Once More Unto the Breach

Spring has sprung! (Sane) biking season is (sort of) upon us once again! Betwixt the omnipresent clouds and drizzle of the Northwest, beautiful riding opportunities are beginning to bloom once more, but, much like the most precious and tender blossoms of this verdant season, will only be appreciated by those who actively seek them out. My little sister, Amy, is graduating from the University of Montana on May 15th, and I, quite naturally, will be there to cheer (read: taunt) her success, that much is certain. The paths between here (here being Portland, at this moment) and Missoula, however, are wildly unpredictable, stunningly gorgeous, infinitely alluring. In short, most everything one could possibly want in an adventure, and, given that nothing in my life is categorically prohibiting me from holidaying for a few weeks, the choice is clear: come tomorrow morning, I'm going to make like a tree and get outta here, pedal power-style.

I realize it's been several months since I've written here, but, as previously stated, I've only really ever intended this to be a blag about bicycling, reporting on the aspects of my life that pertain to the world of cyclery, and not much more than that; that said, there have been some very relevant happenings since last October.

When I last wrote, I was intensely pining for a home, for my home, and was ready to resume a more settled lifestyle. As it turned out, I had a beautiful home and situation waiting for me in Eugene upon my return, but I had a very hard time settling into it: I had established a fierce independence in being alone on the road for so long, and greatly struggled with the necessary compromises of a relationship; after the initial immediate pleasure of having consistent access to a kitchen, shower, and a roof over my head wore off, my life started feeling profoundly sedentary and muted (and, in retrospect, I really don't think it was); I've struggled through the letdown and depression that almost certainly and inevitably follow such an extraordinary experience. By the end of my trip, I craved reliability and ritual; how quickly that reality started feeling mundane and predictable. I've spent a substantial portion of the last six months traveling all around the Northwest, but it's never the same; an unfortunate consequence of car travel for me is how much the travel can only be about the destination, and never about the journey or process. I love spending time with my family and friends, to be sure, but in all the ways that bicycle travel is rewarding to me, my recent automobile-assisted sporadic and fleeting presence in any one given location has only led me to a more fractured existence. All of my most memorable experiences in the last six months have been found in stillness, in presence of moment, in awareness, but little of my time has actually been spent nurturing those moments. Even now, I have yet to allow myself to settle into the home that I so dearly wanted, and I still don't quite understand why.

But. There've been wonderful aspects of the winter, as well: lots of new music opportunities and involvement with bands (big shout out to my Crunchy Beets!), knee-quaking love, new friends, lots of time with family, and, perhaps most importantly, a concrete and ever-evolving plan for the future, which places more school (what else?) on my near horizon. It's an exciting time, rife with possibilities, as only possibilities can be.

As it stands now, I am positively champing at the bit for this trip to begin. I've spent the last two weeks solidly working at making this be able to happen, and now all that stands between me and the open road is a (hopefully) restful night's sleep.

The storm before the calm.

It's kind of funny how ill-prepared I feel for this trip, and yet how thoroughly unworried I am about any of it: I haven't so much as ridden a block on a bicycle in well over a month; I've put on more than a couple of winter pounds around the ol' midriff (I prefer to think of it as "increasing my dowry"); the daunting likelihood of rain and snow in the mountains; hell, even my socks are all full of holes. But as I packed my saddlebags tonight, an overwhelming sense of joy permeated my thoughts; I'm ready for this again. Now more than ever, the sense of peace, tranquility, and opportunity for introspection that I know awaits me out there will be thoroughly welcomed into my life, nay, embraced. So once more unto the breach, my friends, once more. In peace there's nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility.

[Editor's note: I've embedded the map of my previous trip in this post, for the sake of posterity and continuity; obviously, as a new trip unfolds, a new map is warranted.]



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