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Day 7 – Resting in Twentynine Palms

Bicycle Touring in the West
Day 7 – Rest Day in Twentynine Palms

“Don’t underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can’t hear, and not bothering.”
  ~ Pooh’s Little Instruction Book, inspired by A.A. Milne

Falling asleep last night, I’d thought I might try and “sleep in” this morning. Silly thought, as I was probably falling asleep about 8:30 at night, to the sound of a loud and boisterous party out by the pool. Normally this would have kept me from sleeping, but for whatever reason, I was able to sleep through most of it, waking occasionally but falling back asleep.

I’m not a particularly good sleeper, often waking to the slightest of sounds, generally not able to go back to sleep if I get out of bed in the middle of the night. Under normal circumstances, I usually start waking up by 5:00 AM, and on this trip, I’ve been out of bed by 4:00 most mornings. So this morning, “sleeping in” means I’m able to stay in bed until nearly 5:30 AM. Which represents a very good night’s sleep.

Early morning is absolutely my favorite time of day. There aren’t many souls up and about early, so it always feels like I’ve got the cosmos to myself. Well, maybe not the cosmos, but this morning I at least the hotel lobby and breakfast area. I read while the breakfast counter is set up, and enjoy a very quiet and peaceful breakfast outside in the cool shade by the pool.

After a couple hours, some youngsters start to stake their claim to the pool, and I head back in to the breakfast area to enjoy a little “second breakfast.” There are quite a few folks in here now, and listening to the chatter around me, I’m able to deduce that along with the wedding party that stayed here last night, there was also a small group of young men from the nearby Marine Corps training center staying at the hotel while doing some training. There is every indication that some of the young Marines got to know some of the wedding party as the orbits of their respective parties seemed to intersect last night.

Isn’t love grand? Well, maybe not love, but at least everyone seems to feel better this morning. Well, OK, maybe not better in all respects – there are clearly some hangovers being carefully nursed. Well OK, in the case of the Marines, their leader seems none too tender with them in his “nursing” of their hangovers. Continue reading “Day 7 – Resting in Twentynine Palms”

Wood and the Language of Love

In some mysterious way woods have never seemed to me to be static things. In physical terms, I move through them; yet in metaphysical ones, they seem to move through me.
~ John Fowles 

A friend, (let’s call her Darla), told me once of a piece of furniture her husband had made for her. It meant a lot to her, she explained to me, because her husband is a pretty quiet guy, and she’s come to realize over the years that making things for her is his language of love to her.

Decades ago, I cut firewood to make extra money. Wherever I found trees being pushed over to make room for new houses, I’d ask permission to cut as much firewood as I could out of the area. Occasionally, I’d find an ancient tree pushed over that was big enough to harvest lumber from, and I’d work mighty hard to load it into my truck, and haul it to the sawmill, and have it milled down to rough-sawn lumber. Then I’d carefully stack and dry it.

I accumulated quite a treasure trove of excellent lumber – oak, walnut, and cherry mostly – much of which was 12” wide or more. I used it over the years, for things like bookshelves and fireplace mantles in homes we built. But much of it has stayed with me all these years, pieces of ancient woodland history harvested and cared-for by me as I’ve traveled through life.

I think I always held out hope that my kids would come to appreciate the deep wealth and history of those bones from within ancient trees. But, as is generally the case with kids, they follow their own paths, and those paths didn’t take them close to or through the libraries of ancient tree lore.

But fate crossed my path with Darla, whose husband used wood as a language of love. Who better to appreciate the thirty-something years of care my lumber received after the trees it came from had gathered life from the earth for hundreds of years? Who better to understand the significance of the language this wood can speak?

So I helped him load the wood into his truck the other day, and handed custody over to a younger man who can care for and craft the wood into it’s next iteration of language. While there was perhaps a tiny bit of sadness as the wood left, there was far greater joy that it might now be crafted into a rare and wonderful language.

