A Time Of Reflection

[I haven’t posted since Christmas Eve. I’ve posted sparsely all winter. There’s a reason. I’ve got a thing I want to say. It’s too big. I probably lack the skill to say it. Forgive me as I use analogy for that which I grok but can’t articulate.]


In 2017 there was a total eclipse of the sun. A lot of people ignored it and the press tried to create from it cause for alarm, but an eclipse is nothing mysterious. It was an opportunity. A rare beautiful celestial event in a convenient(-ish) time and place. I packed up the family and went there.

One of the best decisions I ever made!

I’m a lucky guy. I’ve seen many wonderful things. I’ve deliberately witnessed nature’s glory as much as possible; mountain vistas, jagged canyons, sinuous dunes, surging ocean waves, flickering northern lights, the fluke of a humpback whale, the howl of a wolf. When God speaks, I try to listen.

None of this prepared me for the glory of a total eclipse of the sun. I peeked behind the veil and saw the universe. What good fortune to live in such an amazing world!

The totality lasted about two and a half minutes. I stood rooted in place, time stopped, the birds stopped singing, distant streetlights came on, insects stopped flying. The world hung in the balance.

The little crowd of people I was amid, hushed. When the totality began, there’d been cheering and the chatter of happy people. As it continued the bustle faded into complete awe. It was unlike anything we’d ever seen.

During this very special moment in time, a semi rolled by on the abandoned street. Its headlights were on. I think often of that trucker, alone in his cab. Driving past clusters of enraptured people watching the sky. Ignoring perhaps one of the rarest and most special moments into which his life might blunder.

Maybe his is the saddest fate I’ve ever pondered. It’s not that I don’t understand his point of view. Shortly after the eclipse, the roads predictably turned to gridlock. The zone of totality was roughly 70 miles wide. Rolling smooth and steady while every other human was staring at the sky, he probably ran a full 15 minutes unhindered. Assuming he was headed straight across the zone he might have shaved a half hour or maybe twice that off his total drive time.

So what? It’s a dismal calculation. A lifetime of driving, a career at the wheel; sparing not ever two and a half minutes to feed the spirit. No aspect of shipping can be so important. A man who won’t stop and marvel at the exact moment the veil of the sky is lifting her skit will never stop for anything. Short of passed out behind a dumpster how much more spiritually dead can you get?

Of course, his choices are nobody’s business, certainly not mine. I hope the trucker got his load delivered that much easier. I’m sure he was at peace with his decision. I know in my heart he lived a smaller, weaker, sadder, life than absolutely necessary. I also know in my heart it’s not my call.

Anyway that’s how two paths crossed in 2017. I wrote about it, telling everyone how mind shatteringly beautiful the moment had been. I wanted to share just a fraction of the thing and to encourage people to pay attention next time. Improbably, this rare event was going to have a “do-over”. It would repeat in April 2024… merely seven years later.

Of course, I was there in 2024. As before, a lot of people ignored it and the press tried to create from it some cause for alarm. As before, I witnessed a miracle. It was just as glorious and just as awe inspiring, but no subsequent eclipse will compare to my first. I wrote far less about the 2024 event. Why? Because it’s the last one for 20 years. Between now and August 12, 2045, either you were there or you weren’t.


Why am I talking about rare, beautiful, irregularly spaced, celestial events? Because miracles deserve to be recognized. Yet we’re rapidly forgetting one; even as it glows right in front of us. So very quickly we become that jaded trucker; dutifully looking at the road, immune to the wonder all around him.

We… all of us… on all sides of any political spectrum, just witnessed a rare thing. It feels embarrassing to call it a miracle, for politics is shit and we are far too cynical a people these days. Regardless, it was “a big deal”. Only a fool would discard the thing they witnessed themselves and replace it with the bullshit narrative fed to them as an alternative.

You saw it. We all did. The people insisted upon something, and succeeded. How awesome is that?

Absolutely everything was counter to the people’s preference and yet the people made their choice anyway. Nearly every bureaucracy, nearly every big corporation, nearly every facet of government, nearly every nook and cranny of “mainstream media”, every TV show, every Disney movie, every school, every university, everything everywhere demanded a certain outcome. But the people did not submit.

Free will is a very special thing. When you see it, treasure it. Be happy to have experienced it.

Forget, for the moment, various complaints, real or imagined, for or against, one particular real estate selling politically astute goofball. Just bask in the fact that the people made their will known and their will was not the choice ordered from halls of power. Society has had a rough patch lately. Even in it’s current battered, debased, dumbed down, manipulated, and degraded state, society still managed to acknowledge the people’s will.

You. Just. Saw. A. Miracle.

Admittedly, it’s not as sublime as an eclipse or a birth or a sunrise… but it bears a moment of gratitude. A silent moment to reflect on what you’ve witnessed.

It’s easy to be persuaded into submission. Evidence suggests boardrooms, think tanks, CEOs, and government flunkies control everything… but they don’t. They sure as hell didn’t control this election.

I’ve been hearing for four years “they won’t let him win”. I reject that! Despair is a sin. Despair is weakness and cowardice. Humans should not whine like a helpless herd animal. A complete human can stand up on his hind legs and pursue his own choices, even (especially) when the odds don’t look good.

“They” didn’t want a landslide, but they got one… shoved straight up “their” ass. They pulled out all the stops. Lawfare in half a dozen states. Assassin’s bullets. Lies and propaganda and weeks of counting mystery ballots in California. It’s coming out that internal polling showed Trump cruising to victory even as every media source everywhere did a song and dance about “the polls are close”. How much uncertainty and misery was sowed into millions of innocent people who didn’t deserve such treatment? And yet is was all for naught. Everything “they” did, wasn’t enough compared to what “we” did.

That’s the important part. You got to see hope realized. You got to see despair dispelled.

Even if you desperately hate the Orange Menace, you can ruefully say “the people are going to get what they wanted, good and hard”. Sometimes the people make mistakes. That’s OK, there is no free will without the risk of error.

Even if Trump fails at everything he tries (and surely a lot of people hope and pray for that very thing) he’s already done the most important thing. Trump demonstrated the will of the people mattered.

Here we are in January and it’s like society wants you to ignore that event. It was only a few months ago. You’re nudged to be that trucker. “Get this load of toasters to Wichita and nothing else matters. No peeking at the sky. Do not experience what is happening all around you. Never stop to wonder what it all means. Do not simply be happy. Do not simply be. ‘They’ control everything.”

Drones over New Jersey. A 1,500 page “continuing resolution”. Elon shot his mouth off about H1B. Everyone quickly formulated strong opinions about Greenland. One last gasp of lawfare out of New York City; “guilty of something ill defined with a penalty of nothing”. California is on fire…

All that will be “old news” in a month. Most of it doesn’t matter and never did. Most of it is a distraction.

