July 27

Man, what the hell. So I rode to Chelan and back when I returned to civilization a week or so ago. Yippee, lets just say that I'm not quite as disciplined in the front-country as I am in the back-country. As I write this, I'm up at Myrtle Lake on my last night of a 4 day trip. This one complete with copious amounts of tea. Makes the time pass easy, but turns the days to blurs, not sure I enjoy that. I'm in the old tarp, was just staring up at the checkered ceiling; reminds me of a bad shirt your dad would have worn, if it was 1985, and you lived in Texas, or NM, but mostly Texas. I just had to reposition my tarp, as my initial guess of the winds direction proved to be incorrect by about 90 degrees. All is well now, for the most part. Can't seem to shake thoughts of death, parents, loss, etc. What is up with this preemptive mourning? It will surely be difficult to live presently with the mind fixed on such things. Perhaps it's the Neem-oil chap-stick my mom sends me every couple of months, which accompanies me on my excursions into the wild, it could also be the aroma wafting up from my socks, which smell (not unpleasantly) just like my parent's pooch, Molly. Bless her heart.

Phew, I have returned. I had to pee like the devil, so raced up-hill, away from the lake to pee on a bush which will shortly be eaten by a deer, craving only the salt my body no longer wants. Funny, the wind has shifted, about to where I had originally sited my tarp. I hope it was a rogue guest; for better or worse, I'm not moving shop again...

The wind, as if in answer, continues to blow.

Earlier, I found myself wishing to feel what it was like, not to be young again, but just to feel what it felt like to be young, what my thoughts were, attitudes, etc. Why do I feel so old in this fresh body. What did I feel, what did I think on my way to Starbucks, or the Oregonian, or Papa Murphy's, or even Vail... Was it that different, or is the possibility that everything now is the same as it was then, to horrifying? Get what I mean?

I doubt I will feel much different, or better/younger if I get some swanky job, or maybe not, plus, who the fuck says I can get such a job, eh? Will I feel young if I get back with J? Will I feel old if I don't? Colorado vs Portland. Too many decisions. The wrong answer is too much to bare. But I forget, it always works out in the end. Figure out what you want and make it so.

I'd like to write about my tarp for a short while, so I will. My tarp is my home, it is just like your home, I have a kitchen, a bedroom, an entry way with storage space, a bathroom (albeit drafty) and a beautiful sitting room (outside of course, kind of like a wrap around porch). But truly, it is my home. I sleep more nights on my inflatable 3/4 Thermarest than I do in a bed. I filter water more regularly than I pour it from the tap, and I use snow, pine-cones, broad leaves, small leaves, tiny leaves, pine boughs, and other types of natural wiping material more often than two-ply toilet paper. And you know what? I'm not complaining, in fact, I love it. Talk about reducing energy consumption, my carbon footprint must be shrinking rapidly. That's the solution! To end global warming and the obesity crisis, we at the National Center for Truth and Morality demand that everyone pick up their rucksack and head for the hills, please carpool, or better yet, bicycle to the trail-head of your choosing. But then these sacred spots would become crowded. I suppose the goal in mind would sort of even things out, but Ho! By the time the earth's temperatures returned to their previous levels, the unused cities may have started to return to Nature's grip, and we can backpack all the damn way to St. Paul, or Seattle, or New York City, straight down Fifth damned Avenue, admiring the deer feeding on the grass which has began to spring through the decaying and disgusting remnants of the asphalt arteries once depended on by all. If we wish, of course. Myself, I just might stay out here, in the North Fork, forever...