2021, Goodbye Forever

It’s time to pull the curtains on 2021. As Seneca is credited as saying, “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”

I spent the afternoon lounging outside Mike’s Bike Shop in Central West End with some pals who work the store. We shared a beer together; the weather was cool and yet bracing enough to wear just a tee. The atmosphere was jovial, a festive ambience in the air. Randoms sauntered by the shop, hopefully on walks without destinations, and wished us well.

For a change it seemed the world was content to pause. How nice to spend the last afternoon of the year outside, with random conversation about celebrity deaths (Betty White died shortly before her 100th birthday), crappy Hollywood sequels (common consensus is the new Matrix movie sucks), bike tire upgrades, and aging.

The store owner’s dog was adopted; I was told its previous owners brutally beat and starved it, nearly to death. It was nearly dead when found, reduced to being a skeleton wrapped in torn-up skin and containing a host of internal issues.

The dog cannot keep the owner out of his peripheral version. He constantly rested his head on the owner’s lap and gazed into the owner’s eyes, as if thinking, “my love for you will never end, and I’ll show you this devotion for every moment of my being.” The dog has a gentle demeanor. It’s as though because he realizes the full extent of pain’s possibilities and the horrors accompanying true suffering, he aims to make everything and everyone around him as comfortable as possible.

As the owner told me, “I had to build the dog from the bottom up, from a starved heap of bones to a living thing. Now he knows what the alternative feels like, and he loves what he has with every ounce of himself.”

And with that, my last relevant lesson of 2021: the darkest depths of fear and suffering give us the fullest appreciation for love and life. Further, we can’t fully appreciate health unless we’ve fully experienced a lack of it.

I couldn’t help but think of my foot when I think of the dog. “Building from the bottom up” describes what I’ve been doing with an injured foot for the final months of 2021. A new appreciation for walking is what I’m ending the year with.

Every walk is a gift. I was given a glimpse of the alternative to being bipedal. Therefore, I finished 2021 with a blessing: every painless step now feels like magic.

My friend told me, “God realized He couldn’t give you COVID this year, so he decided to hit you with a freakin’ car instead. Because that’s the equivalent challenge for the Manimal.”

And as I think about the reconstruction of my foot, I also think about the countless adventures from this year. Adventures are great, and if you are lucky enough to experience them with someone else, all the better.

A few highlights (many photos captures in Sights section):

• Lots of important weddings, one of them (my brother’s wedding) giving me a trip to Puerto Rico. And what a lovely week that was!

• A bikepacking trip through the Blue Ridge mountains!

• Key West, Florida, and the Hemingway house cats!

• Hiking Turkey Run in Indiana!

• Megadeth show!

• Hiking Elephant Rock and the forest and bluffs around it, and reaching the highest point of elevation in the state of Missouri!

• Trips to Missouri/Illinois wine country and the imbibing that ensued (Hermann, Augusta, St. Genevieve, Grafton, among others)

• Hiking through Shawnee National Forest (and drinking wine along the Shawnee Wine Trail on top of it).

• A trip down memory lane in North Carolina to see places, people, and things that were a relevant part of my life before my China days.

• Befriending Grant’s Farm goats and camels!

• Incredible Christmas light shows in Saint Louis

And now, on to the next adventure. Don’t spend too much time waxing nostalgic, my constant reader, or you’ll miss your next great opportunity. After all, the only constant is change…

Spirited Away

I took a long bike ride this morning along the Mississippi River greenway. The roads were damp and strewn with puddles and debris, the skies were overcast, and a light drizzle of precipitation seemed to hang in the air, invisible but felt. The temperature was about 38 F (4 C).

Three miles in and I was violently pedaling through mud and crunchy gravel, evading crisscrossing construction workers steering their trucks and lifts, and crossing over railroad tracks. Riding in harsh weather is exhilarating.

Then my front tire went flat. I changed the flat with my final spare tube and considered my options.

I could keep going without a spare. I didn’t bring my phone. If I had another flat tire, I’d have no one to call and potentially no one to ask for help. This could be trouble if it happened enough miles away from my apartment.

The alternative would be to turn back.

Naturally, I decided to keep going. Sometimes you just gotta tempt fate.

In the worst case scenario (and worst cases are typically unlikely) I’d be about 25 miles (40 km) away from downtown. However, that would be if my bike went flat near the furthest point of the journey. The human body can survive for days without food. I’ve therefore endured worse.

Even with a bad right foot, I could physically maneuver the walk home in a day or two. Further, there are typically at least two other cyclists on the trail. Odds are that if I needed help, I’d be able to find it.

