A Splendid Cycling Trip

The day was a mild sunny day when I left Berea, Kentucky -- finally leaving  on my first leg of my cycling tour -- destination -- the far West. My planed first stop, Kirksville, Kentucky for lunch. I pedaled the roads to Kirksville going  fast over rolling hills. I was enjoying the sights so much that I missed my turn to Kirksville and ended in the small town of Paint Lick about 15 minutes  out of the way. Turning around, I finally rolled into Kirksville. Stopping at their community park I paused for  my lunch break, I then rolled out of Kirksville toward my next destination, Harrodsburg, Kentucky.

The first fifteen minutes out of Kirksville was mostly flat roads. I was making great time. However, the road-scape changed as big rolling hills came in the way. Pedalling up a good portion of the big hills, I finally hit a “wall.” Unknowingly, there were yet many more big hills to pedal. Exhausted, I walked pushing my bike up the hills making time slow and the trip last longer than expected.

After my walking tour of four big hills, I saw that the landscape had become smooth and flat. I was now able to beginl pedaling briskly without much effort. When I reached Harrodsburg, I expected to sleep outside however, I was only a little more than halfway to Harrodsburg. My thoughts were that perhaps there would be  more hills between my current position and Harrodsburg.

Stopping at a small grocery store on Buckeye Road and focusing on my map, I made two new alternative plans where I could possibly  find a good night sleep. I packed-up my peanut butter and honey and tucked away my map, I was on my way. I figured I would stay outside of Harrington Lake located on the way to Harrodsburg.

The hills are rough, but the scenery and sounds along the way was beautiful. Many black birds, making ready for their migration, was noisily hidden in the trees. Along the way, thick trees blinded me from what lay deeper beyond the road side's edge. I quietly peddled, appreciative of what this time was giving me. The slow pace meant that I could  move a box turtle off the road in the direction it was traveling. Cars were sparse on the roadway.
It was getting late in the day. I was between  Bryantsville and Harrington Lake. The sun was low in the sky, I began looking for a place to sleep.

I went  knocking door to door asking if I could camp on their land, A kind couple answered my fourth “door knocking” and said I could camp behind his big lonely barn. The barn sat on what looked like 100 acres, surrounded by encroaching homes. While setting up my tent, laying out my sleeping bag, and having dinner, I enjoyed a gorgeous sunset -- a gradient of reds to yellows with a thin layer of clouds covering half the sky. Coyotes yelped part of the night, and I woke to an overcast morning. Refreshed and after breakfast, I was ready for another grand day.

Itemized List: Cycling Tour October 2011

Clothing 2 T-Shirts 2 Pairs of Jeans 4 Wool Socks 2 Pairs Shorts 2 Long Sleeve Shirts 1 Fleece Pullover 1 Carhartt Jacket 1 Set Waterproof rain paints and coat 1 Wool hat 1 pair Birkenstock 1 pair Tennis Shoes 1 set thermal Under Armor: pants and shirts	Repairs 2 inner tubes 1 Patch Kit 4 CO2 cartridges 1 CO2 Dispenser 1 Toot kit 1 Change Oil 1 Tire pump
Food 30 cups rice 15 cups Quinoa 10 cups Steel Cut Oats 80 Homemade Energy Bars Peanut Butter / Honey Squeeze Tubes Nutritional Yeast 1 gallon water	Equipment Sleeping Bag Four Season Tent Mountain Bike Bob's Trailer Phone Camera / Video (no service cell phone) 2 MSR Bottles Dragonfly Stove Maps Medical Kit

The Crossing

One character is acting out two different lifestyles. Each lifestyle was fabricated by the character's crossings of daily activities. These made-up lifestyles are ingrained as solid or shaky arguments against the other's lifestyle; however they show a commonality and purpose through compare and contrast performances. Eventually the character will choose, participating in a particular lifestyle, which will produce a common ground, happening as paths are crossed, merging to a solitary place.

TOPPER MANIFEST

The temperature in Michigan dropped below freezing. Snow was plowed into large piles, which would take many spring days to thaw. During the day I drove truck for Canada Dry Bottling Company, At night one could spot me crawling into my box with my Carhartt Arctic Thermals, Danner Super Rainforest all-leather boots, and a wool hat to steal a good night sleep. The dogs napped close to my side, curled, balled tightly, keeping their heat from escaping. I slept tucked away in a mummy sack. We all never raised any complaints about the cold.

