A few days ago I wrote about the fun I had riding my dirt bike. Being me, it turned into a multi-part post. It’s not Shakespeare and if you don’t do nature or motorcycles it might not be your scene. That’s ok. I’m just linking here to provide some context:
- Dirt Bike Americana: Part 1
- Dirt Bike Americana: Part 2
- Dirt Bike Americana: Part 3
- Dirt Bike Americana: Epilogue
- Dirt Bike Americana: Pics Or It Didn’t Happen
Stories of my silly adventures get enough notice that I figure I’m not completely pissing into the wind when I write. But it’s the post about my disappointment over hearing NPR fret about absolutely miniscule risks that hit the target. NPR’s weaksauce (and really the whole of society’s dimming spark) fills me with a mix of pity and revulsion. The saddest risk in life may be forgoing life to avoid risk itself:
“America is best when we ignore cessile, inert, semi-sentient, weaklings. Without the spark of life that makes the world so wonderful, they crawl up their own ass and weep while clutching cell phones. They may not know it, but they’re dead already.”
Such were the musings of a backwoods fellow who’d been out playing in the sun. In this, I struck a chord.
357 Magnum noticed my little irrelevant blog and posted Adaptive Curmudgeon is Cooler than You:
“He sails a boat the he built himself. He rides a dirt bike. This is about the dirt bike. …[snip]… You really should read it, if only to live vicariously, but AC always does make me laugh.”
Bayou Renaissance Man likewise posted with Well said, sir!:
“Isn’t it nice to find an island of sanity in the COVID-19 hysteria bombarding us from all sides? Fortunately, there are many of them out there, if one looks.”
Thinking about risk and how society is losing it’s will to live means something to me. My next post will be weird. I had and idea and will announce it then.