My point is that the worst case scenario is often not as bad as we fear. And sometimes, you have to experience the worst case scenario to truly feel alive.

I kept riding northeast, mile after mile. And suddenly it was as though I was transported to another world. I thought of the train ride in the film Spirited Away. It’s a ride of gloom and ghosts that transports Chahiro to the witch she seeks. Chahiro’s journey was a one-way trip over an endless ocean, which seemed eerily similar to my own ride.

A dense fog overlapped the atmosphere as I crossed Chain of Rocks bridge, which took me over the Mississippi River and away from Saint Louis.

The fog was like thin strips of white cotton candy that sifted through the the bridge’s steel frame.

I glanced out at the river as I pedaled. I heard a steady roar of water hitting rocks and I viewed the resulting white color. There was quiet in the roar, which is a phenomenon only nature can produce. A lone boat was out there on the river, near Chouteau island.

There can be so much beauty in gloom, sometimes more beauty than warm sunshine could ever hope for.

Normally I’d turn back at this point. I decided to keep going into uncharted territory. I pedaled beyond the bridge, mile after mile. I did not bring a watch and had no concept of how far, or how long, I was going. One of the best things to escape is time itself. Chahiro’s train ride seemed to exist outside of time as well; ghosts enter and leave the train but only repeat the mundane actions of their past lives.

I road over gently loping hills as I left the state of Missouri and entered Illinois. The landscape was dotted with ponds, lakes, and farmland. Far to my left was an interstate and a steady stream of cars moving over it.

I heard a large hawk cry above me and the cry was eerily childlike. The bird glided in a sky veiled with fog and its soaring could easily be mistaken for floating.

I crossed another bridge that took me over a canal. I realized that I was completely alone in this strange ghostly world outside Saint Louis. I kept going, over yet another bridge, lost in the moment. It felt as though I was leaving the human world.

I don’t remember when I turned back, but eventually I did. My tire never went flat. I arrived with a layer of mud on me and several layers of mud on my bike. My ankle held up.

I had been gone for more than four hours. The worst case never happened.

There’s merit in preparing for a worst case scenario. It’s said that in the first race to the North Pole, the surviving expedition was the one that was the best equipped.

But in a world consisting of pills for every ailment, spares for every possession, and sterilization for every smudge of dirt.. sometimes it’s worthwhile to just let go and see what happens.

Fall Ride to Riverfront Trail with Mission Workshop Apparel/Bag

I took my gravel bike and some new Mission Workshop apparel on a fall ride along the Riverfront Trail (about 24 miles/38 km total). It was a cool 38 degrees F (3 degrees C) but I felt warm (without overheating). Mission Workshop products are on the pricey end, but made of high quality materials. They tend to last.

Mission Workshop

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.

Fall Cycling : Vest Test Run

On Sunday morning I cycled along a section of the Riverfront Trail, which runs alongside the Mississippi River. I started at the south entrance, which I entered by maneuvering through downtown and crossing Broadway Street (a slightly dangerous lane due to its traffic… currently searching for alternative routes).

I started the ride wearing some thermal base layers, a fleece, a cycling vest, and some liner gloves (approximately 48 degrees F/ 8.9 degrees C). Due to the high intensity and the lack of stops my body heated quickly. The fleece’s hood had to be pulled off and the vest unzipped. It was a fun and sweaty ride.

I took the ride to test a new cycling vest from Mission Workshop. Lightweight but insulated, it was excellent for maintaining warmth without overheating. It also looks nice.

It was also a relatively brief ride; I went about 12 miles (19 km) north before circling back around (24 miles total). My primary thought was that it’s amazing how beautiful something organic can be shortly before its death (note the assemblage of fall leaf colors that dot the landscape, cling to the trees, and dance in the wind.

Some photos from the apex of the ride, at North Riverfront Park:

A rare warm front hit Sunday afternoon. It was likely the last day “tee shirt day” of the year. I spent the afternoon outside at several Augusta wineries (Montelle and Blumenhoff). The mood was festive, yet serene:

I slept better (in spite of a day spent guzzling wine and coffee) than I had in weeks. To me it underscored the importance of sunlight, of movement, and of joy.

Regarding minimalism, it was also a reminder that “possessions” are not my enemy: mindless consumerism is. My bicycle allowed me to race for miles along the Mississippi River. My vest and fleece kept me warm for the journey. It’s therefore my “stuff” that allows me to enjoy my hobby outside in conditions that I’d otherwise freeze in.

