Flashback to many years ago. The Curmudgeon is sitting at the back of a canoe fishing. At the front, his friend, lets call him Fred, is also fishing. They are 30 miles from the trailhead, two miles from a likely but unexplored campsite, and packed heavy with a week’s worth of gear. The sun is low in the horizon.
Fred: “Hey, it’s getting late. Lets setup camp.”
Curmudgeon: “Relax. Plenty of time.”
Ten minutes later.
Fred: “It’s going to be dark soon. Lets setup camp.”
Curmudgeon: “Not yet. I just got a bite. I’m gonna’ nail a pike the size of an alligator. I just know it.”
Half an hour later.
Fred: “It’s hard to paddle in the twilight. I wish we’d setup camp.”
Curmudgeon: “We got this!”
An hour later.
Curmudgeon: “This is bullshit! I steered the canoe into a rock I couldn’t see in the dark. I twisted my ankle setting up the tent in the dark. I almost fell in the lake filtering water in the dark. And now I’m thrashing around looking for firewood in the dark like a friggin’ Neanderthal!”
Fred: “If only someone had warned you to setup camp WHILE IT WAS STILL DAYLIGHT things might be better. Among the two of us, who did exactly that?”
Curmudgeon: “I deserve that.”
Fred: “Yes, you do!”
Back in the modern world I rolled (reluctantly) out of Mud Ditch and pointed my bike toward the last dot on my map that I wanted to explore; “Antler”. Mud Ditch had exceeded my expectations so completely that I could only imagine Antler had free beer, tent campsites with wifi, and strippers at a bonfire… why the hell not? Mud Ditch had taught me that a dot on a map in this forest could mean nothing or anything.
All day long I’d been pinging my SpotX. This sent, via satellite or magic, small text messages to a select few people who are supposed to alert someone (or do whatever needs doing) if I disappear. The group is more than one person (in case someone is ignoring the messages… as Mrs. Curmudgeon often does) and each message comes with a link to my location. The text is usually irrelevant; “Saw a bear at Raspberry Hollow. All is well. Time = ABC. Location = XYZ.”
One of my cadre of “please read the texts in case one says I just tore my femur through the bike’s rear sprocket” people is… Fred. I sent another ping; “Just left Mud Ditch, en route to Antler. All is well. Time = ABC. Location = XYZ.”
I looked at the sun, it was low in the sky. I was 50+ miles from my tent. I was going the wrong direction; away from it. I’d have to hustle to explore Antler and return (via also unexplored roads) to my tent. I might do the last few miles in the dark. I’ve been meaning to upgrade the lights on Honey Badger.
I pictured Fred clicking the Location = XYZ link and screaming at his screen “Setup camp you nitwit!” Ha ha ha… that’s so funny!
I laughed into my helmet and…
Wait a minute!
WTF am I doing?
I turned around and started heading back to camp. Antler would remain unexplored this day.
I got to camp with 20 minutes of light left. Total miles ridden? 87. My ass was sore! 87 is almost nothing if on a highway and almost inconceivably far compared to my old canoe trip days.
Back at camp I whipped up a Mountain House and congratulated myself on being slightly less stupid than I once was.
“Being slightly less stupid than I once was.” Good idea, think I’ll steal that one. At this point in my life, that might be helpful. Thanks for the tip.
Thanks for the motorcycle stores. I’d rather read them than the Vox rants.
I’m glad you like it. I’ve been experimenting several years trying to be more “lighthearted”. I figure the world has enough doom and gloom. It’s better to light a candle than curse the darkness. (Sometimes I fall off the bandwagon and post a rant, but nobody’s perfect.)
“Slightly less stupid” is what a lot of us strive for… congradulations!
You just hate having to pause or reschedule what you originally set out to do, don’t you. I’m the same way. Hopefully like you, I’ve become a little less stupid. Now that I’m much older, everything seems to take three times as long as I remembered to complete. And then that Murphy character tends to show up.