Time to Get Along: Moving On

The rain’s continued off and on, usually beginning slowly allowing me time to find shelter. I spent that day and night after the last post by the church. It rained softly during the night and by dawn it had stopped, leaving clouds in the air for a beautiful sunrise against the carpet of trees on the foothills.

I followed the road that morning, making my way back onto the parkway, and finding the road and the expanse of mountains not covered in cloud, but stretching far into the distance, layer upon layer, and bending beyond the horizon. The air was clear.

Along the way there was one man I met while suffering a problem with my chain. I met him and his dog at an overlook while he walked around the area and his dog did the same. He asked me a few questions as I was trying to fix my chain and I told him that I did have the tool I needed to fix the problem, but it wasn’t working at all. The tool has an arm with a handle on the end which you twist to push the pin out of the chain and it was stuck like a nail in wood. I tried and tried but with all the strength in my hands and fingers I couldn’t budge it. He brought out a sledge hammer for me to use and my choice of vice grips to hammer the thing into rotation, but I ended up surrendering and as often occurs in this kind of situation, beating the chain with the hammer until it was fixed.

Thoughtout the ordeal we talked a little. He had been along the parkway a number of times over the years and told me that this day was the clearest he’d ever seen it. “I’ve seen things here today I’ve never seen before.” He also told me about his son who liked to travel, and was currently living in Thailand as a professor of English. We went over his maps and he showed me what I could expect ahead and then set off toward the next campground and then later I saw him again at another overlook farther along. He had his truck and his dog but had left his fifth wheel behind at the campground.

As the light started to fade into the west I was stopped off, taking a picture, an owl, speckled white and grey, flew out from the tree right in front of me with a screech. I haven’t seen a lot of wildlife along the way except birds and roadkill . That’s one of the main differences it seems between the east and the west of America.

Then I started off again and felt the jarring slip of my chain. The link from before had broken completely so I pulled my bike to the nearest overlook and set to work. I worked for a few minutes and decided that hope was mostly lost. Then I thought to lubricate the tool. I’m not sure why it hadn't occurred to me before, but it worked once I’d drowned it in the stuff. Now I just had to figure out how to switch out a chain link. A guy on a motorcycle drove into the pull off and asked me if I was going to make it. I told him I thought so, I just had to figure some things out. As it turned out he had worked in a bicycle shop for a while and knew exactly what I needed to do. He asked me if I wanted a beer (Yes, please!) and then set to explaining the process to me. He introduced himself as Daniel and told me part of his story.

He’d done touring throughout America in the late eighties which of course piqued my interest. He’d been living just a few miles back along the parkway, “It’s right here in my backyard, but I keep forgetting. Today I decided I just needed to clear my head.” We had a small conversation, he told me about what had recently been going on in his life, and I’ll keep those words private, but what I can tell you is that through our conversation I realize that time rolls on as it does, consistently, constantly and indifferently. People come and people go, and every one of us is powerless with only one exception. Our one power in this world is that over our own actions. Our chief decision is what to do with this time and how to strive on.

And then the onset of night came. I went a little farther down the road and set up my tripod at an outlook, sat and watched the sun set (some hippies pulled up with their baby and two dogs and watched also).

Astoundingly beautiful place, incredible to watch as it changed.

So I slept a little bit off the road and then woke up the next morning, went a little farther on. I turned off the parkway on county highway 215 and rode down through those beautiful green descending hills, 35 mph undoing all that laborious climbing up into the mountains. At Rosman, NC I bought a couple of slices of pizza, and then it started to drizzle which built up into a rain again and I found an abandoned house a little bit on that had a couple of mattresses laying on the porch under an overhanging roof. Spent the night there while it was wet all around me, lying comfortably on a bed with nothing to do.

When the sun was up I woke and continued into Easley, SC. Got directions from Justin to his parents’ house where I am now, being lovingly pampered and fed. I’ll get my stitches out here while I decide what to do with the last pieces of the trip. Tropical storms are supposedly headed our way and I am indeed tired of being cold and wet through and through. There’s been times, huddled under little fringes of roof, chilled and damp, I think back to my parents house as a kid, me getting up in the cold winter morning, put my hesitant feet down on the cold wood floor, run to the heating vent to plop down on top, pulling my shirt over my legs and let the heat run through me. Now I go to such lengths to find those simple fascinations but here now I realize the value of my choice to go as I have - through the new appreciation I found in unmasking all those things encountered and the resolute quietness and stillness within all those things yet hidden on every possible path ahead. I can’t wish I was anywhere else so long as I’m in this wild's penetrating embrace, urging me on, departing vigor, and giving me all the peace and comfort she's cultivating within.