Adaptive Curmudgeon

After my delicious meal, I had to ride on a major paved road for a few miles to Raspberry Hollow. What a buzzkill. The little 200 cc Yamaha air cooled thumper has all the grunt I need to stride through the toughest trails, but it’s not geared for highway speeds. I can do 55 Mph but when it’s doing so it’s screaming. I keep it under that speed whenever I can. No need to fry the little engine. It’s not fun at high speeds anyway. There was no traffic so I sauntered; 45 Mph in a 60 Mph zone. Safe enough if you’re the only one there.

Raspberry Hollow was gorgeous and completely empty. I was shocked at how nice it was. How did I not know about this place? It’s right there! Handily adjacent to pavement. Flat wide campsited. Super easy access. You could park a fifth wheel the size of France in there! The trees were nice, there was an outhouse, there was a hand operated water pump. Why was it empty? My staging area of Nondescript State Park was about 2/3 filled up. The only attraction I could see was that you could reserve a spot at the Park. That’s why I was there.

The plywood kiosk here had a “no fires whatsoever” warning still stapled up. I suspect State Park campsites allow fires but the big metal fire rings at Raspberry Hollow are still verboten for a few days while the rain percolates through the bureaucracies mind. Either that or it was rescinded but nobody bothered to drove out here to rip the sign down.

I’m pretty careful with fire on a dry year like this one. So I follow the rules reasonably well. I also prefer wood fire to propane burners. I appreciate brats cooked over wood enough to pay $20 to do it legally. So, no regrets about the State Park… this time. But I’ve at least learned that Raspberry Hollow is completely adequate. I will go back and camp there as soon as the fire restrictions are definitely lifted (which may be next year).

It was positioned in an interesting geographic spot. It’s on a big paved road and a snowmobile trail. In winter, you could roll your Ski-Doo off the trailer and lickety split zoom right into the wilderness. (I don’t own a snowmobile.) Alas, there was no “land trail” to the forest; only a winter trail. I had to roll back on the paved road. I’d need to go back past “The Crown” and from there return to the forest.

Back on pavement, I wound up to a buzzy 50 MPH just in time to see a bear come tearing out of the forest just a few hundred yards from the campsite. It jogged up the mowed brush adjacent onto the paved road and took a good look at my tiny bike in one lane and a semi coming in the opposite direction. We all braked; bear, semi, and me. The bear blinked at the truck and the buzzy little bike. For a minute I thought I might be the lesser of two challenges to a freaked out bear. Then it noped out. It did a u-turn and crashed back into the brush. I pawed at my camera but failed to get a video.

I dunno why, but I like bear pictures. Bears aren’t really rare… just uncommon enough that I enjoy seeing them. This was a black bear. I wasn’t in grizzly country.

Seeing the black bear go back into the forest I flipped a quick U, zipped back to Raspberry Hollow and jumped on a little trail that went adjacent to the road. Maybe I’d get another view? The trail was only a short one.

Wrong! The trail went several miles… all within earshot of the main road. It popped out at a cell phone tower within sight of “The Crown”. I’ll remember that if I camp there. Who doesn’t like a campsite with readily available bar food and a trail to access it? I never saw the bear again.

Five minutes later I’d passed The Crown and was heading back into nowhere. I stopped to look at my map. The next “target for exploration” had an ugly name. Call it “Mud Ditch”. It didn’t sound appealing, but it was a dot on the map in a place where dots were rare. The dot had free campsites, parking, and… a rifle range? Worth examination.

Honestly, Mud Ditch seemed well situated for snowmobiles but a bit odd for land vehicles. Then again, it was on a major forest system road (dirt of course, but well maintained) so who knows?

As I was standing there reading the map, two UTVs in caravan came roaring out of the forest. Possibly en route to The Crown? Then three other UTVs in caravan blew by me the opposite way. Those were the three that had been at The Crown. Apparently everyone knows about The Crown. Now, I know too.

I was on a motorcycle ride in the forest and I was happily lost. Eventually, I started thinking about lunch. I had a self heating MRE and planned to “cook” it on a picnic table at Raspberry Hollow. I dug out my gadgetry and, through the miracle of GPS, discovered I was in the general vicinity (which I expected) but miles from any trails on the map (which I didn’t). I was on a trail, looking at a map which showed nothing at all. This is OK. The map is not the terrain.

