Adaptive Curmudgeon

All night the owls hooted and I enjoyed the sound. The loons were silent though.

I avoid summer camping and one reason is mosquitoes. Sure enough a few found their way into my tent. I have a bug zapper flashlight and I clicked it on. I was fixin’ to be pissed off but I fell asleep so I guess it wasn’t that bad.

I woke up later to cool air. I’d left the bug zapper on and probably wasted some battery but I didn’t particularly care. The air smelled sweet. A new front must have snuck in. Looking up through the screen roof of my tent I could no longer see the stars.

This ain’t my first rodeo. I got up and put on the rain tarp.

Then the rain hit. Just a gentle misting downfall but I felt rather smug to have deployed the tarp with precise timing.

Getting into and out of the tent let in a new herd of mosquitoes. As before I turned on the zapper. I expected to be pissed off by the mosquitoes but once again drifted off.

Dawn was humid and slow. I like to camp in the wilderness or at least alone but I was in a Park. Dispersed camping is free but entails more uncertainty. For a holiday weekend I just didn’t feel like screwing around. I did reservations on-line and was spared any potential bullshit.

The thing with Parks is they’re infested with humans and I don’t like humans at dawn. The birds begin with their pre-dawn song. I can live with birdsong… barely. After the birds the humans start moving about. Humans being humans start talking the moment they’re ambulant. I don’t know why, they just gotta’ talk. I can sit with a cup of coffee and say not a fucking word. Most people babble like a damn word factory. Once they start talking it sounds like a penguin rookery to me. The indistinct chatter of human critters isn’t loud but they’ll keep talking until they go to bed and it vexes me.

I’d wind up crawling from my soft and inviting sleeping bag just because the bastards drown out the birds.

I felt like I was losing time; that I should get up. There were plans for the day. I was burning daylight. I had shit to do!

Mankind is split between morning people and not-morning people. I am of the latter. If you’re a not-morning person you’ve drawn a short straw in life. You’ll get no end of shit from the majority of society that are morning risers. Society from birth through death is calibrated to haul your sleepy ass out of bed… every day… until you die. When I die, they’ll probably schedule my funeral early in the morning.

The training regimen starts when you’re a kid. Mom drags you out of bed to catch a bus to your school (indoctrination center). From then on it’s a life sentence. There’s no reason any bus should run at any particular time and there’s no reason a kid needs to learn fractions at any particular time but schools always run in the morning. Why? Because if you sleep late you’re lazy. This has been beaten into my not-morning skull every fucking day of my life.

Oh and while I’m bitching about it… morning people need to shut the fuck up when they conflate arriving early with working hard. Someone who shows up at the office at 7:00 am will flounce about like they’re God’s gift to the timeclock but if they they stampede out the door at 3:30 that’s 8 hours and a lunchbreak. Who’s impressed by that?!?

I once had a boss that went beyond morning person and into morning asshole. We theoretically had flexible hours but he figured I ought to plan my life like I’m milking cows or some shit. I’d amble in at 9:00 am but work like a mule until 7:30 pm. If you can count using both hands that’s 10 hours and a lunchbreak. He’d preen and look at the clock all morning and then unass the area 4 hours earlier than me; every fucking day. Dude never worked 8 hours and a spare minute but was forever giving me shit that my 10 hours started later than him… every fucking day.

Old school bosses never figure this out. Lucky for me, most of ’em are dead now. Also lucky for me, timesheets (even back then) are run by computers. Dude couldn’t count but computers can.

But I digress.

I rolled out of my cot feeling like maybe I should growl at things, swear randomly, and maybe just generally be an asshole. You must get by now that I hate mornings.

Then everyone shut up. Why? It had started raining again. Everyone had fled back to their tents.

Ha!

I flopped back into my sleeping bag and was instantly lulled into sleep by the gentle rain.

I don’t know how long I slept but it was delicious. It was the first night in years I hadn’t set an alarm. I didn’t have a cell phone or clock handy. I slept until I’d slept enough. I need more of that!

