After a confusing morning of dealing with U-Haul’s definition of “reservation” and then tracing lines on a paper map I’m itching to go. At the gas station (I’m going to need every ounce of fuel!) I get a morale boost.
Two guys with dual sports are also fueling up. They are not traversing the WYBDR. I can tell they’re local folks just preparing for a fun afternoon. On the other hand, they’re obviously outfitted exquisitely well for the environment. I need some local information and they’re just the right source. “I’m planning to ride to Casper. From halfway there I’m going to pick up Poison Spider Road. Have you been on that road?”
“Yep. It’s a little boring but it’ll get you there.”
Excellent! I’ve been planning this “Poison Spider Road” approach for weeks and I’ve never ever met, read about, seen a photo of, or spoken with anyone who’s personally been there. Now I know the line on the map comports with a viable option!
Inside the gas station’s convenience store I grab 2 one liter bottles of water, a packet of beef jerky, and an orange. Honestly, all I need is the water and I only need that because I may be out there overnight. (Cooking a dehydrated meal will take a little more water than usual.) With my 1 gallon rotopax and 2 liters extra I’m ready for anything. I’ve got enough food that I could probably just eat snacks anyway.
I’m delighted with the orange. It seems a little bit magical that there’s fresh citrus right at hand. It looks lovely. This orange will be a special treat tonight, when I hunker down wherever the hell I wind up!
Ahead of me in line for the cashier is a woman. Nothing special about that but she’s wearing a mask. She looks reasonably fit and healthy. She’s got the standard issue “HOA Karen” quasi-professional clothes and the requisite asymmetric haircut.
Four years after everyone lost their shit and they still walk among us. I can’t know anyone’s heart and it’s possible she’s got some rare funky situation but I can guess and I guess it’s just the generic COVID madness. In my eyes, if you’re still wearing a mask in public in 2024, you might as well carry a little sign that says “mentally ill and proud of it”.
Imagine the damage she’s done to her mind. She’s wearing a mask in the heart of civilization; a clean, well lit, air conditioned, convenience store. The floor has been freshly mopped and the place gleams with antiseptic prosperity. It is probably one of the safest places on all of earth and in the safest times in all of human history.
Yet there she is, publicly declaring her fear to breathe.
And here I am, standing right next to her. My jacket is dusty. Leather gloves are crammed in my pockets. I’m going to ride a machine with two wheels; no roof or doors. I’m going to a place where nobody exists. I’m going alone. I don’t know where I’ll spend the night or what I’ll encounter during the day.
And I’m standing next to the woman afraid to breathe.
I trust entirely to my skills and equipment. I have tools and tent. I’m looking forward to eating an orange while sitting on a rock in the desert. I’m not afraid, though I am exercising due diligence.
Myself and the woman. We live on the same planet; though not in the same world. I seek out and experience risk… real risk; rattlesnakes and unsure footing and dehydration. She experiences risk in her mind… germs from four years ago. She’s probably afraid of Donald Trump. She’s probably afraid of dusty desert cretins standing in line at the convenience store.
I imagine our respective futures. I’m hoping to find flat sand to setup my tent. Maybe a dry wash. She’s going to die alone in a room full of cats. I’ll look at the stars. She’ll have cable news telling her about all the mean nasty terrible people who are just itching to oppress her. She’ll have NPR playing on the radio. I left my HAM radio (which catches FM too) behind. It was too much excess weight.
I almost ache to tell her the secret…
“it’s going to be alright”.
I’d like to reach across the vast gulf of human experience; offer encouragement. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. The world is a wonderful place. Wash your hands with soap and water and then get over it.”
But of course, I can’t. Her world view is specifically about separating herself from… “other”. That’s what masks did to people. They were a physical signifier of a belief system. If masks were invisible she’d have picked something else, a tattoo about a vaccine, a certain kind of clothing, whatever it takes to express “I am not of the other”… that’s what she’d do.
She pays for her gas and minces around me like I might bite. I smile as best I can but I’m sure my sweetest most disarming smile looks absolutely feral to her. And I suppose it’s not unreasonable. Compared to her, I’m a flat out predator. I’m a being of nature. I’m armed and active, I ride motorcycles, listen to the wrong kind of music, run chainsaws, travel, camp, swear, drink whiskey, read books, think for myself… to the right person my thoughts are dangerous and my very existence is a threat. My smile does no good.
She climbs into her SUV, tightens her seatbelt, and rolls out. I follow, helmeted and jacketed but otherwise fully exposed to the world. Our ways part a few miles down the road. I’ll never see her again.
I know my lifestyle isn’t for everyone. I have aches and pains from my ride, I’m leaving later than I plan, and I’m still fretting over my U-Haul connection. There’s no guarantee I’ll make it to sunset without dropping off a cliff somewhere. I get that everyone has their own path and some are riskier than others. But I’m hardly a rock star, I’m just a guy having fun. That lady (who appeared healthy) was closer to death than I’ll ever be.
Well written.
Thank you.