I backtracked a bit to the power line, found a service trail along side, and followed it. Judging from compass bearings, sooner or later it would cut across forest system road XYZ. It did. I headed left, then right, then hit something odd… pavement. I’d arrived at “civilization”.

I wasn’t familiar with this area. I was on County Route ABC which was paved and led from Town A to Town B. Both towns are less villages and more like a handful of buildings that was once maybe the hope for a town… but not much more. An artifact of survey lines and a few aging residents. I headed toward Town B, which was en route to Raspberry Hollow. It had a teeny tiny little single pump gas station which somehow the EPA hadn’t yet driven to extinction. Behind that there was a coffee shop! I wandered in, the shop wasn’t open. It was under construction. Two guys with circular saws were hard at work. Capitalism? In America in 2021? I bid them the best of luck and meant it.

They told me the only nearby food was at “The Crown” and waved vaguely in a direction; as if anyone with a pulse would know where “The Crown” was. I thanked them and rolled back out, past the pump (which was not in service), and on the paved road that would lead to Raspberry Hollow. I love having a license plate on my “off road” machine!

A mile later I spied “The Crown”. I pulled into the empty lot and was shocked to find it open. I forgot all thoughts of an MRE and ordered the best pulled pork sandwich a man could want.

While I was waiting three UTV’s pulled up.

Some pedantics: An ATV is an off road device where one person sits over the engine which is in the center of the machine. The operator steers with handlebars, as God intended. I expected these to rule the hinterland but their time passed some years ago; while I was otherwise distracted. A UTV is an ATV that’s become much more expensive and sophisticated. It’s been bloated up and “car-ified”. A bench seat accommodates two people (sometimes two benches accommodate four people). The driver sits on one side (not the center) and uses a steering wheel. Conversely, OHM is an off highway motorcycle (which may or may not be street legal). The driver of an OHM is a crotchety bearded blogger who’s too old for such things and should have a UTV like everyone else. The only explanation is that he’s too obstreperous to take on payments like a proper American.

I have seen only a scant few OHMs in the forest. More ATVs but they’re surprisingly uncommon for something that was practically the only game in town only a few years ago. UTVs are the vast majority. They’re approachable to the masses. They’re more car-like, have roofs and doors and windshields (and often stereos and heaters). They’re easier to operate and have handy “truck beds” in the back to carry Budweiser and a raincoat. They’ve almost completely displaced ATVs. The median age of UTV drivers is a surprise. It seems closer to “Boomer with a golf cart in Phoenix” than “young Millennial hunter looking for elk”. Live and learn.

Anyway, tiny little Honey Badger with various survival gear strapped to it wound up squatting next to the impressive UTVs. It looked like a dusty saddled horse parked next to three showroom fresh trucks. I felt bittersweet distance from my fellow man.

The bar filled up with however many people rode in the three UTVs. Half a dozen at least.

I was glad to see them so happy. I wondered what it is about me that makes me ride alone? I enjoyed my meal and rolled out.

Later it occurred to me, the parking lot had 3 UTVs and a dirtbike. Not a single car, truck, or minivan in the vicinity. The hinterland really is a different place.

The forest I wanted to explore is not small. You could spend a lifetime there. I had a weekend… or perhaps a lifetime’s worth of exploration that has just begun.

I had two goals; I wanted to check out “free dispersed” camping at three locations and I wanted to look for small game hunting spots. This would imply X miles of riding which would take time. I plotted out my course on a map over coffee. How would I reach my goals while sticking to the “prettiest” routes?

Whoa, back up there Curmudgeon! Those aren’t your goals at all. Your single goal is to relax and get right with nature. If you do nothing but sit on a stump until your head’s screwed on straight, that’s just fine! You’re here to let the madness out and some fresh air in. You didn’t want to watch “2021, the Sequel… for when 2020 wasn’t dumb enough and you want to do it all over again” and you need to allocate the time to let the madness of crowds seep out of your bones.

Do what needs doing. Don’t obsess over maps. I’d been getting tense… but then I relaxed.

Meanwhile, it started raining. A light mist. Suddenly, I was in no hurry to go motorcycling and get soaking wet. I threw on a rain jacket and refilled my coffee percolator. I just sat there in the mist… brewing and drinking coffee. It was as good a morning as any. Finally the skies cleared and I’d drank an inhuman amount of coffee. It was time to go.