Rather than distractions, please remember a moment you personally experienced. Savor it. Six days hence, barring another assassin, it’ll be too late to stop the truck and gaze in wonder at the pretty thing that’s happening. All will descend into mundane politics. Taxes and filibusters and parties acting like petulant children. Before that happens… make sure you got the true and full experience. Breathe it in. Keep it for the long dark times that inevitably fall into all lives.

The next eclipse might be a long time coming.

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Tractor Mouse

Pics or it didn’t happen right? I present to you “The Wages of Sin”… or at least nature’s punishment for not putting shit off the ground before it freezes down. That’s a Jet Sled… with some grass froze to it.

It’s tied to the tractor with rope… like I’m a damn caveman. And what’s this?

If you said “a live mouse sitting above the drawbar” you’d be right. Remember this is an idling tractor that has just spent an hour plowing snow… little dude must have ridden all that way!

Me: “Get off my tractor.”

Mouse: “No, you get off my tractor!”

Me: “That’s better, hop off before I smite your ass.”

Mouse: “Oh yeah fatboy? I’ll climb up your arm and chew your ear off. This is my tractor!”

I made a swipe at him but he was too fast. I have named him “Reginald the Tractor Mouse” and if I get my hands on him he’s going to get flung as far as I can throw a mouse. He ran back into the idling tractor. He’s probably chewing my tractor’s wiring.


The sled worked. It’s not stupid if it works.

Back at the garage I put the snowbucket on old 2″x4″ and the Jet Sled on the bucket. I also lifted the “hood” on the tractor because that’ll freeze down too if I’m not careful.

 

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The Joy Of Learning

This isn’t my first rodeo; but I fucked up.

Last year I experimented with cutting firewood normally but “seasoning” it in IBC totes. I bought three. I need 12 but I have 3… one has to start somewhere. I love them! Stacking (ok tossing) cut and split wood into a tote is easier than stacking elsewhere. Plus I created a makeshift roof on two of them. The roofs kept the wood reasonably dry.

To mover the totes, I bought the world’s cheapest and sketchiest pallet forks for my tractor. It works though it sags threateningly. It seems a little dangerous because the metal is just not strong enough. However, I think if it catastrophically fails it won’t damage the tractor and that’s all that matters. All that’ll happen (I hope) is a half ton of firewood hits the ground.

During the summer I used the forks to move the filled totes to the middle of an empty field and let the sun cook ’em. At the beginning of the winter I used the forks to pick up the whole, loaded, tote and bring them right to my house. It’s like magic. I can “pick up” a loaded tote without leaving the cab and the tote is a fairly large amount of wood. By my guess, 3 totes is about a cord, meaning one tote is about a “face cord”. That’s equivalent to a stack of stove bolts 4′ high and 8′ long. Yeah! I can “pick up and carry” an 8′ long “wall” of wood all in one fell swoop. The tree totes lasted ’till last week. I sure wish I had more!

Now I’m back to pulling wood off a “wall” and tossing it into a transport thing (like a “carry all” on the back of my tractor) and dragging that smaller amount which already took a lot of effort to the house, where I have to move the blocks of wood again. I can see the IBC totes saving my ass as I age.

The beginning of the month was rainy, wet, and slushy. But not too cold and not a lot of snow. I was happy because I don’t have much firewood and want to stretch it as far as I can. Also whenever it’d December and you don’t have to plow snow, you should rejoice! Eventually it dropped to -15. Yikes! But it still didn’t snow so I didn’t worry about plowing. Then last week snow hit and I needed to plow ASAP.

I was still setup with the tractor’s load bucket. Usually I’ve plowed at least once a month earlier. Luck me for having a little reprieve! I rolled the tractor out to where my snowbucket has been sitting since march. I dropped the small (and not all that good for snow) loader bucket and hooked up to the snowbucket. (The snowbucket can’t carry a fuckin’ thing, including firewood, but it’s hot shit for moving snow.)

The snowbucket was froze down.

Ouch! Not “froze a little bit” but “froze so hard the tractor’s rear tires pull a reverse wheelie if you try to lift the fuckin’ bucket”. I pondered a bit on how to “pull the sword out of the stone” but gave up and went to plan B. A crappy old rear blade. I ditched the pallet forks rear implement (I’d already used up all the wood in my small “fleet” of 3 totes), backed up to the rear blade, put on all the arms of the 3 point hitch (with much grunting and shoving), and then climbed back into the cab.

When one thing is froze to the ground all things are froze to the ground.

Dammit! I know it’s important to get shit off the ground in case of freeze. I’d simply forgotten. My mowers are sitting on railroad ties, which did me no good if I needed other implements. (I think I need more railroad ties.)

I laboriously unhitched the three point and went back to messing with the snowbucket. I put a heater on it and dumped some boiling water (well aware that boiling water turns anything it doesn’t solve into an even worse problem). I was at it an hour or so to no avail.

I decided I’d try one more time. If it didn’t work I’d go out the next day and start a fucking fire in the snowbucket… it’s all metal after all. That would nuke the paint but it’s a farm implement and life is hard.

The bucket, sensing I was about to get medieval on it’s ass, relented. It lifted free of the frozen grass and ice. Awesome!

Front loader attachments for my tractor have two safety levers. You push these down to engage two pins to make sure the bucket is locked on tight. It’s the same as Bobcat buckets.

Neither lever budged. Probably more ice.

I started plowing gingerly… with a snowbucket that was technically “sitting on” and not “hitched to” the loader arms. Life isn’t an OSHA manual.

By then the tractor was almost out of fuel. Dammit!

I plowed one wavering, half-assed path down my driveway out to the road (which was icy as shit!). This allowed Mrs. Curmudgeon to get home without busting trail over drifts.

Then gave up. I parked my tractor in the garage (with the snowbucket still attached). I was beat. I set the snowbucket down on 2×4 scraps so it wouldn’t freeze to my garage floor. That’s something I usually do, I’d just forgot.


The next day I fed the tractor 5 gallons of #1 diesel and plowed for real. I got one lever down so I was only 1/2 out of OSHA specs.

Now it was time to get firewood and I was all out of IBC totes (which was fine because I’d already ditched the pallet forks).

I have a “carry all”. It’s a little load bearing platform that fits on a 3 point hitch at the rear of the tractor. I use it for carrying firewood. I pulled up to my carry all and nudged it with the snow bucket. Nothing. It was froze as solid as everything else.

OK genius, now what?

I could swap back to the load bucket (which is fine for carrying small loads of wood) but I’d just about killed myself getting the snow bucket mounted. I didn’t have the heart to go backwards.

