We pull off the road, exhilarated from the ride and parched. Mouths drier than a Brit’s wit. I’m talking dry here. Kelly, Brian and I have not been on the road long, but it’s been busy. A lot of blind, off-camber turns and traffic have taken a little bit of a toll. A cold Coors is calling my name and I feel the need to heed the call.
We stop and pull into a small little dive. The vibe from the place screams “LOCALS ONLY” as we enter the cool interior. Patrons glance our way hoping to see a familiar face and seeing none, return to their beers. I order a $3.50 draft and hand the bartender a 5 spot, telling her to keep the change. I’m “in” now. Oh yeah, so in.
I make my way to the back patio. Biker heaven folks. Porta potty, tables, beer and smokes. Like I said, heaven. Crap! Smokes! I forgot my smokes on my scoot. I now have to walk back out through the bar to get my cigs. Through the stares. The questions. The stale spilt beer.
“Nice bike, what size?”
Excuse me?
“Your bike, what size motor do you have?”
Oh, sorry. It’s an S&S 107. Good motor, too bad the electronics suck.
“Well, it’s a nice bike. You should be proud. Hey, nice tat by the way, did you serve?”
I did. Fast attack submarines. A long time ago though.
“Hey, serving is serving man. God bless ya.”
Thanks, man.
“So what do think about all this 911 coverage?”
Awe dude, I’m not sure I want to talk about that.
“Why, you don’t want to remember?”
Look man, I remember. Like it was yesterday. I remember. I also remember Dec 7, 1941, and Aug 6th, 1945.
“What does that mean?”
Nothing man. Hey, cute dog. My wife and I have a small dog too. Never thought I’d have one, but man, I love the lil girl
“Oh yeah, we just love her… Hey, you’re looking pretty pink!”
I let out a laugh. I know, my skin is almost the same color pink that’s in my feather tat my daughter Amanda designed for me.
I show him the tat.
“Hey, you’re right! So why do you hate America, and what the hell happened to folk music?”
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I’ve just wolfed down a killer Klondike Bar, dark chocolate mind you, that is sitting rather heavy on the 4 extra dry martinis I made for myself tonight. Look, don’t let the headline scare you, I’m just experimenting tonight. I’ve spent the last couple of months writing pablum for the masses. Headlines and short snippets designed to get folks to click on a story. Don’t get me wrong, it is good work and I love that an uneducated biker dude like me was given the chance. It’s just not me, you know? I love to write. I love to express my thoughts in ways I hope that help people understand who I am. That’s immortality, right? It’s what we all look for, no?
So I’m sitting here tonight, no deadlines, no AP style guidelines stifling my words. Just me. Well, me and the ice-cold, very-dry martinis and a few packs of Marlboro Skyline 100s. Free form at its best.
Why do we fear death so? We know it’s going to happen. It’s the only certainty in life. We have no clue what tomorrow may bring, but we all know we will eventually die. So why do we fear it? If you are a religious person, you know your soul is taken care of. If you are an atheist, there is no afterlife, so death is just …. Death.
So why all the worry? Why the preplanning, the huge amounts of dollars spent on this? We spend more money and time on what might happen after we die than we do while we are actually alive.
I think we need to look at death like a vacation. Okay, I know, I lost a few of you there. But hang in there with me. What is a vacation after all? We all want rest, relaxation and to be able to forget the day-to-day worries of a living life. Death is a free travel trailer. Right?
Death is like parking your camper at a campsite you’ve never been to before. It may turn out to be a kick ass weekend, or you find you’ve set up camp next to a family that believes that whatever you believe in is wrong and they will spend every waking moment of their life proving it to you. It’s a frickin crap shoot and I’m not sure I’m willing to put that all on two, if you get my drift.
We all die. If I die 10 years sooner because I love my martinis and a smoke then so be it. I liken it to marathon racers. If you ever talk to a marathoner they will tell you they get into a zone. They stop seeing what is around them. They see their feet hitting the pavement one after the other. The goal of finishing becomes everything. And by doing this, they lose everything.
Life is what life is. We take what we are given and we try to make the best of it. Some of us get great ingredients, some of us try to make bread with clay and salt. it is what it is, but more so, it is what we make out of it.
I leave you tonight with one thought, And ye harm no one, do what ye will.
Gregor
First of all, apologies for the deadness of this blog of late. To be honest, I’m apologizing to myself as I find this sort of writing very soothing and I’ve missed it. As many of you know I’ve been back among the workforce, writing copy for a product on Bing called MSN Answers. If you use Bing you may have seen a larger than normal photo pop up with some copy to the side that then leads you to a full news story. I write those, along with a couple of other cats. After 8 hours of non-stop writing though, I’ve found myself less than eager to jump behind the wheel of this blog. But I’m changing that as of now. So with that preamble over, let the real blogging begin…
As a former scuba diver, I know the value of decompression stops. When we dive, nitrogen is absorbed into the body tissues. The deeper the depth, the more pressure is exerted on the body and therefore more nitrogen is absorbed. If you surface too quickly the nitrogen can turn to bubbles (think opening a bottle of beer your ‘buddy’ shook up) and those bubbles can then lodge in the bloodstream and joints resulting in the bends. Bad juju those bends. Good divers never forget to stop. Dead divers do.