I rolled out on my Yamaha TW200; which is now lightly modified and loaded for bear. I had a gallon of spare fuel, a gallon of “spare” water, tools, food, survival crap, a SpotX, navigational gadgetry, paper maps, shit tickets… the works. I was ready for (almost) anything. Being a solo geezer in the middle of nowhere it just makes sense to be ready. It’s not like I’m riding in a group. There will be nobody to winch me out of a ditch or set a broken femur should I need it. Take care. The man I’m counting on to get me home is… me.

For the purpose of OPSEC I’m not going to use real place names. Get over it, I’m still more truthful than virtually every press report you’ve heard for years. I rolled out toward “Raspberry Hollow”. That’s the (not) name of a “free” dispersed campsite.

Let me digress. There is dispersed camping everywhere in this forest. Like a man who wants to pee on a tree, the forest is unlimited for my needs. However, some places are better that others. Some spots are swampy and some are dry. Some roads more amenable to my behemoth truck and more likely to have good parking spots than others. Also some spots are informally established; through long use they have evolved fire rings and outhouses. No need to make life any harder than it has to be.

I wanted to see what I’d get at Raspberry Hollow for $0 versus what I’d been experiencing for $20+ a night at Unremarkable State Park.

I set out on the direct route, a dirt road but still the main access. That didn’t last long! Five minutes later I turned, for no reason, onto a logging path. A couple miles later I followed a legal but unlabeled ATV trail into a swamp. Thus, I followed whimsy rather than preconception; which opened my heart to nature.

It looked like a bog so I parked and wandered around looking for pitcher plants. Actually I was looking for generalized “plants that eat bugs”. I don’t know why… just ‘cause. I know they live in bogs where the soil sucks. I was in the right area. But carnivorous plants are pretty rare so you gotta’ look a little. Google says they’re not in this location… but I’ve seen ‘em. Fuck Google. If I can find a pitcher plant I can often find a sundew nearby. I don’t think Venus flytraps occur around here.

I heard something sniffing around in the brush and forgot about plants. Speaking of carnivores… Now I was looking for critters. I stepped in deep mud trying to track it. It, wisely, vamoosed.

I popped out on the trail a quarter mile from my bike. I had one wet foot and a big smile. I’d forgotten all about the world of men and their terrible madness. I’d been looking for plants and critters. I felt better already.

That’s the point.

Back on the trail I made three or six or eleven or twenty more turns based on nothing in particular. I watched, roughly, the compass as guessed by the sun and I meandered somewhat in the direction desired but I didn’t overthink it. I was lost in no time… which also was the point.

Then I broke out of dense forest into a wide open linear meadow just brimming with wildlife. Or, if you want to sound dour, it was the clearing for a high power transmission line. Tear your eyes away from the Sierra Club wallpaper on your Windows laptop and you’ll find that nature isn’t picky. Actual nature, as opposed to the theoretical idealized unreal vision of nature that lives in suburban minds, is perfectly happy frolicking under power transmission lines, above buried pipelines, along irrigation ditches, in old clearcuts, near wheat fields, and so forth. Anywhere else that sports the right soil and vegetation might be a paradise of it’s own. The clearing was a perfect spot for critters.

I traveled along the powerline for some time. “God bless Canadian hydropower!” I shouted. I was pretty close to Canada. I have no idea if it really was Canadian hydropower but that’s a good guess. I imagined, big globs of metric electrons headed south; a lingering vestige of honest trade among capitalists. A flow of power from the good hearted but currently imprisoned people of hockey in exchange for greenbacks which were once holders of true value. This to be misuesed as it charges the Teslas of uptight vegan suburbanite Karens and keeps the lights on at universities that don’t teach. The pylons were huge and arrow straight. The kind of relevant engineering built by men who knew how to build. I stopped and nibbled on some snacks. It was threatening rain but otherwise beautiful.

It was a bit of a lowland so I looked for moose tracks. Didn’t find any. It has been a brutally hot summer. What would normally be a mosquito infested mudbath was a dusty easy ride. Everything is moving differently, adapting to the situation. Moose, who like water and don’t like heat… must be suffering this year? Are moose the North American, ice age remnant, temperate climate version of quasi-aquatic African hippos? I pondered that while I rode further. I took several more turns, left the power line behind, and went from lost to very lost.