I backed up to my woodshed and tossed a Jet Sled on the ground. A “jet sled” is a load carrying plastic sled. Basically the same as a kid’s sled except ten times stronger and much heavier. They’re usually used by ice fishermen, sometimes towed by ATVs and snowmobiles. (My old ATV is currently dead).

As I was loading the sled, a “tractor mouse” crawled out and watched me from the PTO shaft housing. I don’t like mice in my tractor. Mice don’t value my opinion. They also don’t like it when I turn their home into a loud moving death machine. The mouse was looking at me like “what the fuck dude, you’re driving my house around!” I wound up shouting at him… yes shouting at a mouse. “Can’t you live in the firewood like all the fucking chipmunks?”

I made a grab for him but missed. He darted right back into the tractor, where he is no doubt chewing on the most expensive wires he can find.

Then I used a 35 HP 4×4 tractor with a snowbucket to pull a tiny little sled’s worth of wood. It was stupid, on the other hand, it worked.

If it works it’s not stupid.

At the house where I load my firewood, there was an old IBC tote. It was recently emptied and it probably only weighs 50 pounds empty. Easy to push out of the way. I nudged it with the tractor. Didn’t budge an inch. Because of course it was froze down too. GOod grief!

I couldn’t drive all the way so I had to manhandle the sled the last few yards.

It’s probably not going to thaw for weeks… or months. Me and that sled are going to be spending some time together. That’s just how it is, things happen not like you imagine but how nature intends. Important shit is froze down. Unimportant shit is froze down in places that are annoying. Mice are plotting against me. Etc…

Despite the drama involved, it’s good to have a warm fire. Merry Christmas.

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My Outlandish Christmas Toy

There’s nothing deep about today’s post. Don’t think I’m going to philosophize about “peace and love” or anything like that. Today is a depth free day!


A zillion years ago I almost bought a 3d printer. I did due diligence and researched it. I was broke and low on time and decided not to.

At the time, it seemed like 3d printers were in their infancy. Many were probably awesome but some sounded glitchy. (Remember, this is years ago.) I’d read posts of people struggling to turn out their first “Benchy”. (“Benchy” is a little toy boat that has features 3d people use to analyze their printer’s performance.) Various discussions delved into the deepest rabbit holes of FDM (fused deposition modeling) and there was CAD and G-code and all sorts of fascinating but daunting errata. The learning curve might well have been a cliff to climb.

I didn’t need another rabbit hole lined up with my HAM radios, and soldering irons, and welding kits, and garden, and tractor, and… well you get the point. I decided to wait.

But now is the time!

I just bought my very first 3d printer. It “feels” different than my research from many years ago. My new gadget is fun and “user friendly”. I don’t much know what I’m doing, yet the technology itself has matured sufficiently to drag my ignorant ass across the finish line.

Oh sure, the frontier is still there. Which is awesome! I look forward to learning cool things so I can make cooler stuff. I’ll surely play with the edges as I get more experience. There’s almost literally no limit; you can master 3d modeling, and “slicer” settings, and materials science, and all that… but one does not have to start out on “hard mode”.

I’ll start out making a pencil box and (if I stay motivated) progression to carbon fiber exhaust manifolds is up to me. None of that formerly brutal learning curve right at the beginning. (Also, a lot of people seem happy to make Christmas tree ornaments and tchotchkes; and that’s ok. If you want to top out making elf figurines and fidget spinners there’s nothing wrong with that.)

I’ve only had the thing a week and it’s just a blast. I’m happily flinging cheap reliable filament at easy, tested, models… and it works.

The results are spectacular. It really surprises me. Everything I’ve made so far has had at least the same fit and finish as an object you’d buy at WalMart and maybe better. The stuff I’m making isn’t heirloom quality but it’s not all striated and “gunky” either. So far, the things even a n00b like me can create look “commercially manufactured, consumer level, pretty good”.

I’m officially declaring “now” as the era when 3D printers have reached that sweet spot in technology; the moment when you can be an idiot and still use it happily.


I purchased a Bambulabs A1 Combo. The link goes to Amazon, if you buy anything from the link I get a few bucks and it costs you nothing. All printers are not the same. For a flat out beginner I recommend the path I’m taking.

Here’s a photo I grabbed from the Bambulabs website, so you know what I’m talking about.

Some notes:

Bambulabs feels a lot like Apple. The machine is easy to use but absolutely bad in terms of privacy, just like that infernal cell phone in your pocket. Other printers may be more private. Just like Apple, Babmulabs wants to merge everything and you gain all sorts of convenience that way. I can monitor my printer from my cell phone! I can even launch prints from cell phone. I can pick from a bazillion free and (so far) reliable prints on the “makerworld.com” site. I see a cool thing, click on it, and boom it’s printing. The “nerd index” is greatly reduced. On the other hand, I can also see what’s in the background of the printer’s camera. I also assume the People’s Republic of China and the FBI know what I’m printing. There are things you can do about privacy but it’s not the default. For the Bambulabs “environment” just assume James Comey and Xi Jinping are watching the printer like creepy privacy violating perverts.

It’s not the cheapest printer. You can get cheaper 3d printers which are (probably) just as good… but harder to use. There’s a value to “idiot proof” (or at least “idiot resistant”) and I was willing to pay it. The “ease of use” of this mad scientist’s tool has blown my mind.

It’s not the most powerful printer. If you’re running a business or have special skills you might want more. Temperature proof, nearly indestructible, super precise, exotic material prints might be hard on an “entry level” printer. Then again if you’re doing shit that specialized you don’t need to entertain some rando’s advice about your chosen skillset.

Multiple filaments turns the dial to 11! The “combo” has a hot shit, materials handling feature that completely changes the game. The “combo” is not just a 3d printer but an AMS. The AMS is a funky looking gadget that allows the printer to pick and chose from four different filaments. It does this, on the fly, and (within reason) automagically. I’m cranking out 4 color prints and all I’ve done is just click on builds and indicate which of 4 filaments to use. You don’t need multiple color / multiple material abilities, but it vastly expands your horizons.

Amazon has them on sale. But don’t be silly. Shop around. I bought mine directly from Bambulabs. One warning, it was shipped pretty slowly and that may be a Bambulabs thing more than an Amazon thing. I suspect buying from Bambulabs is slightly cheaper and buying from Amazon is slightly faster. YMMV. Also, buy a few spools of filament (usually well under $20) or you won’t have much fun with your new toy.

The Bambulabs Mini is cheaper and still good, but it can’t print big stuff. I didn’t buy the mini. I bought the full sized A1 printer. It can churn out anything that fits in about a 10″ cube. The Mini saves you about a c-note but can only make smaller things. Aside from the smaller build envelope, I’ve heard nothing wrong about the Mini. Both use the same AMS which is the real showstopper of the combo.