By then the rain had stopped again and the kids were up. I don’t like the sound of adults doing their penguin thing, but happy kids is a whole different matter. They were laughing and riding bikes and wallowing in every mud puddle and it was glorious. Kids are great.

I tested my new stove. Before departure I did a sweep of my garage and found four cans partially filled with “Coleman” white gas; three of which were impossibly old. As far as I can tell, white gas that’s at least 10 years old is still fine. There might have been a bit of flickering of the flame but that could have been just a gust of wind. I decided the lifespan of white gas is “long enough that it doesn’t matter”.

I percolated coffee nice and slow… like a guy who has zero fucks to give. Then I whipped out the little iron frying pan. I cooked bacon from my own pigs and saved a little of the grease to keep the eggs from sticking. (Plus I threw in some grape tomatoes I’d brought.)

A meal fit for a king!

I’ve been camping a good long time in the comfort zone of freeze dried mountain house. The thing about comfort zones is you must test that it’s a pleasant groove and not a limiting rut. For the whole campout I cooked canned goods and groceries. It worked fine.

The area might have black bears but no grizzlies so I happily disposed of the extra grease in the fire. That kept my Neanderthal brain entertained and smelled glorious.

My dirtbike was poised for action but I just didn’t feel like hard work. I broke out a paperback and brewed another pot of coffee.

Sometimes you have a day that starts just right. Enjoy those simple moments.

(To be continued.)

I slept the peace of nature…

It has been a long hard um… how does one calculate time? Has it been a tiring week? A tough year? An interminable decade? Hard to say; there is only before and now. The realization hit me long ago and has since trickled to the densest CNN viewer that a Rubicon has been passed. Regardless of how we got here, the society to which we’d return is gone. (That said, I’m optimistic about the road ahead.)

Please forgive the egghead contemplation (and if you don’t why are you reading this blog?) but we must rest when needed. One tends to think “I’ll bust my ass until X and then shit will calm down”. It never works. You finish X but Y and Z have stepped into the ring and are beating your ass during what ought to be your victory lap.

Half the shock of covid was that I’d allocated the months previous to a far more important matter; the care for and loss of my aged dog. I sailed straight into the fog of loyalty and grief and mortality and renewal only to find safe harbors fewer and already crowded with refugees when I emerged. Society went apeshit over a virus! Then it imploded!?! My loss is a tiny molecule in the tidal wave of collateral damage wrought by fools.

I’ve saying “it’s been a hard week” too often. It worries me.

All weeks are hard.

The intellectual half of my mind needs to watch for what the emotional half cannot see. The tendency to endure without rest is an affliction of the strong. A risk as deadly as an inviting couch to the lazy.

So it is that I found myself camping. As always, I was solo. I was not lonely, I was enjoying solitude.

This was the “vacation” I needed and it was months and months overdue. Oh yes, I’ve had “vacations” by common definition. I’m not always clocked into the hamster wheel. Yet if vacation means “spiritual rest” I’ve had little since last September. It was then that I last camped under this particular pine and let it go.

That campout (last year) was the last few days of the fragile ceasefire that came before “the event”. How was I to know what was coming? After all we’d endured, President Biden (who appears to enjoy kicking groups of citizens which don’t meet his standards) put his geriatric crosshairs on me.

(Here, as required by the successor to rule of law, I’ll note that Biden won more votes than any other candidate in history. He won the record vote count. Doubt this infallible dogma and you risk joining America’s newest cohort; domestic political prisoners. Remember I said there was a before time? I once believed my government wouldn’t imprison people for political reasons. President Roosevelt’s domestic concentration camps should have been sufficient warning. I was dense and apparently needed to learn anew.)

Seeking to divert attention from the disastrous Afghanistan withdrawal, Biden made an angry speech. He would correct the 100 million Americans who’d chosen to remain unvaccinated. His was the will to rule and his “patience had worn thin“.  I hadn’t made the correct choice voluntarily, so it would be made mandatory.

Most speeches are flowery bullshit. This one was angry and judgmental. Biden was ready to use force and outlined the beginning steps in that dangerous march. First he’d hassle you, then he’d get you fired, then “whatever was necessary”. An abusive partner pleads with his victim; “don’t make me hit you!”

