Today I found myself looking at an old blog, last updated way back in 2015, when the world was a different place. It's called Cosmic Country Noir.
It's a simple site of few words—mostly low-rez photos, chronicling an old friend-of-a-friend's adventures on simple steel frame bikes in the hills of California.
It inspired me, more or less, to get into bike touring a long time ago. I went and had many an adventure similar to those ones.
It's amazing how, with the mode of transport shifting, the world changes. Places unreachable or boring become possible and exhilarating. Without a car to give away your presence, camping pretty much anywhere becomes possible.
Coming across that blog, as I help a friend find her first bike in decades, reminded me of my own priorities in life, and how, when I was a child, I remember noticing peculiar things about the adults around me. It seemed that a lot of the adults I knew had given up what they liked doing. They had stories from the days of adventure, but it seemed like at a certain point, life got too busy.
It was easy for me, as a child, to see that these adults of my past, while they lived fulfilling lives, didn't really seem happy. And as a child I always asked them "why did you stop doing stuff you liked to do?"
Now, I'm looking at myself, and my simple life, and realizing that even though I don't have many commitments, I haven't spent much time doing the things I love as much as I probably should. Spending time outside is what generates my work and reconnects me with myself. Often, time alone in simple, humble places. I definitely need to practice that more.
It's good to remember what feeds me, and to remember how my child self knew, and knows a lot more than all the layers of preferences and experience that have piled up over the years.
Two afternoons ago I saw a friend of mine watching over the sheep. She was out in the field below the house, where the net was recently moved. The sheep have slowly been making their way across the pastures, eating as they go. Checking on them is simple, mostly swapping the battery on the fence if necessary, and making sure it's turned on. After she did that, I noticed her standing, looking at the sheep. She stood for a while watching—who knows what she was thinking about. It was one of those perfect late summer days, when the air is cool but the sun feels warm, and there are just a few clouds in the sky. After watching for a while, she turned and walked back to her van parked at the end of the fencerow, and drove away.
Beautiful