Before building the box, I found a nice Oregon rental, which was a cycling distance to Corvallis city limits. A kitchen / living room, a bathroom, and a bedroom, the rental was located off a gravel road where night pitched blackness, where only stars could be seen. Quiet and peaceful, I decorated the place with nice furnishings. The rent was inexpensive and the management was fantastic. During cold months, gas heat kept the place nicely at seventy degrees. I would invite friends over for dinner and occasional talks, while the tranquil guitarist Stanley Jordon was heard over a set of speakers. I never before lived in such a place that I loved so much.

Awakened by the sound of a loud scraping noise and flashing caution lights, I could see through the box’s windows that it was early morning. The snowplows were out clearing the road for the start of the new business day. The Michigan night sky had brought down many inches of snow, which my dogs found very exciting as they rolled and skipped through the accumulation. The pickup was running and warming its engine when the dogs and I ventured into the early morning darkness for a refreshing chilly walk. We would return twenty minutes later finding the pickup’s interior cab very toasty warm and its windows defrosted.

In Corvallis, I built a 4x6x5 foot wooden box, which would fit on my 1985 Nissan pickup’s six-foot bed. With 2x2 inch studs and ¼ inch plywood, I had screwed together a box for living. Building from penciled drawings and wanting a change -- my wooden box was built within a weekend. With a few friends at each side we lifted the wooden box and placed it upon the bed of the truck. People I came in contact with after its completion would call the wooden box a topper.

From five ante meridiem until six post meridiem, I pushed and pulled a dolly through drifted snow mounds and drizzling, freezing snow. At the end of the work day, my toes possessed an achy tingle, which started my feet bouncing a rhythmic step aiding warmth to the sting. Night had come. I found my way to my pickup. Swinging open the topper’s back door, the dogs jumped out and raced around in an open field. Climbing inside the topper, I found the dog’s bowl of water had spilled -- soaking and freezing deep into the mummy sack and into the dog‘s bedding. The mummy sack was stiff as a board! Books and papers that were near the mummy sack were also solidly frozen. No problem, it was a Friday and no work tomorrow, I could dry the items tomorrow. We all spent the night sleeping in the cab of the pickup intermittently turning on the truck and warming up the cab.

I stood in the center of the living room slowly turning clockwise, taking note of what items are of use. I rented all this space and never utilized any of it. I spent much of my time in Corvallis: school, working, homework at the local coffeehouse. I stood questioning the space that I occupied. Did I need all this space to live! Why should my questioning of this space be a problem -- I was able to afford the rental space. The motto of owning or renting square space in which to “live” was probably a deeply ingrained idea that I gleaned from previous traditions of our culture. The truth being I seldom found myself interacting within the walls that I rented. It was definitely the space that initiated thinking about moving... The box idea was born. Everything that I owned is now organized on shelves in my topper.

Space was the catalyst. The essence of living this way is that you find out the essence of the motion of nature. The truth being that what we are told is not necessarily true. When I moved into my topper, I started living in different surroundings and started noticing how social images were telling us how to maintain oneself. Michigan was the test of living the way as I do, which I lived very comfortable and tranquil throughout the winter, contradicting the societal addiction (monkey on my back). This has lead to many other great insights. I do not participate with the expatiations of the societal image except when necessary for their enforced expectations.

COMPUTER DATE

Looking at the clock, I have an appointment. I can finish this, a few more lines, a few more minutes, a few minutes, and more minutes. Fingers clicking on the keyboard, displaying new lines – coded lines. Testing and retesting these fresh new lines. I must go, but why am I receiving this error. I must go to my appointment. Wait! No! It didn’t work.

My appointment, a romantic date, is with a woman whom I had much love for. An evening in a very elegant restaurant, with linens as white as snow and wine sparkling under watching stars. I softly embraced her hand, and saw lines-of-code in her eyes. Precious black characters lined-up tightly. They give way to spaces whenever valid statements or variable names reflected outward. Wait, penetrating deeper into her eyes, that’s it! I found a solution! She spotted my breaking intense smile. She smiles, matching mine. Soon afterward my enthusiasm dissipated into: “NO! That doesn’t work! Why didn’t that work? It seems basic, damn it.”

