I have been able to devise a satisfactory plan for the foreseeable future. I come up with these all the time. As with women, I have let a few gems slip from my grasp. The only logic from that emptiness is a new plan. I believe every Man must have one, and when it gets destroyed, he must devise another, and so on. On this, I have done it again. Yet moreso, convincing of foolproof, and fool hearty nature. How, in fact, I am living a type of BLE in disguise at this point, for the sake of ritual honesty. Or, that is, being human. Regardless I have reconciled a near mutiny of the mind. That is my characterization of insanity.
The deeper I dig into these crevasss of my wanderlusted assessment of the world, the more I have discovered is that it has all been of focus from the bike. I let that happen unlike my cohort in general who are more worldly than I. Never once trough the horror and elation of the preceding decades was there not a bike as the fundamental ritual. What a sacrifice that became! And apparently I am not able to get over it.
The next level from bike is some kind of ascetic wander to and from a cave and I know of a cave high above Bahía de los Angelés with a view to die for.
And so I sat with this. As if I had been denying its full potential during the most physically capable years only to regather as an old man who only has concoction if words to fight with. And I was destined to achieve the errata of being a cyclist during the very hard doping era of the sport. And then that was over.
I kept riding. I tried to not work in cycling through a few professional gigs, but I could never maintain clarity on the purpose of just-earning-money. I didn’t appreciate the demand. I would Regresso to bikes. Regress, because I am aware that bikes, even $10k+ bikes are easy to work on relative to the array of labor in the world. It is an unclassified vocation or trade. By it’s very nature of being the most comfortable and well-limited scope, bike work is, as the bike is, prodigiously simple.
It isn’t so much that I was away from the profession at any time in the past 10 years. But I have made a change in recent months. I left Alaska. In doing so I burned down an entire town for the sake of my sanity. I had reached all the termini I could determine. The world there was too harsh although the people we always kind. I handed over a personal resignation letter and I left. I would devastate certain elements of life’s blessing. I would invite guilt for doing so. I simply acknowledged this was an unfortunate requirement for not being able to endure better timing for everyone else involved. I am personally fine and do not deny all the ill will it contrived in people who were, hypocritically, very important to me. The gravity of the situation was palpable as if it was a significant life event, and it was.
Through a melee of unfortunate events I returned from Alaska, to the Southwest. I’m well enough traveled to say that it is best. Time is running out, however.
The rivers are turning into creeks everywhere in the southwest. The soul is drying out. Locals talk of the four recent dismal winter ski seasons. Four. We hope for a good one this coming winter. The river pumps 150cfs through July and August. The brook trout are getting hot. Algae becomes a prominent species. And as I witness change I involve my memory of childhood and normalcy then and I see the pace. An impending wakeup is the deadpooling of lake Powell which currently sits 35-40 above that mark. The Deadpool and the elimination of downstream flow will be both a tragedy and a blowout calamity of some measure. Already, the lower states in the Colorado River basin have had their water rights to Colorado river supply cut dramatically; for the exact purpose of delaying Powell’s Deadpool.
As I have returned to the Southwest after years in Alaska, I can differentiate the conditions from before and after Alaska. It is dire. It is slow moving until it is not. The capability to for cast is evident and available to anyone who would witness the various data points. Add the circumstance of humanity atop dwindling resources and we are going to see a show.
In my travels, I have oscillated between work and remote, solitary living by bike. I am currently on work assignment as opportunity flows. The routine of being a Bicycle Repairman has been my most fulfilling experience as if late. I have done well for myself to reconcile it, and fine nuance and interest in its routine. A fine labor if I do say so myself. What remains is the oscillation.
I will again venture. Given my forecast development I have abound ed route upon route. I have built experiments in sustainable bike riding. I have tested metle and I have begun to calculate the end of health, the end of savings, the calamity if the near future, and what I want to spend the rest of this limited time doing. I have repulsion to scurry like rats although Pearl Jam got to the lyrics and baseline first.
The end of my intense work assignment will be a year from now. By then the Hamlet will be played. I will have learned the lines and the fkt will still be missed. That is barely enough time. I’ll enter that next winter with change of horizon and amble. With my plan, with how I want to see this world, Silently, I will perform my best Irish Goodbye.
On two wheels, with One Dark Lord.
I will look to scale resupply plans and sustainable methods in the meantime. Routing with be southernly as ever. And I will work as a Bicycle Repairman occasionally or as needed. Maybe I will write.
This draws to a low changing fruit. Although the dog pile of status seeking in the uberniche of cycling is nauseating, we can dig for Marmalade and find that he/there-there is sojourned to bike and has been for over 4 years. Unfortunately I immediately think of all the couch surfing this requires as the 1×12 cargo machine looks putridly unenjoyable but maybe he can have a dog given the capacity. Something to look into I suppose.
Point being, sustainable Transience is viable and even self respect is viable as long as the Paul stem is transferred from bike to bike as they desintigrate over these last few years.
Remember the theme: it will move slowly and then fast. If you harness the intent of that, you will not be fine but you will still have a good time.
Many moons ago my knee-jerk comment “plans are for assholes” got stuck to me like tooth plaque after a weeklong camping trip. Because? Because I said it. Took a while for me to claim it and, eventually i think, tame it.
Although I still identify with Joe Strummer when he wrote ‘i know that my life make you nervous but i tell you i can’t live in service like the doctor whose born for a purpose’ by now my advanced age rudeness has become a thing that, when let out of its constraints, just grates. Seems no one wants to hear it. It’s what prompts those close to me to bid me temper my delivery method. Often rightfully so
What’s different is that lately I have started to own my word flex. When asked in an off-hand way on the ride last week by a new friend — who claimed to just be parrotting someone ELSE — ‘well what’s the difference between Facism and Communism anyway’ now I let loose. Having lived much of my life in 8 different countries — behind the Iron Curtain for much of it — and having grown up in a house that was led by officers of the US foreign service with commissions on the wall from presidents from Eisenhower, Kennedy, Nixon Bush Bush etc. — and including appointments from Queen Elizabeth II — and having visited prison camps in Spa? Albania in the mountains — having graduated high school across the river from a fairy tale in Germany (the Siebengebirge – visible from my bedroom window) — having successfully negotiated the BAHS senior prom at the Godesberg Castle (and shunted school $$ to our favorite Iranian refugee hashish dealer from said event) — I claim my years and speak the Truth as much as I know it. IT’s there — the Truth with a capital T.
Ignorance without curiosity is distasteful, and now I call it out when I see it.
The paradox of tolerance is for me being stamped out.
Back to the lecture at hand….
Not that I think anymore that plans are for assholes. For me – I still don’t have one. It’s more like — if I am actually able to wash the dishes just to wash the dishes then i am contented for the duration of the exercise. Nothing more. Nothing less. No nuggets of wisdom. Just Sitting is the most productive waste of time I have ever engaged in and I re-commit to consistency when I read Gnome’s words.
Thank you.