If you’ll only do mini-figurines, you might want resin. Most 3d printers pull plastic filament off spools and lay it down in layers. They can make mini-figurines that are “pretty good” (plus they can make “everything else”). Resin (a very different technology) is superior at mini-figurines. I’m talking “get out a magnifying glass and count the hairs on Gimli’s head” precision. If you’re extremely uptight and like mini-figurines you may want a resin printer. Resin printers use chemical goop and light; it’s a different animal. I think they limit you to one color but if you’re the kind of cat that wants to count the scales on Gimili’s armor you probably like painting mini-figures. (Note: the Bambulabs Mini is ideally sized for mini-figures but that assumes you can live with “very good but not blown away” quality.)


I’m not saying material goods are the point of Christmas. I’m just sayin’ there are times when a technology catches a wave. I feel like that happened for 3d printing with the A1 Combo. As always YMMV.

A.C.

P.S. Remember, Christmas isn’t about stuff. If an A1 Combo will break your bank don’t freak out. I waited over a decade and the technology only got better. Maybe cooling your jets will work for you as well as it did for me?

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Squirrel Update

I’m working my ass off but posting very little; please be patient. Among many irons in the fire, Attack of the Lesbian Activist Squirrels looms large. Progress has been made. I’ve never written a whole book and ending it has been hard. (I still have more shit to say!)

Regardless, I think folks will like it. I promise I’m not slacking off.


WTF am I talking about?

For those of you who aren’t long time readers of this blog, eight years ago I started writing a humorous serialized novel. It’s a satirical allegory about Lesbian Activist Squirrels. They’ve learned to harness the mind-control power of bullshit. They wreak havoc on their immediate surroundings and then double down by heading to Portland, the place where you go if you’ve screwed up in life, have no resources, and have no good plan. They were last seen en route to a heavily foreshadowed big boss battle.

I posted as I wrote; dozens of posts adding up to several hundred of pages. I wanted to make sure it’s a fun read and I humbly think I succeeded. But I’m a slow writer, so posts have been infrequent. (Forgive me for sounding like I take my self seriously as a writer of “literature”. I assure you, I don’t.)

Anyway, I started the story with a good heart and that’s still where I am. It was a small attempt to help us all lighten up. At the time of its inception, America was losing its shit over the looming, unavoidable, absolutely certain, completely without doubt, statistically guaranteed, coronation of Hillary Clinton. Remember her? Politics is always dirty but that the campaign “season” was the worst, ugliest, most overwrought, most propaganda laden, miserable festival of human indignity I’d yet experienced. (Little did I know what would follow!)

Too much bullshit was making everyone freak out. It’s ok to pay attention to politics but you shouldn’t let it drive you mad. I fretted that many people were taking politics too seriously, thus willing a horrific clusterfuck into being. (A situation that, in my opinion, came to pass.)

Our dog, a big white Great Pyrenes, challenged a black bear. The bear had been raiding my favorite bird feeder. I joked that the only possible reason a white dog would bark at a black bear was racism. Right now, I’m 650 pages and eight years into that joke!

The first bit went on-line during the time of Barak Obama. (Remember all the racial healing?) Every single event that happened, from the rising of the sun to one’s preference in breakfast cereal was attributed to racism. It was all so exhausting. I mocked it. Mockery turned out to be a good idea. I needed it. We all did.

Are you old enough to remember a time that was modestly more sane? I am. It wasn’t half bad! Folks were calm at least some of the time. There were gaps between election cycles. When the guy you liked lost, you could shrug your shoulders and think “better luck next time”. You could see a campaign speech and not wonder “will he be arrested or assassinated first”. I’m so old I remember when the FBI solved crimes (or at least appeared to) rather than perpetrating them. I’m so naïve I once believed we’d find out what the deal was with Epstein. Can you imagine?

Anyway, I wrote a few funny posts about the bear and it felt like saner times. Humor is a lifeline!

I kept writing and the story grew. Meanwhile, other sources of humor dried up. Hollywood crawled up its own ass. Saturday Night Live and the Tonight Show were early casualties. Seinfeld gave up going near college campuses. Chapelle was nearly crushed. J. K. Rowling only persists because she’s apparently unkillable.

Never stop laughing! Satire allows us to face truth.


Exactly four months ago, I wrote the ending to Attack of the Lesbian Activist Squirrels. To decompress, I hopped on my dirtbike and rode across Wyoming. I’d written a rough draft. I know enough to let a story “rest” for a while and then edit the hell out of it.

Recently I re-edited the ending. As expected, I changed all sorts of shit. The major events remain the same but presentation, order, and details are all new… and better. Editing is hard. It takes time, but it’s worth it.

I’m not done but I’m closer. Now comes the final push…


I’m going to go over the book a couple more times this month and then move forward with logistics.

I have no idea how to format a POD book (POD = print on demand, i.e. actually printed on dead tree). Nor do I know how to format an Amazon Kindle file. I guess I’ll learn.

My plan is to sell both printed on paper and Kindle, probably through Amazon (it’s the the monopoly du jour, why fight it?). I might sell printed on paper, directly though my blog too.

It’s going to take a while to figure out all that formatting and stuff. I’m sorry, but I won’t have it done by Christmas. I tried but I’m just one guy (and I’ve got a day job!).


Up until Christmas Eve 2022, I’d posted very word of the story (several hundred pages). I also left it “live” on my blog. I wanted to continue that approach but Amazon won’t allow it. Something about “exclusively on Amazon and not on some rando’s blog”. Don’t blame me, I don’t make the rules.

As a first pass with compliance I shut down the index. Meaning what you could read before you can still read but it’s “hard to find”. I’m gonna’ take those pieces down but not yet. Part of that is I’m not a WordPress programmer and never found one I could hire.

But don’t fret. I’ve got an idea.

I’m going to check the rules carefully. Once I get things ready I’ll announce it. It’ll be “available for pre-order” or something like that. Plus I think I can sell anything I want on “dead tree” paper. (Still checking on that.)

Then, if I can, I think I’ll post all the pieces I’d already posted. Don’t think I’m holding out on ya’ that’s something like 141 posts! Plus there’s about 120 pages that have never seen the light of day!

I think I can comply by putting up a post and then taking it down, in succession, for all those pieces. A 1,500 word chunk goes live, then the next day or whatever, it vanishes and the next 1,500 word chunk follows. I’ve never heard of anyone else putting up a full novel that way. It’s a big undertaking, by my reckoning, it would be a post a day, every day for about six months. (I really could use a WordPress nerd.)

I really want it available for free (in addition to for sale), but I think this is all I can do if Amazon cracks the whip.


