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November 1, 2014
Maybe November
When November finally came, the scrub oak leaves had all turned brown, so that no one really noticed or cared when they fell anymore. Only the Mountain Lilac still held onto her leaves, to the very bittter end. Through it all, somehow she stayed together. The house was nuked by a skunk this week. On his way to meet his maker, a skunk just completely nuked the front of the house.
No on wins when you catch a skunk in a live animal trap. There are no winners, only survivors. We survived. The skunk didn’t. But no one “won”. Only time will erase the wounds.
Today, Mitch and Robin asked me to join them at the lakehouse. I decided that I had to go for a ride. Had to get out. We planned on having lunch at Cactus Jacks, but got to their lakehouse to discover that someone had shot out their windows with a .22 Long Rifle. The sheriff’s deputy came, old and hobbled, but just suggested we clean up the mess and left. You can never get the pigs to do anything. That they prosecute anyone at all is a miracle. All they want to do is write speeding tickets, and if someone shoots into your house, who cares, honestly?
After lunch, I decided to go for a little ride. This is sort of what you have to do…force yourself to take these little rides to places you’ve already been. It’s all that there is, really.
The motorcycle is fun, though. It’s the only thing in my life that’s anyhting close to “rewarding”. Like, if I’m talking to someone, I don’t really get much out of it. I never feel like the juice is worth the squeeze. If I’m not going 100 mph, I just sort of lapse into a coma. Fall into a catatonic state and hibernate like a bear.
But today, I’m out on the bike. The bike is great because it pulls everything else away. Strips back everything superficial and unimportant. Like peeling a carrot over the sink. Everything is carved into neat little piles of things that matter and things that don’t.
The motorcycle IS happiness. It’s impossible to drive the motorccyle down the road and not be happy. You can’t frown and drive a motorcycle. It just doesn’t work like that. A bad day on the motorcycle is better than a good day on the couch. And if you crash and die, well, we all have to go sometime, don’t we?
Above St. Mary’s Glacier, I try taking some old 4x4 trails I used to ride many years ago, but they’re too rough for the KTM. More suited to a 4-wheeler/ATV I think. It’s hard to remember what I was riding up here…Probably an ATV, I think.
After a few false starts, I find an old abandoned school house I remember up above St Mary’s Glacier. It’s sort of funny because, part of me feels like I should remember these trails, even though I haven’t been on them in prolly 10 years or so. Like, I sort of half remember them.
But, if I think back to when I first discovered them, that was pure adrenaline. Like…back then, I was just exploring. Nothing was graded or evaluated. Only I went and explored, found new trails and rode them. Now, it’s like there’s this imagined penalty for not remembering them.
And maybe this is the best way to relate my trip to Alaska. It was all just a dream. A crazy exploration. Only a few places I’d been before….Yellowstone…Banff…Jasper..Hyder….but mostly, it was just pure full-on exploring. No judgement. No feelings that “I should remember this road”, or anything like this. Just pure adrenaline. Exploration. Like Magellan, Cook, and Ponce De Leon.
After picking around the trails above St Mary’s Glacier, I retreat down to Alice to try to play connect the dots with my memory and the trails above that town. I find the road to Loch Lomond, but it’s blocked off. A gate is closed.
Now, I’m looking for the road to the Loch Lomond Overlook. Sort of switch-backing above Alice, a town of meth-addicts in trailers.
Finally, I pass two chicks on an ATV. We’re in the middle of nowhere. Like a Disney movie.
“Sunshine…can you tell me where is the road to Loch Lomond Overlook?”
“Yeah.” she laughs. “We were just up there. It’s Hilltop Road. Just keep right. You can’t miss it. It’s pretty rough though.” she says, looking at my bike.
“Yeah…I’ve been over it before, but I think it was in an ATV. I prolly won’t try to do it on this bike….”
“OMG….Your OHV sticker is expired….” I exclaim. “Hold on while I call the law…”
They look at me horrified. “Don’t turn us in”, she pleads.
“I’m just messing with you. I don’t give a fuck if your OHV tag is expired. I don’t even have one.” I laugh.
They drive off, and I find the Hilltop Road that leads up to the Loch Lomond Overlook.
Later, I drive home, stopping at Cactus Jacks because I know I won’t do anything at all once I get home.
Posted by Rob Kiser on November 1, 2014 at 6:43 PM
Comments
Glad to see you're writing. I listened to an author being interview (HL Stein, author of the Goosebump books and other scary stories for all ages) and although he said he had no advice for writers, he said they should write, write, write.I've been looking forward to your next book. I talked yo a woman who came over from Viet Nam at 16 with 2 sisters on a boat to another Asian country. The ride took 8 days. On the 5th day pirates boarded and took all their money and all the food for 500 people.They eventually came to US and prospered as apparently only the immigrants know how to do.Reminded me of DoNut lady a bit.
Posted by: sl on November 2, 2014 at 2:56 PM