Forward Momentum...

A World War One Memorial I stumbled upon in Kansas City, Kansas.

7/3/15
It’s lonely on the road.  Anyone that spends a bunch of time traveling around by themselves in a van and says any different is not to be trusted - one could say that anyone that travels around by themselves in a van is not to be trusted, but I digress.  There are, of course, sporadic people (and critters) along the way.  There was the friendly, semi-automatic riffle toting, drunk that welcomed me 15 miles down Forestry Road 82 E in Roosevelt National Forest during a hale storm two nights ago.  Then there was the old Dead Heads I met in a parking lot in Kansas City that loved the George W. presidency, but called themselves hippies three nights ago.  Last night I was fortunate enough to be pulled into a gnome induced, RV patio-world of the National Park Campsite hosts that felt bad for me.  They figured that if they stuffed me full of red hot dogs I wouldn't look so lonely.  And how could I not mention the bear that I met this morning at 3:30 AM as he tore the side window out of my van?  

There have been a few friends that I have reconnected with this past week.  I was lucky enough to see my old friend Bryon in Burlington the first night of my trip.  He and I schlepped tourists around in kayaks for a summer many years ago and generally see eye to eye on politics and beyond.  Back when he was in Portland he parked his van in our driveway on and off throughout the summer and is an old hat at being a proficient dirt bag.  He ogled my van, he too has van envy, while I used his tools and harvested all kinds of good ideas about how to both mount my bike inside the van and how to properly use a hacksaw.  

When I reached Boulder I was fortunate enough to connect with a member of the Benson Street Crew - the street I grew up on in Lewiston, Maine.  Tom was my next door neighbor that taught me how to play chess.  He is a little less then ten years older then me, so my guess is that his mom probably forced him to spend some time with me back then, or he was just desperate to play.  I also remember that Tom was kind enough to never have beaten me up like most of the other older kids in the neighborhood did, so I am eternally grateful. 

To top it all off Tom grew up seeing a shit load of Grateful Dead shows, lives in an awesome town, has a really cool partner (Anne), and continues to be a pretty prolific climber.   So Tom turned out ok in my book.  I am very proud of him.  I am also pretty sure that all of these positive life choices that he has made were influenced by me all those years ago.  I was very influential when I was seven.

Once the guy with the gun left I was left with a pretty sweet spot...

I wish that the only benefit that I get from my trips was more time to ride, hike, and climb.  I really do wish my time away was that one dimensional.  But it is not.  As I hike, ride, blog, and try to get myself into shape to perform some more exciting endeavors I am also, and more importantly, immersed in time and isolation.  Time and isolation that I rarely get when I am home.  And it is this time and isolation that forces me to look at where I have been, where I am at in the moment, and where I am going.  It is not really that comfortable to be honest.  

Chasm Lake Under Long's Peak

At home there is only forward movement.  Noticing how I move through life, and how I effect those around me, does not seem to exist to the same extent.  Being on the road slows everything down as if to go backwards.  A chance to view the things that I broke, and shine a light on the people and the moments in my life that are really important.  I know that I cannot fix or change the past, but I can attempt to make sense of my role in it.  And that, right now, is enough...