If all this sounds like the ravings of an unpublished author who needs to be hit with a clue by four… well maybe it is. At least you know:

  1. I’m working on it and approaching done.
  2. Sooner or later you’ll be able to read it.

Also, I hope y’all have a Merry Christmas. (If you insist instead on a Happy Holidays, I won’t stop you.)

A.C.

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Are You Enjoying The Biden Regency?

I’ve been limiting my exposure to politics. As a “gift” to you I’ve also tried to keep it off my blog. But I do want to explore a few concepts.

It’s important to do it now. The election was a month ago (except in the States that are still counting… which is another topic). We may never have a better chance than the present time.

“This has happened before.”

There is a whole vocabulary for what’s happening with America’s unstable governance. The reasons we don’t use the proper terms are three fold; American schools (deliberately) suck, a lot of people are idiots, and if we used the proper words we’d face the true nature of things. Denial is not just a river in Egypt, it’s what the whole world (not just America) is doing about their shaky governing bodies.

With a sense of reason, and a decent long term view maybe we could reflect on how political… um… unease… has been managed in times past.

You may think I’m silly mentioning this but I’m serious. Our lack of speaking the truth is because people are avoiding the truth. It’s harming our need to face and deal with reality. Pretending the elections of 2016 and 2024 (and the “election” of 2020) are unspeakable things that have never happened before is unwise. I want to put things in context:

This has happened before.

Right now, in the last month of 2024 Joe Biden is officially unquestionably the President of the United States. There is evidence of his power, like January 6th political prisoners and the fact he just pardoned his son.

Yet he’s not really the President is he? Nobody anywhere thinks Joe Biden is calling the shots. Right now, and perhaps for years and definitely since the debate on June 27, 2024, it’s clear that the Government is functioning without a President or with a limited half-time President.

The press knows it, you know it, I know it, my dog knows it… yet we don’t say it aloud. Which is self-defeating.

There’s a word for what is going on right now.

Regency: The Joe Biden “Presidency” is currently a regency.

A regent is a person (or group) that act on the king’s behalf. This can be totally legit or it can be unspeakably corrupt.

For the most legit case, maybe the old king died and his successor, for example his eldest son, is too young. Suppose the Prince is nine. Everyone knows a nine year old can’t run shit. (Except of course weirdos who would take their word about gender transitioning… which is another topic.)

Everyone knows a child-Prince can’t run things. More importantly, people in the past weren’t stupid enough to pretend otherwise. A regent handles things. Ideally this is temporary; until such time as the little tyke grows up. Maybe the Regent is a well meaning committee of excellent people who do their best. Maybe they’re power hungry scumbags who get involved in a land war in Asia.

Maybe the emergent child becomes a powerful leader like William the Conqueror or an immoral madman like Gaius Caesar Augustus Germanicus (Caligula). Bad leadership is nothing new.

Very often the young Prince and/or his Regents wind up dead. Assassination is nothing new. Indeed assassination was tried against Trump at least twice in the last few months.

Power corrupts and thus many Regencies are complete disasters. Here’s a fictional example. King Richard the Lionheart wanted to do some crusading so he left his brother John in charge. The King can do that. But should he? John was a dickhead! John fucked up so bad the populace suffered. When things went too far, a deplorable hunter in fly-over country started using his unregistered assault bow to mess with the Sheriff of Nottingham.

When the King or his Regent sucks, Robin Hood is generated because he has to exist. “Fuck Joe Biden” stickers spontaneously appear on every work truck because we had a popular President?

The worst part about a Regency is that you don’t really know who’s in charge, or why.

Sometimes the King (in this fictional case a Sultan) is a really nice guy but also gullible enough to fall for anything. Here’s Jafar, the Sultan’s most trusted advisor:

Sometimes the King was formerly awesome but is now so harassed and manipulated that he’s weak and his kingdom suffers. Here’s Gríma Wormtongue, chief advisor to King Théoden of Rohan.

Sometimes the Regent is less obviously a usurper and more like a “fiction”. It’s common that the Regent isn’t officially a Regent but rather some part of the upper levels of governance. They seize power secretly and pretend the real King is still running things legitimately.

Why? Probably because they want to stay in power. Like all people lusting for power, they probably thought it best “for the people” that they run things… secretly if necessary. Every idiot out there thinks the best person to be in power is themselves.

In the end, turning down power is rare. It has got to be the hardest thing ever. Which is why it happens so rarely:

I’m not saying it’s impossible. One of the meanest, nastiest, most hard core Roman Emperors was Gaius Aurelius Valerius Diocletianus. After a lifetime of absolutely shitmixing anyone who opposed him, Diocletian did something Emperors almost never did; he retired. That’s right; the dude that ruled like an absolute motherfucker in his desire to keep the Roman Empire from collapsing… retired. No knife in the back for Diocletian. I’m pretty sure he was unkillable. He prepared for peaceful transition with a thing called “tetrarchy” and then got the fuck outta’ Rome.

Rome being a corrupt cesspool immediately few into civil war. People tried to get Diocletian to come back and restore order. Diocletian was capable of turning down unlimited power. In one of the most epic statements in human history he said “fuck off, I’m raising a garden”.

“If you could show the cabbage that I planted with my own hands to your emperor, he definitely wouldn’t dare suggest that I replace the peace and happiness of this place with the storms of a never-satisfied greed.”

Diocletian had the ring of power, used it to beat the crap out of anyone who crossed him, and then tossed it into Mount Doom.

Think American Presidents can live up to that? Not a chance! For example, America’s 28th president was Woodrow Wilson:

In October 1919 president Wilson had a stroke. Dude was incapacitated. For the next 18 months the president’s condition was hidden from the public. Until to the end of Wilson’s term, first lady Edith Wilson ran the show. She looks tough. I wouldn’t mess with her:

Edith Wilson, with no official power at all, basically ran the US Presidency. Because fuck the rules, that’s why.

You think that’s just old timey sepia toned history? It’s not. What would’ve happened if Bill Clinton had a stroke… you think Hillary wouldn’t go full apeshit at the whiff of power?

On paper, America has methods to deal with the peaceful transition of power. By design, when the President becomes incapacitated power shifts to the Vice President. Except, people in power seem to always be snakes. As far as I can tell, the only time America’s power goes to the Vice President (without a shitload of complaints) is if something huge and undeniable happens. Here’s a photo of the last time everyone agreed to switch from President to Vice President without bitching (and that shit is horrible!):

We end up with a Regency in a system that’s built for a Vice President to peacefully take over because the leadership isn’t moral enough, the press lies, and the populace indulges in denial.

