A Motel at the Confluence of Two Roads.

The motel had no laundry. Too tired to care, I washed my riding clothes in the shower. Outside a strong, hot wind was still blowing. I hoped the last hour of daylight would be enough to dry them, as I hung my clothes on the communal line.

We had decided to stop in this two shop confluence of roads, so I could climb Lewis Pass in the cool of the next morning. For three days in a row now we had battled a strong, hot head wind for the last twenty kilometers of each day. It was beginning to wear thin but the sight of a motel and a café connected to it had buoyed our spirits; tomorrow was an eager anticipation.

The food in the café was just what we needed, big, hot and flavorsome, served with bigger and hotter chips. I harbour a latent desire to return to this café when I am fresh, nor tired, sun burnt or windblown, just to see if the “Alpine Big Burger” is as delicious as it was that night. Somehow I have a feeling I will be disappointed, but to its designer and constructors credit, it did its job that night.

Fed, washed, with our cloths quickly dried, we turned in. The sounds of the day receded, the wind dropped away, darkness enveloped our small complex. I was just falling into a well-earned sleep when the first rat ran across our motel ceiling. I could not see it, but I knew the sound. I hate rats in fact I am terrified of rats. Do not share an important secret with me, for your adversary or my interrogator, would only have to say the word, “RAT,” and I make no apology, your card would be marked, resulting in you being woken one dark night by a knocking on your door, to then disappear into a dark unmarked car……..

 “Ok” I thought “one rat, I can handle this, soon I will be asleep,” but no, one was soon joined by two, then three. How do I know this? You ask, trust me, being a fervent rataphobe I knew. By three in the morning the rat festivities had reached a crescendo with what sounded like an organised race across our ceiling. This was not any old race, but a heavy weight derby with some very closely matched participants pushing for a glorious win. The finish must have been breath taking for all watching, with three heavy weights going down to the wire, two falling as they crossed, oh how the crowd cheered their display of speed and power.

It was draining for all involved; slowly the crowd dispersed the last making their way home as the sun was breaking over the distant hills, the very hills I was destined to climb in a few hours. Turning, I pulled the sheets over my head and fell into a fitful slumber.

 

Are We Lost

“We need the weird people the - poets, misfits, writers, mystics, painters, musicians’ adventures explorers’ troubadours - for they teach us to see the world through different eyes.” Unashamedly copied and bastardised.

“Are we lost”?

“No”

“Well where are we then”?

“I’m not sure but if we keep going down this track we are bound to hit the road at some point”.

It was a late summer’s afternoon a simple idea of a ride had inadvertently turned into an adventure. We were lost no doubt but we still had a vague idea of where we could be.

 After a climb that turned into a push we linked on to an old farm road that went in the direction we had planned to ride so onward we road.

The trail dipped down a little too soon for our liking but with no other option and nothing to worry about we took advantage of the trails gentle downhill gradient and easy flowing corners. Following I always wish I could ride like she , her balance and  feel for the bike is natural the lines are always perfect I find myself mesmerised and drawn into following her wheel marks.

Down we flew round grassy smooth corners down down, when abruptly the trail turned uphill. Changing gear, upwards we cruised buoyed by the day, the moment, the company.

After nearly an hour of climbing we topped out on a lonely summit. This is where the doubt set in, and the conversation of lost stared.

So often in life we know what we are doing, when we have to do it and why. Little is left to doubt; caution is rarely thrown to the wind. Are we or our lives lesser for it? I know exploring a new trail that I have little or no knowledge for is a thrill not to be missed. The uncertainty the excitement of new discovery has a magical effect that lasts all day. In life that is now connected instantly information is at hand for all to see, risks are avoided sanitised reported and repaired. Couple this with the necessity to tell everyone what you are doing and where you are instantly leaves nothing to chance. Have we lost the art of getting lost?

As the sun set we retraced our tracks climbed a few fences and eventually found the road. Both smiling we rode back to we knew we had left our van, true adventurers and wiser for the experience.

Why has society always judged explorers, adventures and free spirits as not the norm, is it an inner fear of moving away from a comfortable being.

“We need the weird people the - poets, misfits, writers, mystics, painters, musicians’ adventures explorers’ troubadours - for they teach us to see the world through different eyes.”

Searching for Coffee

The full moon woke me in the early hours before dawn. I turned in my sleeping bag seeing my fellow travellers were still asleep.

I lay listening to the dawn unfold, fighting the urge to extract myself from the warmth to go to the toilet, necessity eventually won over warmth. Crawling back into my bag stillness returned. In the distance the sound of a truck winding its way up the road, we had climbed last night, drifted over the valley.