Finishing dinner, enjoying desert, we strolled out under street lights and running cars. A few blocks down from the restaurant, we meandered along a calm, spacious river. I hugged her so gently. Hold-on! If really that line of code iterated that many times, counting to ten, so why is it eleven? Yes sir, pulling her tighter. In my excitement I kissed her soft, tender neck. Yes sir alright, that is the solution. It is the answer that I had silently contemplated all night. Yes sir!
Swiftly, I guided her smoothly back toward the car, the night is late, and I have an appointment. Lips pressing tightly, my eyes roll up, star bound. I know it is the answer. Good night my love, I had a wonderful evening.
Now it is early morning the keyboard keys rapidly clicking, sleeping not a wink, absorbed, I felt completely happy. Oh yes, that was the answer.

The Apology

Earlier this morning, crisp air broke the first light as we hiked to the base of this mountain.

Reminiscing on our past Alpine climbing years, we had a blissful breakfast. We were each other’s life support when cams and bolts gave way to our dynamic retreat from the mountain. We had seen many Headwalls overlooking steep terrains below, experienced many Moraines, Rimes, saddles, and on occasions been treated for hypothermia. We were the best climbing partners.

Tom…Scrambling over the scree, the mountain’s pitch had become steep…very steep. Leading, I set the cams supporting your ascent. The ascent…when we ascended, I remembered our discussion. Yesterday’s discussion, I had felt we had resolved IT.

But…how could I? I feel betrayed, stabbed, hurt! Rhonda was everything, and Rhonda and I vowed to be together…forever. You said that IT had only recently started, but I think otherwise. I apologize, but I couldn’t give you any more support. Farewell my once closest friend. I hope you a better life in your next life. Farewell…

WHERE ARE THE ROOTS?

A woman carrying flowers wrapped in plastic wrap. Smiling, she proudly places the flowers in a vase, and sets the vase where everyone who visits her home can see them. The flower’s petals emanate a rainbow of color, so vibrant that her visiting friends pause with admiration. The woman’s ritual of buying, displaying, and discarding the flowers continued throughout the summer months, until one visiting guest paused to admire the freshly displayed flowers. The gentleman heard moans and groans of pain emanating from around the flowers. Trying to figure out where the noise is coming from, the gentleman asked the woman if she is hearing painful cries. As they both stood quietly, the woman intently listens. After a minute, silence is broken as the woman responded with a NO? The gentleman insists that something is in great pain and is in need of help, which then he suggests that the police should be called to investigate. The police are called.

The police separated both the woman and the gentleman questioning what actually either of them hears. The woman tells the police she hears nothing, while the gentleman tells of the painful moans and muffled crying. A search is conducted -- nothing is heard nor found. The gentleman disturbed by the weeps of pain could not stay and visit with the woman, so he said his goodbyes to the baffled woman and left with the police. As he left, he was still explaining the sound to the police.

The gentlemen disturbed by the cries decided to liven up his day on his way home. He purchased a nice bunch of selected flowers from the local store. The gentleman proudly placed the flowers in a vase, and set the vase where everyone who visited his home could see them.

A week later he was admitted into the Psychiatric Ward for evaluation where his room was decorated with fresh cut flowers.

The gentleman remains as they have concluded he is crazy.

Living flowers -- make individuals happy, but cut flowers can make you crazy. The woman cannot hear cries from the cut flowers, where the guest was conscious of the moans yet unaware as to where the cries came from. Only when an individual tunes into specie’s pain can vibrational whimpers be instinctively sensed or experienced. Neither of the characters were attuned to the species cut at the throat.

SPARROW HAWK

While eating midmorning lunch, I observed a blazing event.

Watching a small shrub's movement by singing and dancing sparrows, I was captivated by the sparrow’s joyful social gathering, yet I was unaware that a sparrow hawk was also intently watching too.

Soon I drifted inward, slowly sinking deeper in unexpected thought which the whole chirping commotion had come to be a blur. While I calmly examined their play, their high spirits bent a lofty scrutiny. All was disrupted by a feathered flash, an eye opening interruption that quickly shifted my examination away from my blissful haze.

Wow, diving claw first, the hawk’s wings spread the width of the bush. Sparrows were noticeably diving from the bush, flying away, hovering only a few inches from the ground.

Remarking only at its beautiful tan, white and brown markings, as the hawk, as fast it had come, had swiftly twisted through the tightly woven branches and flown away out of sight.

My only verbalized words were WHAT! I guess because the whole event was an obscure answer to the many questions that I was vaguely studying.

Later, after many minutes, I wondered if the hawk was successful in doing what it had flown in for. I had not notice any capturing; cause of the hawk’s wings obscured any noticeable taking.

Thank you