Happily Drunk In A Fabric Cage: Part 3: A New Voice

I’m not saying I woke with a hangover; but I was a bit fuzzy. No worries. It was a good morning to sit on my ass brewing coffee and being lavishly unproductive. The weather report wasn’t great, so my plans involved doing nothing but sitting in my screen tent. I would read a book and enjoy some good old fashioned day drinking. The book was mediocre but I was particularly looking forward to the day drinking!

It was clear and cool. The bugs had mostly left. The air was dead still. No need to fret over my neglected sailboat on a day that could hardly ruffle the wings of a butterfly. The bike was close at hand but there was no need to deploy it if I didn’t feel like it.

If it had been a bit warmer it would have been uncomfortable, the humidity was just shy of fog. Since it was cool, it wasn’t so bad.

As I brewed coffee my bike spoke to me. “Let’s ride!”

“The weather sucks, maybe tomorrow.” I explained..

Then a new voice chimed in. “Ride. Ride forever!”

Uh oh!

I recently purchased a set of motorcycle touring pants and jacket. They were scandalously expensive but I consider them a pre-paid emergency room (if I’m lucky they’re a shot at avoiding such a thing altogether). The unexpected part is I like the outfit more than I’d expected.

In my head, the jacket was talking!

The outfit wears like a glove, which makes sense because I ordered it based on a series of measurements. If you think Google is violating your privacy, try wrapping tape around various body parts to configure an ideal touring jacket. I think the tape measure got to third base!

Now that the money’s spent and there’s no point in worrying about it, I can enjoy what I’ve done. My last jacket was bought used from a guy in a barn; it happened two decades ago. Now I have a touring outfit that’s world class! It has been making me giddy as a schoolgirl. Good adventure equipment is too awesome to ignore. It offers options. It suggests potential futures. It generates adventure simply by existing.

The jacket was hanging in my tent. It’s dangerous. It’s likely to cause me to have big dreams. Big dreams lead to ideas. Ideas lead to deeds.

Most people truncate themselves so completely they barely have dreams. So sad! Those few that persist all the way to deeds get the occasional adventure. Adventure is not the same as success. It’s hard, dangerous, expensive, smelly, and unpredictable. Adventure will happily kick your ass. But sometimes it’s glorious! In a way it’s the struggle that makes the glory.

Once summoned, the idea of adventure cannot be denied.

The jacket is already affecting my thinking. The difference between a Walter Mitty loser and a man drinking life by the pitcher isn’t merely equipment but equipment helps. Good gear in the presence of a receptive mind is a catalyst. I do stupid fanciful things all the time. What greater levels of fun could I have now that I’m equipped so well? That jacket took the plastic shovel from a kid in a sandbox and gave him a steam shovel!

The jacket knows goddamn well what it’s doing to me! It was built from the molecular level to encourage people like me to act as people like me tend to do. It’s a thoroughbred beast, built to explore. It won’t take “no” for an answer! It’s a beefy array of thick strong material. Everything is double stitched, waterproofed, over-engineered. At every weak spot in the human anatomy there’s additional extra strong material. It’s strategically positioned over well placed padding. It’s a jacket meant to chase dragons. Now that I own it, I find myself scanning every horizon. If I see a cloud that harbors a dragon I’ll be off in a flash.

This was a long time coming. I never cared who Ewan McGregor was (all actors are just dancing monkeys to me) but the dude made Long Way Round (a television series where he and a friend rode motorcycles East from London and all the way to New York). I watched it years ago. For most people it’s a dumb concept; morons struggling through the mud in Siberia. For a small few, that shit’s crack!

Then and there, while sipping coffee at my campsite, I nearly had a relapse.

Honey Badger, my cheap but tough little Yamaha TW200, was a compromise between ATV payments and fun. It turns out to be more than the sum of its parts. I’ve squeezed a ridiculous amount of joy out of the cheap little farm bike. As suits my personality, I bolted survival shit to it and learned how to keep a dirt bike upright and that’s all I’ve needed. I’ve been roaming ever since. I never really thought about it but the final limiting factor was riding around in hiking boots and tattered Carhartts. I’ve bought motorcycle boots, a new helmet, and finally top quality pants and a jacket. I’d geared up for a higher level without considering the overall effect on my actions.

“Let’s go explore!” Said the bike.

“Nothing is too sketchy for us!” Said the jacket.

I thought about the new jacket. It’s hardly broken in but brimming with potential. From now on I get +5 on all my saving throws!

I glanced at the skies. It was predicted to be light intermittent rain. I’d brought a paperback and a comfy lawn chair for just such an occasion.

“Rain is nothing. Go!” Said the jacket.

Somewhere, buried in the reams of literature associated with the jacket, was something about Gore Tex. Or maybe it was X-zillion thread count something or other. Whatever it was, it mentioned something about being rainproof. I’ve ridden in lots of rain and I’ve had rain-jackets on bikes but I’ve never had an excellent rain-jacket.

I sipped my coffee.

“Do it!” They said.

And so I did.

As soon as my coffee was finished, Honey Badger was off the trailer, chain lubed, gear lashed down, and idling. My coffee cup was cleaned and drying upside down on my painting scaffold.

It started to rain. I didn’t care. I had no plans; no destination. I was camping on a forest road in an unfamiliar area. I turned north, for no particular reason.

Some people live their whole life without ever feeling so free.