Conversion to Machine

I enter age 37 with a desire to take a trip and get lost on a random adventure. In a banal daily work routine, which can feel like a constant slideshow of indistinguishable and bland virtual meetings, interactions seem progressively colder and more detached. Work hours pass in purgatorial fashion. All smiling is off-camera. All laughter is on mute. There is an agenda and we must tackle it. We must perform. There is no time for small talk. No time for warmth.

The conversion to machine is gradual and is predicated on the need for comfort.

I try to counter these dark feelings, which I write about freely here, with cycling. Cycling is purely for me, the most selfish of hobbies. Adults generally don’t give a damn that I can ride a bike really far. There’s no one to impress. It’s not like my old days as a swimmer, when I won to gain the adulation of everyone around me. I just find cycling fun. Adults are often too consumed with their own consumption to be concerned with activities involving movement. Cycling is my antidote to the soul sucking virus that is careerism.

Is there still a ghost in the adults of today, or has the spirit left the shell?

Virtual work means that jokes are followed by silence and emails are followed by a false sense of urgency.

“This is the new trend!” I’m told, but I note that the general population has gained misery, weight, and anxiety since the pandemic. There is always a trade-off for convenience. Faust doesn’t grant wishes without taking something in return.

Years ago, I was lost somewhere in Russia. It was a random trip I took while living in China. It’s a coastal city with a relatively friendly atmosphere.

Getting lost is actually pretty fun; cycling reminds me of that when I take a wrong turn. Trips remind me of that when I meander aimlessly through the foreign city streets. Adults hate being lost, but kids generally love it. Adults prefer predictability and assurance. A destination is the ultimate form of salvation for the worker. They want a linear path without bumps. Point A to Point B, and not a minute to waste.

Yet the white rabbit is always a slave to the queen, as Alice in Wonderland showed. But the modern adults wants pavement, an air conditioned environment, and a to-do list that forever grows, forever demanding haste. I cannot relate: I find solace in the rocky terrain of a faraway trail, where haste is revealed to be arbitrary.

I remember hiking Eagle’s Nest Hill in Vladivostok and quickly getting lost, somewhere off the trail due to a lack of focus, and not really caring. Time ceases to matter when there is no agenda. Can adults abandon agendas for awhile? Who cares if the paved route is far away? I remember being somewhere high, on a bluff, overlooking the city. So I still arrived at some interesting destination. It’s the randomness and unpredictability that I prefer. I was on the opposite side of the world, which is both thrilling and terrifying.

The computer, and its primary appendage the phone, is placed at the altar of the modern posh careerist. It demands of its flock a new form of faith and a false set of promises. Mortality can be avoided, it says, with the swipe of a credit card, the pop of a pill bottle, or the adherence to a politician. Swiping requires money, which requires work, which requires sitting and staring and hurrying.

May we all be lost somewhere, in a strange city we’ve never been to, and wander aimlessly, without an agenda, in search of new adventures. Maybe somewhere, in the midst of that wandering, we’ll reencounter our long lost inner child.

Montana Hiking: Day 1

I flew into Bozeman, Montana on Friday afternoon. Sheets of falling rain and sleet greeted me.

Bozeman is a small but rapidly growing city in the Rocky Mountains. As I drove upwards in elevation, the snow stuck more to the roads and terrain. Snow-capped mountains loomed in each direction.

I traveled with my two brothers and we rented a house near the Bridger Mountain Range. The purpose of our trip was simply to escape the city and enjoy some challenging mountain hikes. It’s common, I guess, for a city dweller to yearn for vacations that are “near nature.”

To be “near nature” is a sort of odd yearning because everything is nature. A city is nature. Wildlife creeps into the cities just as wildlife finds its way into everything. There are rats in the sewers, squirrels in the yards, trees in the parks, and insects in the alleyways. Maybe it is more appropriate to just say one wants to be “away from man-made cities.” I don’t particularly like cities, aside from their conveniences.

Saturday morning the snow continued to pile on and we attempted a hike along Drinking Horse Mountain Trail. The hike up this mountain was already vertiginous and was all the more brutal due to the icy conditions. There was a breathtaking beauty though, even amongst the frozen tundra.

I was constantly slipping, as even my hiking-specific boots were not equipped for the weather. However, the view from the top of the mountain was breathtaking.

After this hike, some delicious breakfast burritos, and a little recovery, we embarked for the “M Trail,” a slightly more difficult hike along a neighboring mountain. The snowfall stopped by our arrival at the trail, but the mountains remains snow-capped. Some mountain areas had upwards of twelve inches of snow on the ground to trudge through. I believe the snow and ice doubled our time to completion.

