Because of the dreary weather, I started a fire in my tent’s stove before zonking out. I slept like bread in a toaster, waking about once every 3 hours to restart the fire. I had prepared more wood than I thought I’d need. I used it all. I slept like a baby.
The next morning was absolutely out of character with the rest of the trip. Glorious sunshine. Bright blue skies. Birds chirping. Just amazing. Like falling asleep in November and waking up in July.
It was Sunday and I was worried that the church would have a service. I needn’t be concerned. Nobody showed up. Unlike the cloudy Friday night that had campers nearby, and unlike the Saturday morning that brought herds of UTVs, this Sunday morning was all for me. Nobody showed up at all!
Despite being human, I’ll never understand humanity’s herd-like ways. I checked my spare tire (still holding air) and wondered where the people had gone. Why was Saturday a migratory event and Sunday completely unpeopled? Why did they vanish exactly when my truck was on a jack? Why be out and about in the forest during the gray previous weather but not this warm and sunny morning? As far as I know it was still hunting season. Was everyone in a church somewhere else? Were they all home watching TV? Did they finally drop the bomb and nobody told me?
I had the world’s most peaceful morning coffee but I was too lazy to cook a proper breakfast. I simply put the pot of chili back on the stove and warmed it up. Delicious!
After that I finally decided to address the elephant in the room. I went to church.
We all have comfort zones and this is not one of mine. I respect both God and religion but stay out of organizations. To quote Groucho Marx; I don’t want to belong to any club that will accept me as a member. I just don’t trust people en masse; certainly not with my soul. Yet there was the church and how could I not go within? It gave me refuge when I needed it. I ought to pay my respects.
If you know much about very remote things it’s true that some of the most remote buildings are never locked. A lock on a primitive cabin is just an invitation to a broken door. Instead things are sometimes left wide open in the hopes that nobody will take the more or less nothing that’s within. Also, it might provide shelter to someone in an emergency.
So I clomped up the stairs to the door I knew would be open and peeked in. It was gorgeous. A simple, unadorned place. Were I medieval I might call it a peasant’s church. Simple pews. A cross. A barrel stove in the back. You could imagine people on horseback coming to this place. I suppose, given the way of things, you could imagine horseback peasants coming to this place again.
I sat there a long while and looked at the simple wood cross. Nothing.
Damn! The eternal came to my campfire with a pack of smokes two nights ago but not to the little white church. Why? Because that’s what happened and that’s all there is to it.
It was a beautiful place. I’m absolutely sure God has come to many people right there in that pew where I sat. But not for me. I was a little disappointed.
Walking back to my campsite I wondered about myself. If that sweet little church couldn’t reach my heart then am I truly made of ice?
Soon I was distracted by a chipmunk sniffing around my dirt bike’s tires and I forgot all about church. I own a motorcycle! In a flash I’d suited up, started the cold engine, strapped my hunting gear on top of my survival stuff and rolled out.
It was unseasonably warm but I didn’t trust it. The weather report said Armageddon was on it’s way. I really ought to be hustling home on my spare tire. As a compromise I wore my new suit of full protective gear. It wouldn’t be good for hiking or hunting but if it suddenly started to rain (or I piled into a tree) it would be the safer choice.
I zipped down a forest road, took two random turns and hit a trail I’d done once about a year ago. There are about a million designations of trails, roads, minimum maintenance roads, UTV trails, etc… my favorite are the ones that say “limited to less than 1,000 pounds”. These are specifically trying to warn away the bigger 2 row 4 seat UTVs. “I know the salesman said it would go anywhere, but don’t be stupid.” Me and my 300 pound farm bike zipped around the sign and had a great ride.
It was easy riding and very pretty. I crossed out of forest and into what you might call muskeg. It would be a perfectly reasonable place to find a moose.
Somewhere in the middle I stopped. I was about 5 miles in and maybe 4 miles to the dirt road on the other side. I put the kickstand down, killed the engine, and just stood there.
This! This is church! I stood on some dry dead grass and nibbled on a hunk of beef jerky. My church’s foundation is dirt. I felt amazingly happy. It may be the last warm sunny motorcycle day of the year and I hadn’t missed it! I was out there basking in it. I was where I ought to be.
I had a fun time just buzzing around. I tried to remember I was there for birds but there was nothing for it. I simply didn’t care. If I saw one I’d try to dismount and grab my shotgun. Probably, I wouldn’t be able to get my helmet off in time to aim. Not that I cared. I’d be just as happy looking at the colorful larch and aspen. I was in church y’all!
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