These statements weren’t hidden behind walls of soothing fluff, they were sharp nails dragged across a chalkboard. In order to stand against evil, you must first see it. Biden’s speech was without humility or forgiveness; it was about whom he would force to do what and how he’d inflict his will. It straightened my spine and hardened my heart. Presidents aren’t God. The fucker acted above his pay grade!

I reacted viscerally. “If you want to force me to do anything, you’re going to have to actually do the deed. Kick in my door and make it happen or shut up and crawl back to your basement.” I was pissed but also I was resigned to whatever came next. “Ball’s in your court asshole. Are we going to do this thing or not?” I assumed I was doomed. I’d be a single unheard voice shouting ineffectually while bureaucrats steamrolled me. I didn’t care. I would do what was right. Others have been called to do far more. Some have died in battle, the worst I risked was poverty and social pressure. Faced with evil, who is so weak they won’t endure unemployment?

Nine months. That’s all it took. America gave a resounding “fuck you” to the whole thing. The senile monster who confused “elected” office with Godhood is now the wretched punchline of a cosmic joke.

It seems unreal but it really happened. Never forget what was intended. Never forget why it hasn’t (yet?) happened. When a man takes a swing at you and misses, don’t assume he meant to miss.

It was a dark time but the result was the best outcome. Americans (at least some of them) remembered they were Americans! After eating shit for years, a sufficient portion (myself included) finally said “this far and no more”. The mass compliance projected on a Utopian theorist’s spreadsheet evaporated at first contact with stoic free citizens. The house of cards collapsed. It continues to collapse. Such a glorious and horrific collapse that it happens everywhere and all at once and seems to know no bounds.

Biden (he of record breaking vote counts) has become less popular than dogshit. Biden fell even lower than Carter and he’s still dropping in the polls. Everything he touches turns to shit. Every action he takes blows up in his face. The man who’d have subjugated me is the least popular president in 77 years! (Link)

Perhaps God thought the crucible was necessary? It was a teaching moment for every single person. Everyone learned their mettle. Everyone had a choice, everyone did what they did. Those who got the shot as a reasoned choice but wouldn’t dream of the Nuremberg madness of forcing it on others are safely on the sidelines where they belong. Others who got the shot because it was “the cool thing to do” question their decision. Why doesn’t it make them feel immune? If the fourth shot doesn’t help, will the fifth? What after that? Those who were bullied or coerced into it know what made people carry their own luggage onto a boxcar. A few, who’d gleefully someone else onto a boxcar, know their twisted selves too. Every mask wearing Karen knows that she lusts for the burning of a witch.

As for me? No regrets! I never forced my will on another. I’ve never been subjugated. What more is there?

But, I’m tired. I need rest.

Such were the thoughts in my mind. I remained awake late into the night; letting my mind roam the comforting pines. Sitting in the dark by a little fire, the world becomes just that little circle of light.

I found a measure of renewal. I began enjoying the fact that I’m not broken. It was America’s birthday after all! I’d done well. In a time of mass hysteria I held firm. I can look in the mirror without reproach; as a free American citizen should.

My tent and little dirtbike hunkered just out of reach of the firelight. They were for tomorrow. For right then, I was in the moment. I watched the stars above and listened to the owls in the clear warm night air. In nature, all is as it should be.

I gave a last fleeting thought to politics. I’m still here motherfucker! Chuckling, I kicked out the fire and turned in.

Soon I was fast asleep. I’d let it go.

(To be continued.)

I’ll be posting a new travelogue starting tomorrow. Vignettes go live every morning for a week.

Every bit is true, including the parts where my motorcycle makes decisions and how I personally met Odin and his side chick. Lets face it, the modern bar for truth is so low that a guy like me can sail over it as a veritable paragon of honesty… even when I include talking squirrels.

If you want to throw a tip my way I’d be a happy camper. I’ll use it for the motorcycle gas and camping supplies that make travelogues happen. The links are on the right column and I (maybe?) copied them below. No pressure though. If you’re broke, I get it.

I hope you enjoy the story.