On the way down the M Trail we took a wrong turn. In fact, we took several wrong turns and ended up crossing into an intersecting trail. It’s difficult to say where exactly our hike went wrong because the snow hid a lot of trail demarcations.

We accidentally took a much more difficult climb down this mountain (and it was a climb by that point, not a hike). I often skidded and slid, and mostly just hoped I wouldn’t re-injure my right foot. Luckily, I made it.

The extremely high altitude taxed my lungs and the added challenge of walking over snow and ice exhausted my body. I knew quickly that I’d wake up with sore glutes.

So, after these two hikes and some excellent barbecue, I relaxed with my brothers at our house’s outdoor hot tub, which also provided an incredible view of the mountains. I could see several prairie dogs poke out of holes in the ground all through the valley.

The next day would involve a drive to Yellowstone National Park.

The Cost of Energy

I pedal up a steep incline five miles north of the Gateway Arch. A wild flock of turkey loiters ahead in a grassy patch. A harsh wind rocks me from the side and I feel my bike teeter in response. Winter seems to have extended its shadow far beyond its form.

The relevant debate these days is over the most efficient form of energy. Energy affects a lot of costs, but most conversation focuses on the cost of a motor vehicle. Gas prices are soaring, after all. People need energy for transportation, and the need for energy renders them powerless to the price at the gas pump. And in the debate, said energy must be nuclear or green.

My legs renew themselves constantly on this 30-mile Saturday ride. I summit another hill and I catch my breath as I pedal lightly. I sprint for a brief stretch, just for the heck of it, maybe seeking my long-lost inner child, and I coast afterwards. I fatigue and then recover. Rinse and repeat. Endorphins flood me at the finish. I feel a rush of excitement as I arrive at the Chain of Rocks bridge. Adventure is always optional.

My body’s energy moves me forward. Thanks to being a homosapien I can scale long distances (we have some of the most efficient cardiovascular systems on the planet).

That is not to say that cars don’t have a place in the world. Not everyone can ride a bicycle; it is fortunate to have the opportunity and shouldn’t be taken for granted. Yet car ownership is brutally abused by culture, which has led to some unnecessary obsession over gas prices.

Still, I don’t ride a bike to “save money on gas.” It’s just what I prefer; it’s more fun.

I finish my bike ride and in my fatigue there is a sense of strengthening, of knowing that muscles first need to tear in order to strengthen.

Weekly Plunder: Week 21 - Romanticizing Nature

That which you romanticize will eat you alive. In the case of nature it often happens quite literally. I am thinking specifically of the documentary Grizzly Man, in which a man sets out to live with Alaskan grizzly bears only to eventually be devoured by one. In the epic battle of nature and civilization there isn’t necessarily a salvation in one or the other; there are merely consequences that one must be aware of when choosing to settle in either.

This thought brings back a memory from 2020. My first sight of the Atlantic Ocean in the Bahamas (Exhuma) enraptured me. The water was a sapphire and translucent blue that one cannot fathom from the polluted shorelines of a heavily populated nation.

I hurried to the nearest docks, threw my shirt off, and jumped into the ocean. A powerful ocean current pushed me sideways, as if attempting to sweep me along the coast. I swam against it, enjoying the challenge. This must be heaven, I thought.

Then I felt a stabbing pain in my stomach. At first I thought that I had been stabbed by a sharp end of barnacle clinging to the dock. I looked into the water, though, which was nearly transparent, and saw what must have been the king of the island’s jellyfish, floating inches from my body.

The skin around my stomach quickly reddened and my bowels weakened. I climbed out of the ocean, knowing that this injury would linger for a few weeks. It did. It scabbed, it caused giant red welts to form over my entire midsection, and it felt like a second degree burn that lasted for days. It was a freakin’ doozy I tell ya.

It’s estimated that up to 100 people die per year of jellyfish stings. I wasn’t close to death, or at least I assume that I wasn’t, but I can attest that the sting hurt a hell of a lot more than a wasp sting. It hurt a hell of a lot more than any sting I’ve experienced, for that matter.

I quickly returned to the ocean—fun always has risk, after all—but that is a story for another blog.

Nature is lovely, but the lumberjacks and hunters of the world have a far more intimate relationship with it than the urban poets who venture to the woods for a respite.

What I’m watching: All of us are Dead, a new Korean zombie series on Netflix. This is supposed to be bonkers. Anything labeled as “bonkers” has my attention.