I’d doubled down on “exploring” so much that I’d become completely, utterly, lost. I breathed deeply of the air in a place where a man has no idea of his location and doesn’t much care. Yeah… that’s the stuff.

Having abandoned my plan to promptly depart after work Friday, I embraced the delay. I treated myself and my family to dinner at a restaurant. I’d made it through Friday. Sometimes that’s all you can do. Plus, family is the rock upon which we build our life. It was a good time.

More hassles delayed me the next day. Most of it was me. I just couldn’t focus. I was tired. I was dispirited. Luckily the weather was clear; so my camping junk sat in the truck bed without issue.

I left hours late. I immediately drove into a thunderstorm. My tent was in the back, probably soaked in the first ten minutes. Oh well.

It was a long drive but I don’t remember it.

I arrived at camp just as the rain stopped. Having attained escape velocity, things were now different. I was different. Events started to go my way.

There was nobody at the front gate. I expected this. I haven’t seen an attendant at a State Park all year. I’m not sure they exist anymore. Like bank tellers physically within banks, one starts to wonder what they ever did. (In the world of ATMs and direct deposit, I go years at a time without entering a bank. So do you.)

I scanned a big plywood kiosk with a thousand posted warnings; everything from poison oak to bear precautions. Such an unsettled people we are… or our systems make us unsettled. I was looking for verification of the fire restrictions. I found nothing about fire. In the trash can, next to the kiosk, was a laminated “FIRE DANGER: NO CAMPFIRES ALLOWED” sign. It was crumpled and tossed. Was that because the edict was officially rescinded or did a pissed off camper do a little civil disobedience?

After 3 days of rain and this afternoon’s thunderstorm, I couldn’t start a forest fire with a blowtorch. The foliage was wet. Ground too. I did a quick survey, about 1/3 of the camps had fire. Real wood fire. Which made sense. I decided to make sense too.

I lugged my designated traveling firewood garbage can out of the truck. (Relax, it’s brand new and squeaky clean; allocated for this purpose.) In it, I keep dry processed pallet wood, my folding firebox, matches, and my percolating coffee pot. I was glad I’d brought it.

After that I deployed “speed camp”. I have the world’s most awesome combination of tent, cot, mattress, and sleeping bag. None of these things are overly expensive, but I selected them as a combination and they work together very well. They fit my needs and this environment perfectly. The setup is fast fast fast! I had tent, cot, mattress, and sleeping bag all setup and cozy in 15 minutes. The tent, in it’s protective carrying case, had stayed pretty dry. Good to know.

Another 15 minutes and I had deployed the folding firebox (inside the camp’s metal fire ring) and a merry fire of kiln dried waste wood was cheering me mightily. (I didn’t build it very high, I just wanted cooking coals.) I had my lawnchair unfolded and a beer in my hand in another 5 minutes. A bratwurst was sizzling soon after. If you’ve ever gone backpacking, you’ve likely calibrated your camping experience to those sorts of logistics. By comparison, a cold beer in a lawn chair is unbelievably luxurious.

On the other side of the campsite, still strapped to her trailer, Honey Badger gleamed in the firelight.

“You and me will ride the world tomorrow!” I toasted my cheap little steed.

I drank several beers and slept like a baby. I was camping. I’d made it.

Daily life is a gravity well. Uncommonly, a rare and glorious unchained mind may pass well beyond its reach; merely deflected a bit or perhaps untouched as it follows an unfathomable course charted from and into the void. For the rest of us, life’s immediate and domestic burdens pull strong. The mundane may keep you safely yet loosely in its orbit or it may pull you down to crush you in its depths. Either way, it’s not easily ignored.

To join with nature, you must muster the necessary escape velocity to rise above. Once you have broken free, spend your time wisely, for you will return from whence you came. You might glide down peacefully or crash like a meteor, but nobody leaves daily life forever.

I made a complete hash of attaining escape velocity. I hate it when that happens.

I thought I’d reach a certain point of maturity, of age and wisdom; some level of being where I’d have my shit together enough to wander off without last minute hassles. I’m beginning to think there is no such thing.

I wanted to light out the very minute work closed on Friday. Mindful of this, I attended to a myriad of errands earlier in the week. I even decided to hedge my bets, I made reservations. (Gasp!) Online, I reserved several nights at a nondescript Park that would serve as my base of operations. “There are fire restrictions.” I was warned. I read the fine print. There would be no fires anywhere; not even in the steel ringed campsite spots. I added propane to my shopping list.

