive past the mudpuddle and wonder if that would be kept in service after their high-flying daughter went off to college. I don’t recall ever seeing the boys riding the small single-track, which was really too small for them right from the get-go.

About a year ago I suddenly saw some activity in the mudpubble with a crew of landscapers that were bulldozing it level and bringing in fill. I thought that was a good thing and that the family had decided to level out the patch of dirt into a lawn or garden of some sort. But then things started to take a different turn and become decidedly more interesting. What started to take shape was a court. The space was too small for a proper tennis court and those are so passe at this point that it was not hard to imagine that what was going in was a pickleball court. Sure enough, a first class court was being built with all the proper rebar tensioning to keep the court in good shape for years. It was then surfaced with the recognizable colors and patterns of a televised pickleball court. They decided that with three young boys in the family they should also allow for some other court activity should pickleball become too lame for the younger generations (the game is being taken over by the social security set). That meant that in addition to a basketball hoop being installed off to the side, they also found a high quality moveable pickleball net. They chose to install professional-quality night lighting to lengthen the pickleball day (something I see that they make regular use of). The finishing touch was to landscape the surrounding area. Where tennis requires fencing, the lightweight nature of the balls does not make that necessary with pickleball. The landscaping includes a small 9” bamboo edging that seems sufficient to stop 90% of the balls that go astray. For those few that go beyond, the balls rarely make it even as far as the road. That means that the court can be kept rather pleasant looking rather than foreboding with fencing around it.

It’s funny, but the people who live across the street from those neighbors have a big gate that they keep closed, so they only see the opposing property when entering or exiting. To my thinking, looking at a mudpuddle single-track is a lot less attractive than a lovely manicured pickleball court with nice garden seating and low stone and bamboo edging, but those neighbors don’t quite see it the same way. They are fairly upset by the pickleball court for some reason, though its unclear what they would wish would be done to shield it. There are trees and bushes planted along the roadside already, but that doesn’t seem to satisfy them. Such is life in the Wild West when it comes to property rights.

We have been invited to a few pickleball gatherings at the new court and that has been fun. Everyone who comes to visit us drives past and makes note about the nice looking pickleball court. I actually think it jazzes up the hilltop and makes us all look more athletic than we probably are. With our friends Melissa & Deb here this week, and knowing how keen Deb in particular is to pickleball, I decided to ask permission to use the neighbor’s court. They were happy to oblige, which was a good thing since I have allowed my local pickleball club membership to expire. It seems silly to pay $200/year for a membership that we never use any more when there is a local court that can be borrowed when wanted.

So yesterday afternoon, we hit the courts. Little did I know how literal that would be. Now I have played a lot or racket sports in my day. I grew up with tennis, at one point even managing a faculty tennis club at Cornell for two summers (affording me a good amount of court time). In college and then in my early career I played lots and lots of squash, a game I was better at than most could fathom, given the need to only take about three steps in any direction. Raquetball was never such a big deal for me, but I played some of that as well. The point is that when pickleball came around, it seemed pretty familiar right from the get-go even though the timing is a bit different due to the use of whiffleballs that move slower than tennis or squash balls. Pickleball looks like it might play like tennis, but it really is its own sport and has some of the minimal-movement advantages of squash, which is good for big people like me. Pickleball is also a far more social sport since so many older sorts are playing. I don’t think I ever heard anyone say that their goal in tennis was to not injure themselves, but I hear that every time I get on a pickleball court. There is particularly a lot of backpedaling in pickleball, which gives ample opportunity to trip and roll around on the court.

I make a point of being careful with my body. When I skied, I skied hard and fast, but also with a mindset about avoiding injury. When you are my size you realize that it only takes one good misstep to end your sporting career and that is to be avoided at all costs. In pickleball, I make a point of not lunging for any ball or running too hard in any direction. But my natural racket sport instincts are still there and I do try to win as many points as I can without over-extending myself. So, sure enough, on one volley when I had rushed the net and got lobbed overhead, I did what I tell others not to do, I backpedaled. It only took about three steps for me to loose my balance and go down hard on my ass. Even though I am well down in my weight, I still hit the ground like a ton of bricks when I go down in a fall. It happens in my garden and the trick is to avoid hitting a jagged rock on the way down. On a smooth pickleball court there is no danger of hitting much of anything, but there is still a hard-deck that jams up against one part of your body or another. I’m not sure what strategy is best in a pickleball fall other than the classic drop-and-roll approach, but court/skin abrasion is also worth considering when it comes to that roll portion of a fall. I didn’t really have time to strategize my fall (who ever does?) so I just landed hard on my left ass and caught myself ever so slightly with my left hand on the court. Palm abrasions are rarely a big deal, unlike elbows or knees. But I did land hard on that left ass and wrist and I knew right away that both were at least slightly injured.

I was able to roll over and get up…and even keep playing, though I did sit out the next game. I chose to play a few more games just to keep moving and not let everything harden in place. I think it was a wise move, as was getting in the hot tub for some therapy. Last night was an uneven Advil-assisted fitful sleep, avoiding my normal left hip sleeping, and today I do feel a bit pickled, but I think I will survive to pickleball another day…just not today.