What I’m reading: Four Thousand Weeks. It’s a book about time. Four thousand weeks is how long it’s estimated that you will live, and even that is not a guarantee. The human lifespan is short: spend your time wisely.

What I’m listening to: “Call Me Little Sunshine” by Ghost. I’m seeing Ghost live next month and I believe they’ve mastered the art of the double entendre. Songs can be both tongue-in-cheek and cerebral, which is a difficult duality to pull off.

What I’m doing: Each week I’m running a little longer. This week I mixed a few random sprints into my routine. The “bad” foot typically feels raw and sore after a run, but the feeling dissipates over the course of two days. My physical therapist told me this feeling happens because the foot’s muscles are still stiff and severely inflamed. The muscle tears are repaired, but the foot still has some work to do before it gets “back to 100%”. However, it’s getting there, bit by bit.

Thoughts by a Windowsill

The winter elements bring to my mind the word “desiccated.” With Mother Nature having stripped all green from the maples, oaks, and brush, I mostly see skeletal branches above and beside me. These spindly things are like brown and dried-up arteries running over the pale winter sky.

I look at my windowsill and the plants that rest on it. Exposed to the elements they would die quickly. In the artifice of my apartment, under my control, they are in a constant state of growth and comfort. We like to believe we control the fates of ourselves and the things around us. To helplessly watch the things we see in our day-to-days wither away, more victims of time, reminds us of our own mortality.

We don’t have as strong a concept of mortality as we used to. That’s what I suspect. A disease of yesteryear would wipe out a third of us, and it would scare many of us, but the modern compulsion to control and reign in was not so much a part of the process. Now we’re more prone to believe that immortality is just a matter of politics or “supporting the better science” or “having the best retirement plan.” I suspect that death for the delusional is an especially terrifying matter.

I’m listening to a song I first heard in 2017 and finding myself in a poignant and melancholy mood. I love the song, but I’m not sure if I love the song because of the melody or because of the place and time it takes me to. I wonder if this fusion of memory and melody is what aging does to music. With each passing year we feel a more turbulent maelstrom of emotions from our old songs, not because of the brilliance of the composition, but because of the memories that the songs stir.

I observe that as people get older they tend to stick to the songs from their youth. Maybe this is where their most vivid memories reside. Maybe this is where most change and most significant events occurred.

May the song I seek always be the one I hear tomorrow.

The Best Cycling Times

My opinion: the two best times to ride a bicycle are dusk and dawn. Besides witnessing the sun as it renders the world in a more ethereal multicolored palette, being outside at dusk and dawn somehow syncs the mind with the natural sleep pattern that is meant for our biology.

Riding at dusk in Missouri also allows me to view one of my favorite “angry” birds, the American robin, during its feasting time. These aggressive little things flutter down from their nests to pluck worms from the soil. In grassy fields to my left and right, I can visibly see the plump worms being hoisted from the earth!

And at dusk, as shadows stretch and dominate the landscape, the tiny bird silhouettes are magnificent in sheer number, if not size.

These birds are fearless and territorial! They have a severe Napoleon complex, believing themselves bigger and stronger than their human opponents.

One time I was walking in Tower Grove park when an American robin flew down and landed on the path directly in front of me with a worm in its beak. It stared me down!

It was as if the little dude was saying, “You’re in my world now, ya wuss. And these worms are mine. Just try and pry them from my cold dead beak. See what happens.”

Orange is a powerful color, and these orange breasted birds are clearly distinguished by the color.

Maybe I like them because I connect a little with their mentality. Pride is underrated.

Sometimes I similarly wear an orange cycling jacket when I ride a bike in winter; there’s no proof that orange makes these birds “feel tougher”, but damn does it feel fly to rock some orange. Try me, the color beckons.

One thing I learned from the competition days is that belief is a necessary precedent to accomplishment. A little American robin mentality never hurt anyone.

The Weekly Plunder: Week 10 - Tiny Moments

Late on Friday I ventured to a small bicycle shop in Central West End in search of a solid gravel bike (I’m glad to say I found what I was looking for). The shop was small and the staff’s vibe was laid back and personable. In other words, it was my kind of shop.

As the sun set and the outside winds howled, I found myself talking for awhile with one of the employees, a 48-year-old former bike messenger, about life in general, about our injuries, our triumphs, and our failures. We shared a beer as the store neared closing. It was a moment I greatly appreciated.

“One thing I love about cycling is that you see the world differently,” he said at one point. I was about 3/4 through my Urban Chestnut brew.

“Yeah, you see the worst of humanity.”