A.C.

Having read and reflected on a tiny bit of reason in a world gone mad, it was time to go. I’d drank so many glasses of ice water the coffee shop staff was looking at me funny. I put a big tip in their jar and wandered out. I used the restroom to switch to mesh pants in full stillsuit mode. Nothing but skivvies underneath! The mesh would provide adequate protection (definitely more than denim) with more air flow. It was only a small improvement but sometimes that’s all you need. (In case you’re wondering, the mesh is opaque. I wasn’t flashing my hairy ass to the world!)

I kept thinking about how wonderful and kind everyone had been the day earlier. Either I looked like I was dying (which is possible) or rural people are coming together in the current times of strife (which is my hope). A bottle of water and a free meal! In the heart of America, far from cities, folks seem to be going out of their way to be good Samaritans. I basked in the happiness of it all and resolved to be a better person.

To my discredit, I blew it! Only an hour later I saw them. Woke motherfuckers! My good intentions and warm feelings vanished in a flash!

Lined up like mental dominoes, they were standing on the sidewalk in the center of a city. What’s the point in protesting at this location? They were in the bluest city in the bluest county in a blue state and they had gathered to bitch publicly that they were now in charge of their local affairs. This State is almost certain to support abortion for whatever gender(s) get knocked up. I think (?) this State preemptively passed pro-abortion laws in anticipation of this very moment.

The crowd was whiter than rice in a snowstorm. They were unfocused and I assume they’d hastily assembled. It was about 3:00 in the afternoon; maybe they wanted to be in the evening news? This wasn’t a gathering of deep thinkers. I can guarantee none of them had read the decision. I’d bet they were sketchy on the difference between State and Federal law.

The demographics were weirdly unbalanced. The sexes (apparent sexes?) were split into two distinct age classes. About 1/3 of them were young anemic male-ish soyboy manbuns. The other 2/3 of the crowd were blue haired shrieking older female-ish harpies. The female-ish beings were decades older and formed a tight central herd; thus relegating the man buns to the periphery. The manbuns looked scared and young and uncertain. I could almost imagine them being eaten by the larger elder harpies. I couldn’t do a full assessment while riding but that was the demographics at a glance and you can make of it what you will.

From a practical standpoint almost nobody in this crowd was both female and of a biologically fertile age. (Since nobody there appeared capable of delivering anything but a pizza, their concerns were either fashion, eugenic, or intellectually weird. If they were legitimately invested in sketchy jurisprudence they’d cleverly disguised themselves as if they didn’t know their Plessy from their Ferguson.) My base evaluation was that they were protesting because that’s what they do in lieu of a real life. If they weren’t protesting a court ruling they’d be equally happy protesting an oil pipeline or demanding war in Ukraine or shouting about peace or demanding a tax or bitching about paying their student loans. I can’t imagine the harpies getting laid anyway. Then I wondered if the harpies were cougaring the skinny manbuns? I shuddered at the thought.

So, given that God had provided me with two remarkable acts of charity in the last 24 hours, did I react properly?

NO! I flipped the bird! Arm held high in the air; proud and clear…. Fuuuuuuuuck them!

I passed by slowly and only ten feet from where they stood on the sidewalk. They got my point loud and clear. A few looked legitimately shocked. I think they’re used to “protesting” in an environment where everyone and their cat either agrees with them or keeps their head down.

The thing that bothers me is that I did not pay forward all the kindness I’d received.

I’m probably going to hell.

Since then I’ve been looking for a chance to buy someone’s meal or save a kitten from a tree or some shit. No dice. I got a hint to be nice and a perfect opportunity to rise above. I blew it.

Do I have regrets? I wish I could say I have regrets but I don’t. Not yet. Just being honest with myself I’m bitter about the evils they’ve done recently. Two years ago this same crowd was either burning down cities personally or cheering for the act. Nine months ago they brutally sought to force me to take a vaccine. Putting aside the pros and cons of the specific medical treatment, until 2021 nobody on earth tried to inject me with anything I didn’t want. Before Omabacare and Covid, medical bureaucracies were inept and expensive but they weren’t overtly evil. Old school doctors told you to eat better and quit smoking but they didn’t actively threaten your livelihood or freedom.