Doubt me? This is President Joe Biden from only 26 months ago. Does he look like a pleasant, reasonable man. Would that red tinted, Marine flanked, disaster invite a logical discussion about his popularity? Just look at him:

Notwithstanding the barking dog in the photo above, Biden has been hidden from public view for years. As with Woodrow Wilson, who was more or less bedridden but the fact was hidden from the populace, so too was Biden’s physical condition. (I know; most of my readers were well aware the guy had gone full potato. But that’s us. It took a long time for everyone else to use up their ability to deny the obvious.)

When denial ends, it often ends abruptly. This is a photo of Joe Biden on from five months ago. Just look at him:

On June 25th the President was reported to be healthy, fit, awesome, wise, and in charge. In fact, he was a super awesome candidate to win re(?)election for another four years. On June 26th the people saw something the press couldn’t explain away. Yet even then, a simple orderly transfer of power from President to Vice President required things our ruling cabal couldn’t manage.

The ideal situation for when America’s President goes full potato on live TV is a good Vice President. Right now, we don’t have that. Here’s a photo from last week. Look at this thing:

She could have been the actual President. All the rules are written that way. The corruption of the people that elevated her to where she is now, is the corruption that stopped her from getting the big chair.


Thus we wait out the Biden legacy… a open-secret half-assed Regency despite perfectly good transition plans in the Constitution.

Every single living being, including dumb things like college students and houseplants, knows Biden is incapable of running things. We can only hope the Regents don’t fuck things up… or at least fuck up more than they already have…. whoever they are.

Luckily, 53 days from now we get new leadership. A cause of optimism is that the new dude, in all his Orangeness, was absolutely certainly chosen by “the people”. The twerps in DC hate him. They voted 94% with the party that was willing to do absolutely anything, moral or immoral, legal or not, to stop him. That’s how you know D.C. is corrupt.

D.C. has been running a Regency for years and it’s almost done. Clinging to power without earning consent of the governed lasts until it doesn’t. Every molecule of D.C.’s lost power came about by the people exercising theirs.

I for one prefer a real President to the asshattery we’ve been experiencing. Yet I’m enjoying the waning days of America’s unofficial, undefined, ill-fated, Regency. I like to see corrupt people’s plans fail. Not knowing who’s running things was brutal in 2022 but with only 53 days left it’s fun to watch the rats on the sinking ship.

I had a great Thanksgiving. I hope you did too.

Is it too soon to wish y’all a Merry Christmas? If so, forgive me.

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Pleasant Autumn: Grouse

I usually hunting all fall season. This year I haven’t been into it. Hard to say why. I guess the freezer is full and I’m feeling lazy.

It doesn’t mean I haven’t been out in the woods, only that I’m a lot less serious this time. The grouse seem to know I’m carrying a camera (a phone) instead of a shotgun. Clever little guys.

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Pleasant Autumn

Fall is my favorite season.

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WYBDR: Marathon Ending

I knew this moment would happen. I’d been dreading it, but I accepted it as necessary. The “moment” was when the adventure was over.

An “adventure” doesn’t end when you get home, or get to your truck, or you climb into that commercial airline ride home… the adventure ends when you are no longer an adventurer. That sounds weird doesn’t it? Forgive me. If you haven’t done such things, you can’t know.

For this particular endeavor I’d allocated the bare minimum time (and I’d used it well!). This very day, I’d started my day arguing with U-Haul and my mind couldn’t forget the clock was ticking on whatever mayhem the U-Haul complication would create. Since then I’d climbed to the most gorgeous spot on the ridge and it was truly glorious. I was pleased with my accomplishments. The view was awe inspiring.

But now, it was time to move on. I’d just poured all my “backup” gas into the bike’s tank. I’d eaten my special orange. I’d done all I came here to do.

The adventure ends when you can no longer avoid thinking more about how you’ll get back home than the wonders you’ll see in the ensuing miles.

I fired up my SpotX and sent a message to Mrs. Curmudgeon; “Please reserve a hotel room in Casper, WY for tonight. Preferably on the west side of town. Thanks honey.”

I didn’t wait for a response. The die was cast. (For that matter, even if she didn’t get the message and didn’t reserve a room the die was equally cast. I’d never had a clear plan for the night anyway.)

I made some mental calculations about getting to a hypothetical hotel in Casper. I did so after I’d sent the message. Why? Because sometimes you have to force yourself into a choice. If this particular adventure was going to end with a long unpleasant struggle to the finish line so be it. What I’d done is make sure I had a finish line.

I had no idea how far I was from Casper. I guessed no more than 90 miles and possibly much less. (That doesn’t seem like much but don’t confuse miles on a trail with miles on an Interstate.) I had perhaps 8-10 miles of the ridge’s very tough riding to get back down to a road; a dirt road. From there I could hop on various dirt roads (no services) to the curiously named Poison Spider Road. According to the map, Poison Spider went straight to Casper.

On the ridge I’d been traveling at maybe 10 MPH. On a clean, well maintained, dirt road I could buzz along at 45MPH. I’d seen enough of Wyoming to know I wouldn’t find anything that nice. Assuming Poison Spider had the usual levels of washboards and sand (and hopefully a minimum of the very annoying big cobbles of private energy company roads) I’d probably average 30+/- MPH.

I had a couple hours of sunlight left. I wouldn’t make it all the way before sunset but I’d make it in no more than 4 hours. I would be very tired in 4 hours but it was do-able. I had the grit to last that long (and plenty of water). All that was left was the task and the ensuing sore muscles.

I ignored some messages that had arrived incoming to the SpotX. They weren’t emergencies and had nothing to do with hotels. It sounded like Dr. Mingo wanted to chat about his “inspiration” having seen my miniscule progress on the map coordinates I was sending. I’d have time to chat later. For now, having seen no good place to camp on this whole section, I’d rashly declared an endurance slog clear to civilization.

Tonight I’d sleep in a real bed!

Don’t think I was bummed out and weepy. Nor did the skies turn dark. The terrain didn’t change at all. It was still an awesome afternoon!

But my mind had new goals. My new goal was stacking the odds in my favor with the upcoming U-Haul hassle of getting back to civilization. I’d be in town a full day early. I might find other options. I might benefit from rest. The price, to be paid immediately, was a long, steady, partially after dark, grind.

Grind or not… the view was glorious!

And I was still a very long way from anywhere.

I made it from the high ridge to a “normal” dirt road without much hassle.

After the ridge, a regular dirt road looked like a runway!

It wasn’t. There was loose gravel and I nearly wiped out!

I’d gone too far to break a leg now! I dialed back the speed.

I was idly wondering if I’d “stiffed myself” by bailing out before I’d fully sampled all the things I should? As if in response Wyoming chucked a handful of road hassles at me. (Thanks Wyoming!)