”People, yes. You see the ugliness in people. But also, beauty. Not always beauty in people, but beauty in nature. You see nature.”

I thought about bikepacking on Skyline Drive, thousands of feet up in the Blue Ridge Mountains. I remembered the sun cresting along the horizon to my left and a view of the country, vast and green and endless, thousands of feet below. Deer grazing in a patch of grass to my right. An owl swooping overhead as the trees cast their long shadows over me and my friend pedaled ahead. Time slowing down, every mile feeling like a year. In that moment of utter exhaustion, I was truly free.

In that moment I understood time and my relationship to it.

And I thought of the cars that whirred by, and of the drivers that only saw a tiny fraction of this at most, trapped within a steel cage and likely distracted. They were there, but they were not truly there.

”Yeah,” I said. “You see the beauty of it all. And once you realize you can see beauty anywhere, just by hopping on a bike, it’s tough to get in a car.”

“And then you really get it, that it’s not about getting a really expensive bike. It’s about being part of everything.”

What I’m reading: The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. I’m reading this because I know of one concept in the book: the idea of focusing on one’s immediate circle of control. The basic argument is that one should focus almost fully on the things that one can immediately influence: loved ones, peers, and one’s immediate environment. The further removed from this immediate circle something is, the less likely it is to be worth thinking about (the news and federal politics). The more you think about things outside of your immediate circle, the more stressed you become.

What I’m watching: Squid Game. Might be the most powerful show I’ve ever watched. The final two episodes are haunting. I’m still thinking about the old man’s quote near the end: “What do people who don’t have enough money and people who have too much money have in common? Misery.” Followed by another, on his deathbed, when asked why he played such a despicable game with the show’s protagonist. “I think about when I was a kid, playing outside with friends, and how we lost track of time. I wanted to get that feeling back.” Wow, what a show.

What I’m listening to: “Shadowminds” by The Halo Effect. It’s what I expect from catchy melodic death metal.

What I’m doing: I’m breathing. I’m pausing and appreciating that I’m here, that I’m writing passages that you may or may not relate to (though if you’ve made it to this sentence, maybe something has struck a chord).

My foot is healing. I’m planning the next adventure… off-road cycling awaits. Let’s see where tomorrow takes me.

The Weekly Plunder: Week 3 - Walk

I think one often needs an ink-jet black night sky to gain a sense of truth in a world obsessed with manipulation and distraction. It is that dark and infinite expanse’s clusters of stars, nebulae, and galaxies that help us realize the insignificance of our problems. Our gadgets and occupations deceive us into thinking that we are the centrifugal force of existence, when we are just dust in the wind.

In our purest form, perhaps we are one with the earth. The New Mexico Pueblo natives build their Adobe homes from clay, from layers residing beneath the visible crust. Clay for a roof and clay for a floor. As above, so below. And they believe that’s where we came from, and what we’re made of: the same place we return when we die. Similarly, the early Northern explorers noted when crossing Alaska that the Yup’ik natives seemingly emerged from the terrain, a part of it. Surprised that any life could exist in such a frigid landscape, nonetheless human life, they were in awe.

What I’m doing: For the first time in over a month I am walking without much pain. It is the first time since those toddler years that I have essentially re-learned walking from scratch, bit by bit, as muscles and ligaments repair themselves. Every day I am able to use more portions of the foot with my steps, and every day I adapt to a more efficient form of movement. I am walking again. Running is around the corner.

What I’m watching: Creepshow, Seasons 1-2. A throwback to the classic comic series. The first episode is based on one of my favorite, and most disturbing, Stephen King stories. By the way, happy belated bday Stephen!

What I’m listening to: Megadeth. I’m seeing them live tomorrow. First show I’ve been to in years. Glad Dave Mustaine is still around. Here’s an old one I dig: Addicted to Chaos

What I’m reading: Patagonia magazine, stories of nature and survival. Incredible where some people have been, what they’ve seen, and what they’ve survived. Show me a fisherman and I see a conqueror. Show me a businessman or a corporate VP and I see a fraud! Sad what convenience and consumerism have turned us into. I feel that my swim with sharks in 2020 was only my beginning.

What I’m thinking: Do not fear age, anonymous reader, any more than the fall and winter seasons. There is beauty in decay; blueberry bushes drop their fruit in fall for us to eat their fruit, while their leaves turn from green to a beautifully stark crimson. There is beauty in age, and there is beauty in decay. Conversely, there is often ugliness in the fight against time: if you don’t believe me, look at the odd surgically pulled faces of the robots formerly known as (insert Hollywood celeb).