In protesting the Dobbs ruling, the crowd was horrified by greater control over their own fate. They must enjoy personal subjugation as much as they love coercing others. And boy do they love coercion! They moved heaven and earth and insisted on complete disregard of all normal safety protocols to get the vaccine (for free!) but it wasn’t enough to shut them up. They were miserable because I didn’t want what they wanted. They were driven to, lusted to, deeply needed to coerce me. This remains true even as they stood on a sidewalk fretting that they were no longer at the whim of an invented blanket centralized “penumbra”. They’re terrified of local representation by their State of residence because it’s a step closer to self control and they hate it.

In their stampede for the vaccine they’d have gleefully held me at gunpoint. The only reason corrupt bureaucrats didn’t go full Nuremberg is because they couldn’t pull off the logistics. I’ll repeat that because it’s important; the reason they didn’t perform crimes against humanity was lack of power, not lack of intent.

To some extent they succeed in their drive to subjugate. I’m a loner in the hinterland but they’ve altered the whole of society where I live. They’re tied up in why I can’t go fishing at my favorite Canadian lake and I wonder if the bank will freeze my assets for wrongthink and we all assume they’re cooking up some other panic like monkey pox to lockdown the world yet again.

I can’t forgive them. I miss a society composed of adults. They’re nasty children who’ve made the whole world into the kids table at thanksgiving.

Yet this was my chance for personal improvement. I could have been magnanimous in victory; even after 50 years of penumbras. The harpies and man buns weren’t doing anything unusual for their sort. Street theater and social preening and various forms of mental masturbation are expected (required?) within their ranks. I could have rolled by; neither agreeing with nor taunting them. Just because they were acting out their chosen role as adult children didn’t mean I had to act out mine as a mean scary biker. But I didn’t rise above. I flipped them off just like a big mean scary biker would. I played my role without hesitation. Shit!

I should forgive. I’ll keep trying. Wish me luck.

I woke sore. I’d been overheated the day before. I took an ibuprofen and stumbled to the hotel’s breakfast area. (I’d been super lucky to find a bottle of ibuprofen in my saddle bags!)

The breakfast area was stocked with an array of inedible garbage. Truly awful. Almost impressively unpalatable. I took a sip of coffee and poured the rest down the drain. It was from an “instant coffee dispensing machine” and tasted even worse than it sounds. I gave up and skipped breakfast.

Wearing yesterday’s clothes and not even bothering with the mesh pants, I stepped into yet another blistering hot day. I rode my bike a lot slower this time. Bare denim pants offer basically no protection and for some reason it was bothering me this particular day. I’ve worn denim jeans for many thousands of miles but this time I kept having visions of skin grafts. Was my subconscious trying to tell me something?

Then I was distracted by another business situation. After an hour of yammering on the cell phone while standing in a sweltering city park it was resolved. In the hubbub I never got my morning coffee.

It was mid-afternoon before I stopped at a coffee shop for iced coffee (first of the day!). I sat exhausted in the AC until the magic of caffeine kicked in. Three shots of espresso dumped on ice will fix a lot of problems.

I eagerly looked around for someone who looked like they needed a strange sweaty biker to pay for their lunch. I was anxious to “pay it forward”. It didn’t happen. The place was basically empty.

While decompressing, I read the Supreme Court’s Dobbs decision. Unlike the press or social media I actually read the words of the decision. OK, I didn’t read the whole thing but I read a lot of it.

It’s good to read what the actual justices had to say. Don’t just parrot what the dipshit on the screen says. Don’t forward a meme. Don’t preen with a “thumbs up” on some F***book rant or “destroy the other side” with a Twitter slogan. Read the frigging sentences and paragraphs as written by the smart fuckers we hire to do that sort of thing. God gave you a brain. If he meant you to be moron in a colony of like minded morons he would have put you on this earth as something suitable for that sort of life; such as a sea sponge.