I topped a low ridge going as fast as a TW200 can manage on loose gravel and rode straight into a flock of sheep! They were everywhere. I slowed way down expecting some guardian dog to kick my ass should I tag a sheep. I rolled that way for a surprisingly long bit. The sheep were grazing, not bunched up, and they scarcely noticed me. No dog showed up either.

Later I came across a critter crossing the road. A porcupine. I thought porcupines ate tree bark. There wasn’t a tree for miles. What the hell was he doing way out there?

I didn’t take a photo. I was trying to make time. I never saw another car… or sheep… or porcupine.

Just before sunset I was flying along a section of slightly better packed dirt when I spied a stick lying in the road. I veered slightly to miss the stick. The stick reared its head, opened wide, and struck!

Rattlesnake!

Neat!

Don’t panic; snakes are a thing like any other and I was prepared for my environment. First of all I was dressed head to toe in motorcycle safety gear. A snake fang might get through it but I’ll bet not. Actually, I’d literally bet not. And it seemed I’d been right.

Also I’d flown past the poor beast hell bent for leather. Snakes are fast but they’re not laser guided. It would have had to be a snake on meth to strike fast enough. Even if it was wicked fast it probably wouldn’t be able to pick out my ankle (which was in a protective boot and wrapped in crash resistant heavy material) amid the overall mass of a motorcycle. It would be a miracle if the thing even managed a mouthful of tire.

I was delighted. Every good cowboy movie has a snake strike and now I had experienced one too! I’ve spent plenty of time in deserts but (theoretically through due diligence) I’ve never had much trouble with snakes. Finally! I had a “the snake missed me” story. And I’d earned the story.

I’m sure the snake had no idea what the hell was going on. I circled back just to check that it really had been a snake and not an illusion. Remember, I wasn’t in a vehicle. You can safely drive to within a couple feet from a snake if you’re in a Ford. Not so when you’re trying to fiddle with a cell phone (camera) on a motorcycle that requires the left hand for clutch and right hand for brake. If the critter took it into his mind to challenge the motorcycle/human being that had pissed it off… I might have a hell of a time getting out of his way. It would be silly indeed if I dropped the phone too. If he slithered up to claim it we’d both have an interesting night. See how things on motorcycle are more “close to nature” than a car?

I took a photo, from a very respectful distance. The snake was PISSED!

Also, he was uninjured. I hadn’t run over him. Whew.

I went another quarter mile down the road before I stepped off my bike and inspected my ankle carefully. It’s unlikely, but possible, he’d nicked me or left a fang in my gear which would prick me later.

Not a scratch.

Minutes later, the sun set.

It got cold. My SpotX pinged. I stopped to read it. Mrs. Curmudgeon had reserved a room! She explained there was some sort of soccer tournament and every room in the city was booked up. She’d had to make many calls. I got the last room for miles. Fortunately, it was pretty cheap.

I’m lucky I sent the SpotX message hours ago. If she hadn’t started calling when she did I’d be sleeping on a park bench!

As expected, the rest of the ride was a slog. I put on warmer gear but it was still pretty chilly.

My bike isn’t good for long mile runs. My ass was sore.

It seemed like there was scarcely a human alive in Casper. A convenience store was the first lit parking lot I found and the lot was empty. I stopped there to turn on my cell phone. I needed to navigate to the hotel. What luck, I had only a few miles left!

I hopped on the bike, revved the engine, and blasted off like a hoodlum. I tore across the sidewalk, zoomed down into and across a shallow ditch, crashed up the other side, and gained a little air as I hopped over the curb and onto pavement. I was at full RPM (for my slow bike) from the minute I took off and had shifted through all the gears while careening across the landscaping.

I blasted along until I got to a red light. I stopped. Then I realized what I’d done!

I’d just plain flat out forgotten about… civilization. I’d been riding terrain so long that I’d forgotten you can exit a convenience store parking lot using… lanes. Hell, I’d practically forgotten about pavement. The place was dark and deserted. No cars to remind me. I’d slipped into Mad Max driving mode!

I’m sure glad nobody was there to mock me… or worse yet a cop. It had been an innocent mistake but how do you explain to a cop that you’ve gone feral? “Sorry officer, I’m in a good mood because the snake missed and also I plum forgot rules exist.”

Carefully remembering to ride like a human being, I covered the last few miles. I parked and checked into the scuzziest, most run down, clapped out, beat up, shithole of a hotel you’ve ever seen. I walked in; covered in dust and smelling of sweat. My limbs were a little out of kilter because every joint ached. I lumbered up the steps looking like a serial killer. No, that’s not right. I looked like someone who might attack and eat a serial killer.

The dude at the counter was nice and either didn’t think I looked scary or has dealt with such clientele before. I looked around the lobby, with it’s tattered carpet and a bucket catching drips from the floor above. I half expected to see dead bodies and spent shells… yeah I was nothing special here.

I dragged my stuff to a cramped room that smelled of cigarettes, notified everyone via SpotX that I was safely in a hotel, and collapsed into sleep.

I’d had a hell of a day.

Posted in Summer_2024 | 12 Comments

WYBDR: You Can BECOME Forever From Here

After leaving the cooler better version of myself I’d like to become, I was ready for the upcoming challenge.

I made a few turns which (by luck or skill) allowed me to escape the vortex of the water cistern. I found a BLM sign in disrepair. It indicated I was somewhere near the right track… maybe. Later I saw another sign and was greatly relieved.

I began to climb on harder and harder roads. I could see the ridge long before I got there. I was definitely approaching a challenge.

Caption: Don’t get cocky, the party’s just getting started.

The trail changed dramatically. It was a two track. Nothing but ruts from the left and right tires of a truck. The trail had never ever been a road. It was probably a horse path until the Model T got cheap enough that ranchers started using them. Or maybe it was a two track from back when sheepherders or ranchers used horse drawn carriages?

I geared down and started working through rough stuff. As I rolled on I realized that the longbow hunter was the first human I’d met on my entire trip that didn’t comment on the risks of me going solo. Nor did I comment that he was also solo. It wasn’t mentioned because it was natural for both of us. Why wouldn’t we be out there on our own?

My attention distracted, I jammed a footpeg into the side of a deep rut I’d been following. Yikes! I’m still new at this and have a great fear of sandwiching my ankle between bike and terrain. Such a bad place to twist an ankle!

The ruts were deep; like narrow ditches. I don’t know how much clearance I’ve got but I’d run out of it. What’s worse is that the base was sand. The two ruts predictably had erosion, this particular ground condition meant that the lower rut acquired a floor of sand, some of which filtered in from the upper rut. Meanwhile the upper rut had all the small particles washed away and had a floor of cobblestones. Sand sucks, if your front tire “washes out” you lose steering and (unless you’re paying very close attention) fall over.

