POST MODERN DEPRESSION

How is that we have so much and have so little time to enjoy it. How is it that we only realize it when it's gone. For far too long we let life dictate what we are suppose to do and we scramble to meet those demands. Now after three days I sit in a lonely tent after talking to my friends back home that are partying for the long weekend. Down I go. Thinking I royally fucked up. A long talk with my wife and soon I was remembering why I needed this. Now don't go thinking that she was the reason. A little but not the main. It was the repetitiveness of the routine, same thing different day. You ever get tired of asking people what's new and the typical response is "Same ole thing, nothing new". Boy that can be depressing. And yeah I have issues with being alone but I'm hoping a trip like this helps. One thing for sure is riding kinda wipes you out a bit to think about it. But those the first three nights were terrible even though I was tired. Not a bloody sol around at the end of the ride. No one to tell fish tales about the ride. Even a stupid Strava conversation would have been welcomed. Nothing to be had, so I dwelled on the negative.
The one thing so much time alone affords you, riding and stopping, is contemplating the past and future. One of the negatives I fixated on was all the frickin roadside trash. I DID NOT expect Washington to be as bad as Cali. Beer cans were the prevalent trash of choice and I couldn't help but having visions of good ole boys throwing their empties out the window. That was re-enforced a few days later by a gentleman making reference to all the Trump signs and saying "what do you expect". Damn I hate stereotypes but what else is there. And then I recalled a memory of my own redneck ways trying to fit in. I have no idea how I got myself into that jeep in the fall of 1985, but there I was with my friend Danny throwing our empty beer bottles at road signs in the backwoods of New york's  Putnam County. The driver and passenger led the way. I have no idea who those guys were and I never saw them again after that night. Once the driver fixated on hitting the next warning sign, which was a yellow beware sign to slow down, which he didn't, caused a lapse in judgement as we came into the turn red hot. For those that don't know, Jeeps have a bad way of not responding well to sudden turns, they roll. Hence the roll bar name and purpose. Add to that no seatbelts being worn. As we went through the turn on two wheels, I had no clue that this was close to an ending to my short life. Looking back, I think it was the driver's girth that saved us. Nothing like a fat ass to save the day.
Well the shenanigans didn't end there. The next part was straight from a 80's horror flick. The driver, let's call him Bo, took us down an ole deserted road that went to an old camp that was shut down years ago. As we drove through the remains of the hollowed out buildings in the darkness, Bo told us of the circumstances that led to the demise of the camp. Apparently, there were 2 kids that went missing and the only thing they could find was oversized dog tracks but no kids. With that parents too scared to allow the kids to return, the camp died. As we headed back up the driveway, a loud thud and bark hit the side of the jeep. As the evening was too dark to tell what it was, the glowing white teeth was enough of a clue to shit your pants. It hit Danny's side and the shrill that exited his throat was far about terrifying as he lept into my lap. Turns out this was a normal tour for our sick comedian guides. The dog is a rotweiller that lived at the top of the road and he hated visitors. By the time we circled around he was always waiting for the vehicle. Brilliant and scary shit.
As I see all the broken bottles along roadsides I am reminded of my own transgressions as a youth and get a little less infuriated. Bicycles are strange for people on backroads and for the most part drivers are accommodating. But there is one class I have issue with, the motorhome/5th wheel haulers. How is it that you can drive a behemoth like these with a regular driver's license and no extra training. Hell, most people don't really qualify as a driver of a car, now you want to allow them a few more tons of unbalanced and widened loads. INSANITY! Now add that most drivers come to sit behind many of these as the social security check starts hitting the mailbox, and you have a constant terror to cyclists.
Now where were we. Oh yeah, depression. As I look through my notes from the first three days, I remember the second night in a campground south of Randle, WA. I was dead tired as I arrived and after dinner, fell asleep early. But later I opened my eyes in the middle of the night, or so I thought. Are my eyes open? Can't be. It's too black. Surely there must be some light. I started blinking to see if it was my eyelids stuck together.'What the hell' is going on? First whack thought, "am I in my coffin?"  I reached for the light above my head and as the light shined so did relief. I turned the lamp outward to the campground and it faded quickly as the night swallowed it up. Wow! never witnessed light get removed from sight so quickly. Hence it is with depression.

Lonely is the Night

Here's another thing along the road that is not needed for those of us in a dark place, those green mile markers. The third day was a 16 mile uphill in the rain and as the elevation went up the temp went the opposite. The mistake is to calculate the finish marker to the top. When hauling nearly 100 lbs of bike and equipment, it can be daunting and flat out discouraging. So wanted a driver to feel sorry for me by mile 10 of the uphill. No mercy shown. "Who keeps moving my fucking cheese?" I swear, some sick fuck spaced them further apart, how can it be this far. Finally made it to White Pass and entered a tiny market swarmed with PCT travelers. At least 35 millennials that hadn't showered in 2 months occupied the small space with dazed looks on their worn, sun crisped faces. So White Pass is a major stop for the nearly 10,000 travelers of the PCT as they have boxes of supplies delivered to the store to restock. Great resource! One finally thought on the PCT trekkers, there was young cute girl that left into the 38 degree wet weather in basically the equivalent of boxer shorts. God bless her!

So I ended that day on the low of talking to my celebratory friends to add injury to insult. A broken soul is a terrible thing to face. 

Not going to end on a low note though. Day 4 things turn a new corner. 

Stay tuned.

TRAVEL NOTES:

• The early route for this route was based on the thought of doing a bike tour next year that was planned for this past year but not executed. I did it the opposite way and think it will be an epic adventure. Found a cool ass brewery to lighten the atmosphere of a long day.
  
  
  
  
• I noticed "Fresh Fish" signs along the Columbia River that looked like a third world village. They are some sort of federal protection to Native Americans that fish for salmon. It looked more like a garbage dump than a fish market. Scary conditions.
  
  
  
  
• There is something interesting about rural areas and there affection for 80's and country music. Two of least favorite genres. 
• Random pics
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
• My Owl Company
  
  
  Mt. St. Helens
  
  
  
  
  
  Swampthing
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