Careful review imposes mental discipline. If you can’t read without reflexively getting your knickers in a twist then you can’t think. If you can’t think, your comments are stupid and pointless. Conversely, those who calmly think things over have a shot at intelligent and reasonable discourse; even when they disagree.

My opinion, with which nobody has to agree, is that the logic of Dobbs was sound. I’m happy to see penumbras and emanations corrected. 50 years ago the Supreme Court derailed the legitimate workings of representative democracy. It was one of many steps in the continuing decline of what was once un-ironically called the United States. They basically said “fuck the States, we have the power of Crom and decided for everyone all at once, because penumbras”.

If everything is decided in DC there will always be masses of people getting steamrolled by more politically connected groups. Look out your window. That’s exactly what 2022 is all about.

Roe vexed me because it was a perpetual machine for generating anger. The Supreme Court played grabass in ‘73 and because of their bullshit I had to live through an entire lifetime of people losing their shit. Every congressman, senator, district attorney, dogcatcher, presidential candidate, and especially supreme court nominee has had to opine on (and usually try to dodge responsibility for) the continuation or discontinuation of fucking penumbras.

Every supreme court nomination in my life has been a white hot lightning rod of rage. It is said that many supreme court appointments in the distant past were boring administrative affairs. Can you imagine such bliss? That’s heaven compared to the circus that erupts at every modern nomination. Screaming crowds, sketchy unsupported accusations, and the worst of all… adult professionals tiptoeing around even the most basic subjects. So much unhinged cult-like anger! Seeking power without complying with the constitution bends the rules. Enough bent rules and America winds up precisely where we are right now! Dobbs is a step back from the whirlwind.

It’s 2022 so I don’t expect an outbreak of reasonable behavior. Too much of our populace is in a cult-like mental spiral. They’ll get spastic because that’s what they do. They were spastic yesterday. They were spastic the month before. They’ll be spastic next week. It’s an inescapable lifestyle marker for them now.

It has the whiff of desperation about it… and cult. Bitching about Federal control (in this case the lack of it) lets a social justice warrior focus on that which they don’t control. Since everything is caused by DC they’ve got no agency in their life. No agency is the flip side of no responsibility; a child like incompleteness of the chronologically adult. They can’t do anything non-political (like go bowling or paddle a kayak or sew a quilt) because they’d feel the beginnings of fulfillment and a tiny hint of self-reliance. That’s the last thing a programmed cult member wants!

Aside from the shrieking maniacs, what will the rest of us do? We’ve the option of participating in our State’s decision making process without shitting on the neighboring State. Can we handle it?

Between State variation is rare but still exists. Here’s an example; Oregon decriminalized heroin in 2020 but about 6% of Americans live in dry counties where you can’t buy alcohol. States haven’t been completely subjugated. Dobbs will help States in their effort to matter.

State level variation relieves pressure. Over time, people gravitate to the location that matches their needs. Nobody in dry-county Goat Balls Alabama wants to step over a dead heroin addict in the yard. Nobody in heroin allowed Portland Oregon wants life without weed and microbrewed IPAs.

As that crazy racist right wing conservative John F. Kennedy said, “Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable.” Either that or JFK said “lay one finger on my penumbra and my green haired contingent of shrieking harpies will burn down Kavanaugh’s house.” It’s 2022, who knows if they’ve retconned JFK yet.

In my travels, I’d passed a state line. Local politics were so blue they probably have a statue of Trotsky in front of the public library. The federal decision wouldn’t ban a goddamn thing there. The Supreme Court kicked the decision back to the State and the folks there are surely scheming to allow abortion up to a kid’s 16th birthday.

(More to come.)

It had been a hot day. I’d ridden a good six hours in conditions I’d call “jockstrap in Galveston”. I concluded some simple business (I’d hoped to arrive looking reasonably presentable but I showed up looking like a dishrag and smelling like a gym locker). After that I spent another hour or two in the saddle getting roasted again.

I gave up on my plan to do the whole trip in one day. I’m just too out of practice with distance riding and it was too hot. I already knew I’d worked myself too hard. I’d need a gallon of water and an Ibuprofen as soon as I found a hotel.