My role in the transformation of those ancient trees was only to rescue their lumber, and to cure and care for the lumber through many years. Through those years, it aged and ripened in my care, preparing for the next step in its transformation. It’s now been given to its next custodian, who will help it emerge into a wonderful language – much like the language it must have spoken all those years ago standing tall and strong in the forest.

The groves were God’s first temples.
~ William Cullen Bryant, A Forest Hymn

 

Lots of things in life are like that, aren’t they? We’re often called to play a role for a time in the transformations of this world around us. To protect a thing, not to possess it. To be a steward, not a tyrant. To be a gardener and a nurturer, not a leech and hoarder.

To every thing, there’s a season.
A time for seed to take root,
A time for growing,
A time for uprooting…
A time for holding on,
and a time for letting go.

I am the heat of your hearth, the shade screening you from the sun; I am the beam that holds your house, the board of your table; I am the handle of your hoe, the door of your homestead; the wood of your cradle, and the shell of your coffin. I am the gift of God and the friend of man.
~ Author Unknown 

Book Review – Travels with Charlie

Travels with Charlie
by John Steinbeck
Author’s website

I’m sure I read Grapes of Wrath in high school, but haven’t read anything by Steinbeck since. I remember liking Grapes of Wrath, but it didn’t leave a deep impression on me. I’m guessing I stormed through the book just to get through it, and didn’t take the time to let it work its way into me.

I say this because in reading Travels with Charlie, I found many sections that I needed to read through quickly because they weren’t speaking to me or holding my attention, but other sections that were pretty dense. With this in mind, I’m guessing his other writing is full of the dense stuff.

This is a fairly short read that chronicles a trip across the country Steinbeck took in a camper in the early 60’s. Some good stuff, and a few dense parts, but generally just an OK read.

I picked it up because I’m in the midst of writing about a cross-country trip myself – one I took on my bicycle – and I thought I might pick up some good ideas on style and voice from a master like Steinbeck. I did that for sure, and while I was a bit disappointed in the book as a whole, reading it kindled in me a desire to read more Steinbeck. I think I’ll pick up East of Eden and read that soon.

Anybody suggest a different Steinbeck novel as a “first”? (I’m ignoring my early reading of Grapes of Wrath, since I must have slept through it…)

Seattle Post Intelligencer Review of Peace at the Edge of Uncertainty

The Seattle PI  published a review of Peace at the Edge of Uncertainty. Kind words that I’m grateful for. Text below:

In a time of unrest and world troubles, spirituality begins to eke back in the mainstream of society. Looking for the ever-elusive answers, many search for the process of belief.

Among this trouble and turmoil, Neil Hanson has brought forth an in-depth work of his own experiences, both as a young man and later as a grieving son. In Peace at the Edge of Uncertainty, we follow the ever-expanding view and belief of Hanson as he puts his thoughts and feelings on paper in the form of a letter to his departed father.

His story is written with emotion and feeling. His emotions show through, and whether they are his anger or his hope he shares them with the reader. He does not hide or try to belittle the mistakes he has made on his journey; he just states them as they are.

He does a brilliant job of allowing his emotion to show through, and yet he does not push his belief as the only answer. He shares his experiences of a possible after death experience: one that happened in a wrestling tournament when he was young and knocked unconscious. Even knowing at that time that something extraordinary has happened, he is not ready to believe or to share his experience.

It was only as he sits with his father as his life slowly slid away and watches the finality of the process that he is again offered a glimpse of that certain something the many often search for throughout their lives.

If you are a believer in a higher being, regardless of religious belief, or even a non-believer, you will find the poignancy of the story both sad and yet interesting. The beauty of the words adds a bit of poetry and harmony.

Through it all Hanson makes no excuses; he highlights his selfishness and thoughtlessness, as well as the beauty and wonder. I enjoyed the text in the form of a letter, although at times, I could not find the letter itself, and it read more like the passage of a self-expose.