Slowly others started to wake around me and before long I could hear the sound of a gas cooker being coaxed into life. Reaching in to the bottom of my bag I retrieved my cooker and too started the morning ritual. Taking a cup of hot water I spooned large spoonfuls of fresh ground coffee. Setting it to side I waited.

They say the first hit of heroin is the best and those afflicted by the drug spend a lifetime trying to visit that first event over and over. For me it is coffee, not just any coffee but the first of the day coffee that has the same effect. I spend the balance of my day trying to revisit the first hit.

Sitting in my sleeping bag I look across to the hills we must climb today, I take a long pull on the cup I hold between my hands and let the magic of the drug take hold.

Blatant Copy But Shit it says it all yes?

All it took was the pretty brutally honest resignation that this is my life, this is my one chance, and the quality of it is up to me. No one else to blame, spit at, or get angry at. No, I’m not responsible for everything that happens and will happen to me, but I am responsible for how I respond to it and how I let it effect me. I just made the choice to look at everything with light.

I take what frustrates or saddens me (working at a job that’s uninspiring, being far away from the ones I love, numbly following traditional education) and I use that as fuel to make change. I can make plenty of excuses to not pursue the life I want, and I can make things a lot more conventional by following the expected norm, but that means drifting far from the life I’ve lived so far and one I hope to never stray from. A life that’s explosive, sensational, challenging, wising, and flooded with light. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to settle for anything less than extraordinary with my one time to be on this planet.

And in the meantime, when I am at the job that’s uninspiring or am away from ones I love or am going about the mindless motions, I let myself fall in love with the fact that I’m simply existing. What the fuck, right?! We are breathing! There are SUNSETS! FLOWERS THAT BLOSSOM! GLACIERS! POETRY AND MUSIC! PUPPIES BEING ADOPTED! PEANUT BUTTER AND CHOCOLATE! There is so much good, there is so much that is really a miracle to exist at all (fruit growing on trees, for example — don’t even get me started on oranges, they’re pre-sliced by nature!), and this: there is only up. I think of all the people I’m going to meet, all the places I’m going to go, and how goddamn thankful I am to have done all that I’ve done so far. Every day is another step toward living a life I’m in love with; even the sadness, pain, and anger that inevitably comes. Everything comes with a lesson if you let it, and is just another chapter in your book. Just be patient, be kind, and mostly, remember that there are no right or wrong choices — there is only choice. But mostly, I trust that all is unfolding exactly as it should. Doors open when you’re ready, people come into your life when you’re ready, and stories happen to you when you’re ready. And through it all, through everything, never stop reminding yourself to pause and take a look around you.

I’m here. You’re here.  I’m glad we exist. 

Where to Camp?

“Let’s ask the waiter, he looks like he’s from around here”

“How’s that? He looks fucking normal, is that from around here”?

 “You know, he looks like he would know stuff”.

“Stuff? Fuck me, we’re looking for a camping spot not a Brownie recipe”.

 It turned out the waiter from around here did know.

 He knew of a great place

Brindle

Every summer when I was a child our family had a summer holiday, we would pack up the car and drive great distances to visit relatives or explore new parts of the country.

My lasting and fondest memory is the times we spent in the Bay of Plenty area, my mother’s family live in many of the small towns dotted around this wonderful part of New Zealand.

The country side has nothing to do with my liking of this time; it is the dogs that lived there. Most of the homes we visited or stayed at where those of hunters. With hunting comes a collection of dogs.

I would be excited as we neared certain homes and could hardly wait for the greetings and questions to stop. With large extended families it is easy to remain in the back ground as a child and melt away, not long after arrival I would find myself at the kennels patting and playing with a team of pig dogs all vying for my attention. I think this is where my love of brindle coloured dogs comes from; oddly enough I have never owned one of that colour but find myself drawn to them.

Hunting dogs have presence about them other dogs lack; they have a bearing that says I know what my purpose in life is. These dogs where loved and respected, as an integral part of the food gathering system they shared with their owners. Hunting dogs do what dogs are supposed to do; they live fit healthy full lives.

 

Aware of the small things

In a word that just appears to be getting faster with every moment, where people go from home to work, to the gym, to the TV and .....
This occupies time and if you allow it  to you are no longer aware of important things just the jumble that occupies time.
Some people now don't take the time to cook a meal. This is my time to be in the now. Time to think for it removes you from everything else it clears the jumble. I often think how the ingredients I am using got to my house this is worth so much more than a Television or time spent looking at a computer. I now think of this when I make my purchases; what if I buy this will be the impact? and do i want to be a part of it? All this is is being Aware of what I do and what I have become, how I live, what I live from, and how I care for this. Not for one moment do I not understand how lucky I am to be able to live like this. This is a small thing but I'm

 happy that it helps if only in a small way.