Peaceful Motorcycle Ride: Part 1: The First Step Is The Hardest

Daily life is a gravity well. Uncommonly, a rare and glorious unchained mind may pass well beyond its reach; merely deflected a bit or perhaps untouched as it follows an unfathomable course charted from and into the void. For the rest of us, life’s immediate and domestic burdens pull strong. The mundane may keep you safely yet loosely in its orbit or it may pull you down to crush you in its depths. Either way, it’s not easily ignored.

To join with nature, you must muster the necessary escape velocity to rise above. Once you have broken free, spend your time wisely, for you will return from whence you came. You might glide down peacefully or crash like a meteor, but nobody leaves daily life forever.

I made a complete hash of attaining escape velocity. I hate it when that happens.

I thought I’d reach a certain point of maturity, of age and wisdom; some level of being where I’d have my shit together enough to wander off without last minute hassles. I’m beginning to think there is no such thing.

I wanted to light out the very minute work closed on Friday. Mindful of this, I attended to a myriad of errands earlier in the week. I even decided to hedge my bets, I made reservations. (Gasp!) Online, I reserved several nights at a nondescript Park that would serve as my base of operations. “There are fire restrictions.” I was warned. I read the fine print. There would be no fires anywhere; not even in the steel ringed campsite spots. I added propane to my shopping list.

Then it rained for three days straight; which screwed up all my homestead plans. Meanwhile all hell broke loose at work like it always does. Departure on Friday went from difficult, to unlikely, to impossible. By lunch on Friday I’d accepted I wouldn’t leave that night.

There was no way to electronically cancel that night’s reservation so I called the “help line”. I stewed over a mandatory cancellation fee… the bastards!

I was on-hold a while. I expected this to be followed by a runaround involving rote recitation of pre-written scripts. Perhaps a non-conversation with some innocent wage slave working the night shift in Bangalore. Or worse, a baffling circular “discussion” with a woke Lakisha in Baltimore; someone who’s never been out of sight of a 20 story building and wonders why I can’t take light rail to the campsite.

There’s no getting around it, the distance in culture and lifestyle between a camping redneck and a “reservation database system” can be awesome. Yet, this time I had good fortune. I was spared and the worst didn’t happen! A friendly voice answered. An actual English speaking genuine American; he sounded like a guy who might actually own a tent!

I was pleased to speak with someone who understood my plight. He knew what needed doing and could do it. The changes were made quickly.

As with all things bureaucratic, vocabulary defined reality instead of the other way around. “Canceling” Friday entailed a fee. “Modifying the reservation” to remove Friday had a lesser fee. Same event, different words. As bureaucracy (often but not always governmental bureaucracy) takes more and more air from the room, we find ourselves enmeshed in systems which suit computers but don’t represent the human element. We are men, not widgets.

“What caused the problem?” The fellow asked. I think there was some sort of ‘excuse’ situation. One reason for canceling might be OK and get the fee rescinded. Yet another reason might not. I’ve experienced this before; getting a refund with the reason ‘my car broke down’ but not for the reason ‘I had to repair my sailboat rudder before I could use it’. I hate the whole concept. Why something happens in my life is nobody’s business but mine. If I have to cancel because I was doing blow with Hunter Biden or because I needed heart surgery, the event remains the same.

So many governmental impositions on my privacy. They never end. I sighed. I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders. It must have been audible and depressing.

“That bad eh?”

What can one say? “Shit happens.”

There was a pause. “No fee.”

“Excuse me?”

“I deleted the fee. We’ve all been there.”

Simple kindness… I was shocked. From some unknown cog in a bureaucracy doing campground reservations probably nationwide, there was a spark of connection. I felt the warmth of humanity.

“Thank you.” I stammered. It meant to me much more than a mere seven or ten dollars.

“Have a great weekend.” I could hear the smile. Then he was gone.

There’s always hope.