“That which does not kill us makes us stronger” Friedrich Nietzsche
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“Some stuff beats your ass pointlessly.” Adaptive Curmudgeon
Nietzsche had some good thoughts, but still I think he’d have benefitted if he’d been stuffed in a locker a few times.
Having completed a PC800 cargo run in blistering heat I was feeling pretty tough. Maybe I was back to my baseline; whatever that might mean. Wrong! I’d blundered into the slippery slope to overconfidence! I should’ve kept with my planned gradual incremental process of edging into things. But, in life you gotta’ roll the dice and so I did.
It was even hotter than when I’d cooked myself on the bike. Our house isn’t well cooled and it was no fun being there. I was impatient be somewhere else and doing something active. Plus, my doctor had “mumbled something about “mild walking exercise” and I interpret that as “Hike a million miles a week or die trying!”
I fetched my trekking poles, wandered out to my garage, and strapped them on my Honda PC800. Damn it was hot! Just strapping down the poles had me panting for breath. I convinced myself it was good. My doc didn’t use the word “aerobic exercise” (I don’t know if that’s a phrase anymore) but breathing hard is the goal and not a side effect. “Powerlifting” activities like cutting logs and stacking firewood don’t fit the bill.
I was gasping for breath just walking to my garage. How efficient!
I have a little daypack for hiking shit and for regular days. To lighten the load I tossed out my little Linux laptop and a few other things. I kept what I think useful for brief hikes. It’s minimal but it’s a more than some people carry; waterproof matches, a hat, a small flashlight, my SpotX, the cell phone (which might or might not have reception but has a relevant off line functional map loaded up), TP, a Cliff Bar, etc… I know there are runners in spandex who carry a bottle of water and nothing else. I’ve been on search parties for some of them. I carry more because I solo a lot (always!) and learned from Gilligan’s Island that “a three hour tour” can last three seasons.
I’m not an idiot, I added two bottles of cold water. As an afterthought I tossed a bottle of Gatorade in the saddlebag.
Before I zipped my phone into the pack I checked the weather. An extreme heat advisory and red flag weather for forest fires. Excellent! I rolled out.
Within the first mile I’d acknowledged the heat advisory as the real deal. NOAA tends to overreact but not this time. Wind from the moving bike was utterly baking me. I was wearing my lightest motorcycle jacket, it’s literally mesh but it is protective (ATGATT!). I’ve worn that very motorcycle jacket in Death Valley.
Strangely, it felt hotter now than that trip through Death Valley. Either memory fades or I’m getting old.
20 miles out I stopped for gas. I didn’t go inside. If I went in I’d never leave. I typed my PIN on metal keys at the gas pump; they burned my fingertips.
I had an appointment for a zoom meeting around sunset. I had ample time but the heat was so incredibly rough. Uncertainty loomed. I texted my contact: “hiking in extreme heat, I expect to be on time but if I’m slightly delayed, start without me”. They know me. They’re used to such things.
The hardest part about being tough is being tough. I kept riding.
I’d sought a challenge and was getting one, good and hard. As for the hike, I still could handle it. I wasn’t summiting Everest. It was going to be fine.
I passed a campground I’ve been considering for a CPAP camping test. I rolled around the loop inspecting the scene. In the middle of peak season it should be packed. It was nearly empty. There were no children on bikes; no families bustling about. A few RVs roared with struggling AC. Wan faces looked out from their desperate last stand behind Plexiglas windows. All tent sites were abandoned. The tents remained but the people were gone. Everyone had piled into vehicles with AC and found an excuse to drive somewhere. (I assume they were at the nearest swimming hole.)
One spot had three guys, sitting in the shade (which was still blistering hot). They were in a wide circle some 20′ in diameter. In the center, a smoldering fire gave off a small wisp of smoke that scarcely moved in the still air. Each man had his own cooler. They looked determined, immobile, wilted, and drunk.
I wasn’t the only one dumb enough to be out there, but it was a select crowd.
Soon I parked at the trailhead. I made sure the kickstand was on a rock instead of the asphalt (which was soft and mushy). I swapped my motorcycle boots for light sneakers, chugged half the Gatorade, crammed my jacket & boots in the PC800’s ample bedonkadonk, and used an old bike lock to secure my helmet. I sent out a “I’m leaving the trailhead at location X, all is well” message on my SpotX. The whole process should have taken two minutes but it took ten. The heat was slowing me down.
Swinging my trekking poles I strode out. The Rocky theme, Gonna Fly Now would start any minute. That would get me going! Maynard Ferguson stepped out of the dense woods. Excellent! Maynard looked around; sniffed the air. The air was dense and humid. I was coated in sweat. There was no breeze. It was deathly still. No birds were chirping. Deerflies orbited me like little fighter planes. The forest wasn’t welcoming, it was a dead zone.
Maynard shrugged as if to say “I work in studios, loser” and vanished.
Chuck Mangione didn’t even try to materialize. He was an urban civilized being.
A mission like this required heavy metal, or banjos. No inspirational music came to me.
I’ve (literally) hiked in jungles. This was somehow worse. I was just about breathing. The deerflies were murderous. I reached in my pack for bug spray. It wasn’t there. I’d left it on top of my little Linux laptop. I’d already been bit several times.
It was too hot to maintain any speed, but every time I slowed the deerflies took a bite. Desperate for some relief, I grabbed two small branches, each with a few leaves each. I checked that they had no ticks (they didn’t) and clutched one in each hand. The branches pointed up while my trekking poles pointed down. I swung in large arcs slapping my face and ear left and right as the poles moved. It looked dumb and felt dumb but it worked. As long as I moved, the deerflies couldn’t land. My attempt at mimicking a horses tail really did work.
When shit’s going bad and I’m solo I like to slow down. Take it easy. (If only Foghat would come to my rescue!) But the flies were harassing me. As a serious note, rushed people make dumb mistakes; slow people deliberately tortoise their way home. Never forget that.
It sure wasn’t fun. The deerflies wouldn’t let me stop or slow. The heat was almost literally pushing me to the ground.
I drank one of my bottles or water, reminding myself I was doing this on purpose. I had nobody to blame. I sent a “I’m just fine” breadcrumb on my SpotX. I kept moving.
I had plans to do a specific trail. I had the chance to take a much shorter loop. I took it. There’s tough and there’s dumb. I shouldn’t have ignored the extreme heat warning! I never saw anyone on the trail.
Getting back to the bike wasn’t so hard (it was downhill). At the bike, I drank the last of my Gatorade, suited up, sent a SpotX message “back at the trailhead, all is well”, and rolled out. The ride home was just as sweaty and exhausting as the ride out.
I’d planned ample time but I got home with only 15 minutes to spare. I used 5 of that to step into a cold shower. I got to my zoom meeting on time, which I think is pretty impressive. Unfortunately, I wasn’t thinking clearly the first half hour. The miracle of AC helped me recover quickly though.
It wasn’t a “failure. Nothing bad happened. There was no emergency. I did a stupid thing, but I’ve done stupid things before. It worked out fine at the price of a few deerfly bites.
I think I’ll wait for it to cool down before I try again.