Time wasn’t on my side. The sun was about to set and the skies looked stormy. I stopped at five hotels before I found a room. By then I was getting desperate! I was ever so happy to find a crappy hotel. It had AC and a bed. That’s all I could ever desire!

The sun had set and clouds turned ominously dark. I’d been wearing mesh gear and really wanted to be off the road before it rained. I hadn’t planned to be gone overnight so I had zero luggage; basically a wallet and a paperback.

I was reluctant to ride far from the hotel knowing a downpour was eminent. I shuffled in motorcycle boots a quarter mile to a Mexican restaurant. The waiter warned me the kitchen was about to close so I should order soon. I’d accidentally showed up 10 minutes before closing time! What a dick move!

The waiter was a nice guy and very laid back. He assured me that the kitchen would happily cook anything so long as I ordered quickly. He also said I’d have plenty of time to eat while everyone was cleaning up. I ordered immediately by pointing more or less at random to something in the menu.

Then I asked for a drink. What I really wanted was ice! I was cooked all the way to the molecular level from the day’s heat. Since I couldn’t figure out how to politely say “just pour a bucket of ice water on my head” I settled for a strawberry daiquiri (ice that’s crushed!). I tried to show restraint but drank it at the speed of ice-ache.

The restaurant was nearly empty. There was a lady in a nearby booth and a family across the room. The family had two rambunctious giggling kids which made me smile. The husband (it’s 2022 but I’m going to assume that’s what he was) headed for the car; herding the kids in front of him. The wife had a wrist brace and was moving a little slower. I wondered if she’d had a rough day too. In hindsight, I wrack my brain trying to remember anything else about them but all I noticed was “happy kids” and “wrist brace”.

The waiter brought whatever I’d pointed at on the menu. I don’t even remember what it was. But I do remember the daiquiri and two big glasses of ice water! While I was eating the other customer left. I don’t remember that person either.

I wanted to sit there and rest but I was the only guy in the restaurant. It was time to leave. I reached for my wallet but the waiter was all grins. “The lady with the children has already paid for your meal.” He announced. I was gobsmacked. Huh? Why?

“Do you know her?” He asked.

“No, I don’t know anyone here. How can I find her to say ‘thank you’?”

“I guess she wanted to remain anonymous. She paid for herself and the other woman and you and then left. Congratulations!”

Wow! What a nice thing to do.

I looked around for a reciprocal good deed to do. Rescue a kitten or something. All I could do was leave a tip and shamble back to the hotel.

I’d received two massive good deeds in one day. How awesome is that?

I found myself looking forward to buying dinner for some stranger as soon as possible. Ten minutes after I got back to the hotel a massive thunderstorm cut loose. I was so tired I barely noticed.

(To be continued.)

I had to take a long-ish one day trip on short notice. Normally I’d drive my truck but gas costs $5 a gallon in the Bidenverse. (The uncaring finger of fate removed me from the dwindling sanity of 2019 and dumped me in the strange and illogical world I call the Bidenverse. Don’t you ever feel like that? Is the endless swirling vortex of constant spasmodic stupidity a sign we’re stuck in the dipshit end of the multiverse? I miss a less stupid time but I can’t find my way back to a saner world. God is such a joker!)

Then again, the challenge du jour was just gasoline. Why bitch when it’s just logistics? Am I not an Adaptive Curmudgeon?

I rolled my cruiser motorcycle out of the garage, sparing a sad glance for my currently ignored little dirt bike and the Dodge that’s too expensive to fuel right now. I liked my idea. The bike would be fun to ride and get well over double (though probably not triple) the MPG of my truck. (Not to mention diesel is another buck a gallon over gasoline. The price differential being a bureaucratically created supply side effect of EPA regs about sulfur that kicked in a decade ago.)

The sun had just risen and I live far north but it was already unusually hot. My jacket options were not ideal because I live where staying warm and dry is usually a bigger concern than heat. Also my favorite chaps have a blown out zipper. Yes, I wear protective leather chaps when riding (or did); insert your joke about the Village People here and I’ll retort with comparisons between pavement slides and belt sanders on bare skin.