Patches of the Riverfront Trail involved a gravel road (my road bike was barely equipped for it). This has me on the hunt for a solid gravel bike. Not because I “want to buy more stuff”, but because I want a solid bicycle that can handle gravel.

Cycling is a hobby, and hobbies often involve ownership of material things (but they don’t have to be expensive material things). I don’t believe in “purchasing nothing” so much as I believe in “purchasing wisely”.

The Weekly Plunder: Week 8 - Beginner Mode

A few days ago I found myself thinking about how we adults are often scared of new things. We cling to what we know out of fear of what we don’t. Experience and wisdom are supposed to flourish with age, so we cringe at the thought of being old newbies. We want to, metaphorically speaking, play all of our games at “advanced mode.” And so, as we get older our list of fears grows, while our willingness to try new things diminishes. We increasingly hate being beginners.

If there is a competition I want to engage in, it’s this: I want to be a beginner at more things than anyone else, and continue to be a beginner at more things as I age. If I suck at something, it at least means I’m willing to venture into the unknown. There is more adventure in being unfamiliar with the outcome. If I’m learning something new, it means I’m learning, and that’s certainly worth experiencing.

What are you willing to be a beginner at? My list of “beginner mode” things: skateboarding, chess, and camping.

What I’m reading: The Running Revolution by Nicholas Romanov. Though I am still unable to run, I’m very close, and I have my sights set on running at much longer distances than I ever had before.

What I’m watching: Dune (review posted). Finished season 3 of What We Do in the Shadows (really funny show, watch the movie too if you haven’t).

What I’m listening to: “Message in a Bottle” by The Police. My tribute to Sting since he played a pivotal role in the 1980’s Dune film (I am one of the few who enjoyed it). Also the new album “Dark Connection” by Beast in Black. It’s some solid 80s style metal. Pure, simple, and catchy high-octane fun.

What I’m doing: Took a long hike with my girlfriend at Turkey Run in Indiana. It involved climbing down a pretty steep waterfall and maneuvering my feet at angles I hadn’t in months (been recovering from an ankle injury). I was glad that the ankle held and I made it. It’s refreshing to breathe in some fresh fall air while walking through the assemblage of ochre, yellow, orange, and red leaves that both sheet the earth and decorate the trees (but not for long). The ankle is healing pretty well. I’m also cycling further each day.

Also shopping around for a skateboard. Because why not? I don’t want to be bogged down by routine. Regimented exercise is not my thing. I’d rather learn something fun. Yes, I intend to run, but not in the predictable linear paths of adults who tend to tether themselves to machines. And I have no qualms in breaking up an exercise with excitement. I’d rather be “skateboard zen” than “really good at running.”

All Life is Electric

We are all essentially masses of electromagnetic energy. It has been proven that all life is essentially electric, and death is a short circuit to our operating systems. This is often overlooked, but the idea was posed long ago (the great Nikola Tesla and the fraud on the other side of the Atlantic, Edison, among others).

Devices we hold in our pockets, on our wrists, and in our ears (Bluetooth) are radioactive. They essentially act to decelerate and weaken our electric currents. They debilitate us over time. They decay us and aid in our diseases. They erode our minds and hearts. Yet we carry them for the sake of convenience and social acceptance.

What am I getting at? If all life is electric, that electricity must go somewhere when we die. It is entirely plausible, therefore, that many ghost stories have some validity. A strong enough electromagnetic power must have a transference of some sort if the organism’s death is sudden and brutal.

Yet if ghosts exist, the invisible frequencies they ride would inevitably be muted by the very radioactive devices and 5G signals that permeate the air and kill everything else.

So, ghostly occurrences in the modern civilized world, I would think, would be more rare.

There you have it, some food for thought on Halloween.

Today I had coffee at Sump (one cup of an Ethiopian blend and another Peruvian). The Sump black coffee tends to be light and tinged with fruity flavor. No milk or cream crap needed. Black coffee is plenty fulfilling. I like it.

After coffee I rode my bike approximately twenty miles (32 km) on a route through Carondelet Park, across the River Des Peres greenway to Jefferson Barracks Park, and back downtown via Broadway street. My foot felt nearly painless. It was the first day since just before my 36th birthday that riding my bicycle felt like it did before the car crash. That, plus a few hours of sunshine, improved my mood considerably.

The fall sun is relatively pale and tolerable, and today’s chilly weather required a jacket. My chest was warm while the wind lashed an icy air at my hands and ears. I loved it. I felt like my old self. The journeyman is returning. He is not dead yet.

Adventure will resume soon…