Then it rained for three days straight; which screwed up all my homestead plans. Meanwhile all hell broke loose at work like it always does. Departure on Friday went from difficult, to unlikely, to impossible. By lunch on Friday I’d accepted I wouldn’t leave that night.

There was no way to electronically cancel that night’s reservation so I called the “help line”. I stewed over a mandatory cancellation fee… the bastards!

I was on-hold a while. I expected this to be followed by a runaround involving rote recitation of pre-written scripts. Perhaps a non-conversation with some innocent wage slave working the night shift in Bangalore. Or worse, a baffling circular “discussion” with a woke Lakisha in Baltimore; someone who’s never been out of sight of a 20 story building and wonders why I can’t take light rail to the campsite.

There’s no getting around it, the distance in culture and lifestyle between a camping redneck and a “reservation database system” can be awesome. Yet, this time I had good fortune. I was spared and the worst didn’t happen! A friendly voice answered. An actual English speaking genuine American; he sounded like a guy who might actually own a tent!

I was pleased to speak with someone who understood my plight. He knew what needed doing and could do it. The changes were made quickly.

As with all things bureaucratic, vocabulary defined reality instead of the other way around. “Canceling” Friday entailed a fee. “Modifying the reservation” to remove Friday had a lesser fee. Same event, different words. As bureaucracy (often but not always governmental bureaucracy) takes more and more air from the room, we find ourselves enmeshed in systems which suit computers but don’t represent the human element. We are men, not widgets.

“What caused the problem?” The fellow asked. I think there was some sort of ‘excuse’ situation. One reason for canceling might be OK and get the fee rescinded. Yet another reason might not. I’ve experienced this before; getting a refund with the reason ‘my car broke down’ but not for the reason ‘I had to repair my sailboat rudder before I could use it’. I hate the whole concept. Why something happens in my life is nobody’s business but mine. If I have to cancel because I was doing blow with Hunter Biden or because I needed heart surgery, the event remains the same.

So many governmental impositions on my privacy. They never end. I sighed. I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders. It must have been audible and depressing.

“That bad eh?”

What can one say? “Shit happens.”

There was a pause. “No fee.”

“Excuse me?”

“I deleted the fee. We’ve all been there.”

Simple kindness… I was shocked. From some unknown cog in a bureaucracy doing campground reservations probably nationwide, there was a spark of connection. I felt the warmth of humanity.

“Thank you.” I stammered. It meant to me much more than a mere seven or ten dollars.

“Have a great weekend.” I could hear the smile. Then he was gone.

There’s always hope.

Did you listen to it? I’m talking about the Potato in Chief’s tantrum at the podium. Mark the calendar for Thursday September 9^th 2021 and remember. Do not forget. It wasn’t a mistake. What he said was intentional.

If you didn’t listen to its entirety; you should. Don’t accept my interpretation. Don’t roll with some pundit’s opinion. For God’s sake you know better than to heed the press. Get it straight from the angry old man’s mouth. It’s only half an hour. Look it up and hear it from the primary source.

Listen. To. Every. Word.

I don’t know what happens next. Nobody does. I do know that it’s socially unacceptable to speak in that manner to 80,000,000 people. I know, without reservation, that it’s morally unacceptable to speak in that manner even to a single person.I personally wouldn’t speak that way about any human being. Perhaps the crossing that line was the entire point.

I’m not sure what else to say. For the moment, allow me to offer a present instead.

I just got back from being (mostly) off line. I wrote about riding my dirt bike through the forest. A good 10,000 words of premium, heartfelt, happy, bullshit. Since it’s me, I go off on tangents. There’s a fair amount of navel gazing, a brief literature review, and I can’t write anything without either a reference to ancient Rome or anthropomorphized woodland animals… so there’s a bit of both. I offer it in good faith. Posts will continue popping up all week long.

Enjoy harmless escapism while you can. The monstrous entities that pull Captain Corn Pop’s strings are trying to work themselves up to atrocity. Release any sliver of normalcy bias you might still cherish. Let it go. The thinking that leads to cattle cars and final solutions is speaking aloud on national television. It’s undeniable and unambiguous. This doesn’t mean all is lost, only that there appear no obvious limits to what is happening. When social norms are discarded at this level, none of us really knows where the ride ends.

I hope you enjoy my stories. As always, I wish you well. Good luck.