I kept hopping from the low rut to the high one. Sometimes threading the needle by riding the narrow strip between them. Even when I wrestled the bike into the upper (rocky) rut, the front tire would sooner or later follow gravity across a gap in the center ridge and I’d be back in the sandy rut. None of this tipped me over; for which I’m thankful. The bike handled the mess like a boss, it had zero fucks to give.

Any truck out there would need very high clearance and ideally tall narrow pizza cutter tires. A stock vehicle would would tear itself to bits in a few miles and inevitably wind up high centered. Of course, nobody would be there who doesn’t know such things. I saw no bits of damaged truck / jeep so I’m guessing common sense kept the fools away.

No matter where the trail went, one tire rut was taller than the other; often with a huge differential. A truck, even with a lift and tall tires, would be tilting at unnerving angles. My bike just wallowed along on one rut or the other.

I wondered about UTVs and ATVs. Up until now, I’d harbored thoughts that a bone stock UTV would do just fine on virtually any part of the BDR. A plush ride that could carry more gear than my little bike. But if the two axles of an ATV/UTV were wide enough to match truck axles, the thing might plunge in and high center? And if they weren’t? Who knows? How long can you straddle a mini-Grand canyon? Everywhere I go I see dozens of UTVs, but here, in the Wyoming rangeland, there wasn’t an ATV/UTV to be seen. It was clearly truck/jeep terrain.

Except for my little mule of a bike and the grunting bearded dude operating it. We belonged there!

The Yamaha TW200 might have seemed like a goofy choice for the overall trail. If fact it might be overly cautious and slow. But right then and there it shined!

The little spud of a bike lived up to its reputation as unstoppable. Unlike a “normal” dirtbike it doesn’t rely on speed. The modest engine and the hugely fat rear tire was perfect for where I found myself.

I geared down and rolled along more like a tractor than a motorcycle. It was a no-drama challenge. No great rooster tails of flinging dirt. No roaring high RPM maneuvers to hop the front tire out of a rut. Nothing but slow and steady. You’ll get there. Don’t fret or hurry. Ride like a rational adult and you can go to the moon.

I never had the slightest doubt. The bike wasn’t even breaking a sweat. A couple ruts got stupendously deep and my feet brushed the dirt sides but I was going slow and just lifted my feet off the pegs and out of danger. My soft saddlebags brushed against occasional sagebrush but only lightly and the thick material was never stressed. The bike chugged along, turtle like and completely unimpressed as Wyoming tried to kill it.

We climbed steeper and steeper up onto the ridge. Gradually, at some unknown elevation the sagebrush thinned out and I could traverse the land itself. I popped out of the ruts and motored along just a few feet from the disturbed rutted mess. I wasn’t the only one, you could see where other motorcycles had done the same (and occasionally entire trucks).

It was a lot easier! I kept riding in the style that matched the squat fat tired bike. I did that for miles, picking a path of least resistance in the exposed dirt between bunchgrasses and sagebrush. Winding between vegetation, I scarcely left a tire track. I couldn’t help grinning ear to ear.  Navigation became easy, there was nowhere else to be. Just the tire tracks and myself, passing without a trace a foot or two to either side.

This is what I wanted. The perfect experience! A hard trail, but not a “dirt park”. A lot of folks like to blast around gravel pits and sand dunes. They use words like “technical”. Not me, I wanted to be here… rolling across the planet itself.

Higher and higher I went and the ridge grew and grew. I was on the top of the ridge (of course!) and the view went from nice, to gorgeous, to indescribable.

I stopped and took snapshots from time to time but the immensity, the grandeur, it wasn’t something meant for a cell phone “selfie”. The phone, any phone, seemed an insult to the timeless view spread before me. I wished I’d brought my old 35 mm camera; an elegant weapon, for a more civilized age.

Often when I stopped I killed the engine. Conserving mission critical fuel but also basking in the endless silence. At one spot I heard very faintly, as if from another planet, the whinny of a horse. I didn’t have binoculars but I saw something far and away down on the plain below the ridge. A horse. Don’t horses stay in groups? Herd animals, like most humans? I waited. The tiny dot trotted about like a horse ought to. It dropped out of view near a little stream. It emerged with a partner. Ah ha! I knew they wouldn’t be just one. The two, completely unaware of me, cantered about. Then they charged into a cluster of juniper and pushed a third horse into my view. They seemed to be having a jolly good time. Why wouldn’t they? They’d found ample food and a thin trickle of a stream… and endless freedom. I envied them.

Wild horses are illogical. North America lost the horse the same time it lost the Mastodon and the Camel and the Giant Sloth. When Spanish invaders bridged the gulf and unleashed horses they introduced an invasive species no more “correct” for the environment than a carrot, or Dutch Elm Disease. Yet there they are. We humans get starry eyed over them in a way don’t for invasive earthworms or tumbleweed. I don’t know now long I watched the wild horses, I don’t carry a watch.

I rode along the ridge for hours. Every inch became grander. Eventually, I could see the curvature of the earth and great parallel waves of land; as if the high desert below was an ocean. I’m not sure what was going on. Geology had taken upon itself to demonstrate fluid dynamics to the miniscule human staring into infinity. I took more pictures, none of which were adequate. Much of North America was once an inland sea. Down there, actually standing on those parallel swells, the pattern would be invisible. How much of the world am I privileged to observe only because I scaled a tall ridge to witness it?

I stopped at a survey marker. Sometime, long before lasers and satellites, someone stood there with a transit; himself observing the planet. Mapping Wyoming from the advantageous locations that could see so much of it. I shut down my engine and dug out my orange. It was here, on hallowed ground, that I would celebrate my trip.

The orange sucked.

Oh well.

Since I was stopped I decided to move my excess gas from the RotoPax to the fuel tank. Unnervingly, the tank swallowed my whole gallon and had room for more. Yikes!

I still had plenty of water. Some in a couple battered plastic bottles from the gas station, and a gallon in the other RotoPax. I considered stopping right there. It was rocky and tilted, but ever so beautiful. While I pondered this another wild horse approached, this time from the high side of the ridge where I was parked. It had a foal with it. They assessed the new addition to the neighborhood critically but didn’t run away.

Reluctantly, I stowed all my stuff, even the orange peel, and put on my gear. I was very far from anywhere and I had a few hour’s sunlight left. It would be wise to use that time.

The wild horses watched my departure; as if to say “sucker”.

Right at the survey marker the land had peaked (as I expected). The rest of the day would be downhill (as I also expected). Icarus flew too high and annoyed the gods. Me and my humble motorcycle had climbed very high, but we did so filled with humility. It would take a long time to get back down but we rolled on confident and happy.

More to come…

Posted in Summer_2024 | 5 Comments