If you are at all interested in spirituality or just wonder about the beauty of the universe, this would be a wonderful book for you. It is short and compact but carries hope and joy, along with a different way to look at life. In Hanson’s uncertainty, there is a form of verse and beauty: a certain creativity and sensitivity that guide you through the life of the author.

This would be a great book for a book club, a chance to talk about beliefs and thoughts. It would be a chance to air perceptions and interests, and lend credibility to both sides of the conversation.

Day 6 – Victorville to Twentynine Palms

Bicycle Touring in the West
Day 6 – Victorville to Twentynine Palms

“It is only when we silent the blaring sounds of our daily existence that we can finally hear the whispers of truth that life reveals to us, as it stands knocking on the doorsteps of our hearts.”
  ~ K.T. Jong

Determined not to be surprised by the earlier sunrise, and highly motivated to log as many miles as possible in the wind-free early morning hours, I’m wheeling my bike out of the motel in Victorville at the earliest hint of light. I make my way east on Bear Valley Road, where traffic is light this time of morning. The shoulder is good in places, less than good in others, and I’m told that during busy times, this road carries very heavy traffic.

Connecting with highway 18 east of town, I follow this road into the little town of Lucerne Valley, where I stop at what will likely be my last available water supply for 50 miles or so. Here, I leave highway 18, and head further east on Old Woman Springs Road. (It’s also called highway 247, but that’s a boring name…)

The traffic on highway 18 is starting to pick up a bit by the time I leave it, and the traffic on Old Woman Springs Road remains very light early on this Saturday morning. It’s a beautiful morning, and while a bit of wind is swirling around, it swirls so that at times it’s in my face, and at times at my back. While there’s no shoulder at all on this road, the lack of traffic makes this a small concern.

If there was any doubt before, there can be no doubt now – I’m in the desert. And I begin to notice something, or perhaps it’s more accurate to say that I begin to notice less of something. It starts with a curiosity I develop about a chirping I keep hearing on both sides of the road. I wonder what sort of bird might be so abundant out here in the desert, and stop several times to sit still and watch for the bird. Continue reading “Day 6 – Victorville to Twentynine Palms”

Desert Solitude

It is only when we silent the blaring sounds of our daily existence that we can finally hear the whispers of truth that life reveals to us, as it stands knocking on the doorsteps of our hearts.
~K.T. Jong

I recently rode my bicycle across the deserts of the west. I’m blogging about that trip here. Here’s an excerpt from one of the postings, from a day when I was beginning to get deep into the desert:

I pull over to have a little snack, and become aware of just how quiet it is around me. The wind is puffing around here and there, and I have no doubt that it’s going to grow into a big wind before long, but right now it’s pretty light. However, even this light wind should make some noise, right?

The quiet is mesmerizing. I realize that when the wind blows, it’s not the air moving we hear, it’s the sound of the air moving through things like leaves and trees and grass that we hear. Out here in this desert, there’s just not much in the way of leaves and trees and grass. There’s nothing whatever in the way of leaves and trees and grass in fact. There are Joshua Trees now and again, which are actually a cactus, and there are some other cactusy-looking plants along the sandy floor of the desert, but there’s just not enough volume of “stuff” to blow around in the wind to create the background white noise of the normal outdoor’s that my experience has taught me to expect.

I find I really like this. It’s a rare sense of focusing quiet. Every few minutes a car or truck passes and disturbs the silence, but I stand here a long time leaning against my bike, and appreciating the quiet solitude. It reminds me of an experience scuba diving once. I was doing a night dive. Moving along the top of a reef, I found a nice sandy area, and settled down to suspend just above the bottom, turning out my light. The darkness enveloped me completely, and the silence and darkness was breathtaking. I lay there for a few minutes, enjoying the exhilaration of this silent primordial darkness, before turning my light back on and moving my way down the reef.