Motorcycle safety gear requires constant maintenance and periodic replacement. I’ve done far too little safety gear management. Due to my own actions, my gear is patchy and decrepit.

I dug through my tattered equipment, looking for stuff I bought 20 years ago specifically to ride across Death Valley. Shockingly, I found it! You know those gloves you can wear while filleting fish to make sure you don’t cut your hand? I’ve got a “mesh” jacket made of more or less the same stuff. It’s not the absolute best protection but it’s adequate. It lets the air flow to keep you cool.

I have a pair of “pants” made out of the same stuff. I had a business thing to do on the other end so I put the “pants” on over regular jeans. It wouldn’t do to show up at some guy’s office only to strip down and change into jeans. It would be better to ditch the weird mesh pants unseen in the parking lot just after arrival.

With the mesh I’d have much better protection than denim and the wind would keep me cool. (Denim is essentially no protection.) I put the jacket on over a clean plain t-shirt and figured I’d look more or less presentable when the jacket was taken off.

Thus, I rolled out perfectly outfitted for blistering hot conditions. There are pros and cons to everything. I’d be absolutely screwed if it rained! The mesh won’t stop a single raindrop. Even a cool night’s sunset would put me halfway to hypothermia in no time. Normally, I’d strap a different (backup) jacket to the luggage rack for such situations. Alas, my luggage rack is broke and I’ve removed it in anticipation of fabricating a replacement. Damn!

Despite missing its luggage rack, the 23 year old bike is running like a top. It’s part of my “Project Daily Driver” initiative for 2022. Progress has been made but overcoming years (decades!) of deferred maintenance takes time.

Now you know the situation and you know the equipment. The elephant in the room was the environment. It was unfathomably hot. Humid, muggy, indifferent, relentless heat bore down on me. Mile after mile of heat.

In general, the breeze when riding a bike will keep you cool. Keep moving and you’ll be fine. That whole system breaks down somewhere around 90 degrees (when it’s humid).

As I rode I got hotter and hotter and hotter. I didn’t have time to take refuge in AC or even hydrate with a cold drink. I was in a hurry. I rode for most of 5 hours with only a few very short breaks to gas up and guzzle a quick drink. I was pretty baked.

Eventually the road was blocked by a train full of Electric Car Fuel. A big long slow train of exclusively coal cars. Electric cars run on coal we might as well call it Electric Car Fuel.

There must have been some switching going on because the train was crossing at walking speed. I was amid two lanes heading the same direction and surrounded on all sides by idling vehicles. Every single one had the windows rolled up. Air conditioning! They had it. I didn’t.

It’s one thing to wait out a red light or whatever. It’s another to park on the pavement for half an hour! The idling engine was about to boil my nutsack with it’s v-twin crockpot of misery. I shut down the engine, put her on the kickstand, and I scampered off the road. I wound up standing under the shade of a tree some 10’ away. It felt weird to abandon a motorcycle in the middle of “traffic” but nobody was going anywhere and I was about to melt.

The vehicle behind me was a semi. The driver looked at me shutting down my bike as if to say “wtf, dude… I’m going to need to move forward when this train is done.” I tried to give a reassuring grin but I was still wearing my helmet. Standing in the shade, I shrugged apologetically. It’s a faux pas to abandon your vehicle at a train crossing but I was going to have stroke out there!

The shade that was only mildly less miserable than the road. The train was sooooooo slow. Nothing to do but sweat and watch coal cars.

I heard a tap on the horn from the semi. He was waving a bottle of water at me.

Oh yeah! I charged over there practically involuntarily. I was at his door before my brain had decided to make the walk. He handed over a bottle of water that was not ice cold but cool-ish. I chugged it without even taking off my full face helmet.

I said “thank you” several times. I’m not sure he heard much over the sound of his engine and my muffled helmet. I’m sure he saw how much it was appreciated.

Ten minutes later the train came to an end. I had the bike fired up and ready to go without delaying anyone at all.

I sure appreciated that water! I hadn’t even thought to hope for such a thing. The dude saw me roasting out there and knew what to do.

What a nice guy!

(To be continued.)