Richard Treks: BALM: Week 2 Day 6

The boy walks into the woods, a dog follows him. The dog would lick the boy's sorrow away. Because a girl broke his heart? Because he gave the wrong answer? Because he's young and sees no future? No matter. It's summer. And the boy and the dog? Let's say his name is Happy. They're the picture of hope falling forever like a brick from the brain into the heart. Their loneliness fills the woods. "Go back," says the moss in the trees. "Look up," says the sun. "All things shine," says the brook. And the boy falls for the country Missouri girl in the front row. The teacher says, " Good proof." His pastor calls him professor. Already he's leaving his life behind. His best friend shoots himself. He will not be there with his parents to stroke their wrists when they die.

A wonderful benefit of biking a long distant is the reverie that comes with the miles. The reverie is like a ghost in your head writing a song. You ride with the ghosts of your history. You ride with the broken links of your life. You ride the trued wheel of your life. You are country western heartbreak tequila beer knock back music. A teenage love song. Soul. Symphony. Rap. That song you like best in all the playlists of the world combined. Your life is open road.

Look, the bird, all white, it's wings humped like the legs of a rabbit, it's eye staring down the line of the road at the dream of flight.

I have friends who have bikes that they can lift with their fingers. Carbon frames. Titanium. Gears that shift like the click of a lock under the fingers of a safe cracker. They ride for speed. They ride in pelotons of twenty, thirty, even more, long lines drafting, the front rider shifting, falling back, the next taking the lead. They ride to get from A to B as fast as possible. When do they have the time to ride with the ghosts of their lives? Between the quick shift of gears? Between the grimace of pain and fatigue? In the time it takes to tear open an energy gel?

Today Gary threw rocks in a pond. We sat at a closed gas station to eat nuts and cereal. We road through national forests. We biked from Little Bay de Noc and past Big Bay de Noc to ride again along the shore of Lake Michigan. I saw signage with the name of my great niece: Isabella. From the door of my tent I just watched the sun set over Indian Lake.

Bob Dylan. Thunder on the Mountain. For the love of god, take pity on yourself. Purple rain.

Today was a beautiful day. Praise all things that bring you down. The wind was still coming from the east, but slight. Praise all things that lift you up. I learned that the locals call themselves UPers. Brutal winds. Calm waters. Sleet and cold. Warmth and sun. The tent. Pronounced uppers.

Some things fall apart. Some things make you whole. Kiss the world now. Again and again.

Follow the BALM.