On the reef, both before my little experiment with primordial darkness and after, I saw a couple small sharks out hunting. I’m sure this potential danger added something to the exhilaration of the experience. I was alone in an environment that could rapidly turn mortally hostile, and I temporarily shut down my important sense – my sense of sight. I surrendered to the environment around me, allowing myself to soak inside the vastness.

Here on the bright and flat surface of the desert, I’m remembering and recognizing that feeling. Again I’ve dropped myself into an environment that could get mortally hostile rather rapidly. The quiet around me reminds me of that quiet I felt on the reef all those years ago.

I’m not sure what it is that attracts me to these “moments” out on the edge of comfort. It’s not as though I just find myself here – I went to great lengths to put myself in this situation. The aloneness with the quiet unlocks windows in my heart and soul I think. Taking this path that leads me out along the edge of life lets me feel the edge of something greater than myself, and that must be what pulls me toward these situations. I can’t keep the smile off my face as I bask in the warm, quiet solitude.

Day 5 – Frazier Park to Victorville

A Bicycle Tour Across The West:
Day 5 – Frazier Park to Victorville

Mad Dogs in the Desert
“Inside of me there are two dogs. One of the dogs is mean and evil. The other dog is good. The mean dog fights the good dog all the time. “Which dog wins? The one I feed the most.”
– Comanche Elder speaking of the inner struggle of good and evil
 

The motel I stay at in Frazier Park (technically the town in Lebec I think) is clearly a trucker’s motel. I’m in the common breakfast area at 5:00 AM, and at that hour, it’s full of truckers already. I don’t exactly fit in seamlessly in my spandex and bright yellow windbreaker, but after a few odd looks, the truckers seem to accept me in their space.
I realize we’re not that far from LA here, and many of these guys probably have deliveries to make in the LA area, and are getting an early start to try and beat traffic. Clearly this hotel isn’t a “holiday and recreation destination”…

It’s quite cold this morning – around 35 again – and I really don’t have gear for that temperature. I’m confident this is a short inconvenience at this altitude and hour. The elevation is something around 4500′, which is “in the mountains” in this part of the country. My first half-mile or so is a little climb, which I’m grateful for to warm up a little, but after cresting the pass, it’s a bitter descent for a few miles in the icy air. Yesterday morning, the temperature was about the same, but I was working steadily. This morning, descending through the icy pre-dawn air, my fingers ache and I’m shivering pretty significantly. Continue reading “Day 5 – Frazier Park to Victorville”

Book Review – The Road To Vengeance

The Road to Vengeance – The Strongbow Sage, Book 3
by Judson Roberts
Author’s website

I couldn’t help myself. After finishing book 2 in this series, I had to pick this one up fairly quickly. The story is just that well told – you don’t want them to end.

Here’s the publisher (or publicist) description:

Halfdan Hroriksson is on the hunt.
 
Determined to find and fight his brother’s killer, Halfdan knows he must first gain experience as a Viking warrior. He’s been lucky so far. He gained passage on a ship and is quietly learning the strategies of war and conquest from the hardy crew. Now, with a prisoner in tow—the daughter of a wealthy aristocrat—Halfdan is finally starting to earn some respect, and a name for himself.
 
But he is not looking for praise. Halfdan is only biding his time, gaining strength and skill for his ultimate quest. Time and again he proves himself on the battlefield, using clever strategy and an uncanny talent with a bow and arrow. Halfdan is growing as a warrior, but will this be enough to beat a savage murderer?
 
Through epic battle scenes and intimate power struggles, Judson Roberts brings the Viking world to pulsing life in this next chapter of the Strongbow Saga.
 

I’ve raved about this series in two other reviews of them I did. If you’re the parent of a teenage boy, I’d highly recommend you pick these up and leave them around where he might pick them up. If you’re a male that once was a teenage boy, and still enjoy adventure stories – especially if you also like historical fiction – you should pick these up.

I will say I think the ending of this one wasn’t as well done as the ending of the last one. His next one will be published independently himself, and I’m looking forward to getting hold of it when it’s out.