Our daily lives are much the same as a deep dive. Pressure baby. Pressure from work responsibilities. Pressure from home. Money pressure. Partner pressure. Social pressure. Family pressure. It builds man, it builds fast. And if we’re not careful, pop go the bubbles.
Decompression stops. We need decompression stops for life’s pressures. Not just rest periods, but full blown decomp stops man. Time to just hang there at 15 feet and… well, hang.
Yesterday Beth and I did our favorite decomp stop. An overnight camping trip to the mountains. First of the year and man did we need it. We’ve both been diving at 150 feet for several months now and needed a stop. So yesterday we packed the car, including our newest family member Maggie, and headed east to Lake Chelan.
It was beautiful out when we arrived. 70, sunny… just spot on perfect. Spring came late to the mountains this year and things were still budding and blooming. Lake was down, probably on purpose to help contain what is expected to be a larger than normal melt off, but it was still beautiful. We set up camp and we started to hang at 15 feet. Maggie had a little bit of a hard time adjusting to the sun, she is a Seattle pup after all, but after a little buddy breathing she settled down.
After a dinner of brats and chips, we listened to the earth for a bit then called it a day when the sun decided to do the same. A couple of hours later I was jolted awake by a series of light flashes, like someone was taking flash photos outside our tent. I was trying to figure out how the paparazzi found my happy place when the thunderous applause of thousands broke out. Right when I was ready to start signing autographs, Maggie yelped, started licking my ear and I came to the realization that we were smack dab in the middle of one humdinger of a thunderstorm. I laid awake as the storm moved through, its thunder echoing across the mountains. The rain slowed to a steady beat against the tent and I was soon lulled back to sleep.
We woke when the sun did. Set about dealing with wet items left out, starting a fire for coffee and watching Maggie enjoy a romp through the wet foliage. Other camps were stirring as well and sounds of disappointment started to fall on the damp ground. Disappointment? Man. I will never understand why some folks love to have thunderstorms on their nature-sounds clock radios but are disappointed with the real thing. It was a symphony man. Sights, sounds, smells… the whole thing. I just smiled and hung out at 15 feet a little longer.
Time came to head to the surface, so we packed up the car and headed back home. Nature did let us hang just a little longer however, offering up spectacular scenes for our drive back over the pass. We pulled into the driveway, surfaced and starting packing things away. Stowed until we need them. Ready for the next stop.
Decompression stops. They really aren’t just a good idea. They are survival.
Gregor.
Okay, before I start hearing choruses of “We’ve heard this” “It’s not always about Nirvana” and other comments, let me just say this: this ain’t your Entertainment Tonight version of the vibe. Fair? Okay, let me continue.
I’ll be the first one to admit it, when we first moved out here and I could wear my flannel and vests and not feel like an outcast, I was one happy camper. I felt at home here. For one thing, people looked like me! Longish hair, beards, jeans and flannel shirts. Christ, this was me going back to grade school! And yeah, I had a beard in 3rd grade. Sue me. Bottom line, I felt like I belonged, and I was one happy flannel covered camper.
As time as moved on though, I’ve come to realize that the whole flannel thing is just a small part of the whole. We, and let me clarify something here. I’ve only lived out here for 4 years now, so I use the “we” terminology very loosely. But to be honest, I feel like I’ve always been here. Maybe in spirit only, but I feel at home here, more than any other physical location I’ve been. So any local who may read this, please allow me the use of “we”, okay? Now, let me continue. “We” are much more than just flannel, Nirvana and coffee. We are a deep seeded vibe. We are a way of being. A way of understanding. We are, to use an oft quoted phrase, a way of life. Let me explain.
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Like most of us, the events in this past week have affected me deeply. And, like most of us, I wanted answers and accountability. Before I hit the “eye for an eye” stage though, I decided to stop reading the accounts and do some thinking.
This country has never been what you could call a truly peaceful country. From expansion, civil wars, industrial revolution, world wars, civil rights and on, this country has usually reacted to problems with violent outbursts. The real question is why?
Back during the westward expansion, many immigrants lived in perfect harmony with the local tribes. Food was shared, land wasn’t owned but rather shared amongst all who needed it. There were cases, of course, where local tribes reacted strongly when forced off the lands they had hunted or watched as herds of buffalo were slaughtered for nothing but skins. These stories made it back to the East where they became, when newspapers got a hold of them, stories of how savages in the West were killing off all of our innocent Americans. This led to 1000′s of people signing up to protect the settlers and started the killing spree.
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