Alone Excerpt: Such Simple Goodness
NOTE:
I will not be blogging about my experience on the Camino de Santiago during the months of September and October. You can follow me on Facebook where I will be posting occasional pictures and comments. To follow either “friend” me on Facebook or use this link: https://www.facebook.com/brian.heron.73/
Every Monday during this period I will post an excerpt from my book, Alone: A 4,000 Mile Search for Belonging—excerpts that I believe reflect many of the assumptions and experiences that have become the basis for this current Pedal Pilgrim work.
Alone Excerpt: Such Simple Goodness
From pages 54-55 east of Boise, Idaho
I unpacked my bike, set up my tent, and prepared my sleeping quarters for the night. With an eye for order, I set the picnic table as if it was my little home. I pulled out my stove, cooking utensils and the night’s meal, and set up a makeshift kitchen. At the other end of the table, I opened my laptop and placed my tiny notebook within hand’s reach as I prepared to write a blog post about the day—a ritual that had become routine. I wouldn’t have internet access, but I could at least use the juice in my computer to write that night and send the post at the first opportunity the next day.
Next came bodily hygiene. I can certainly ride from one day to the next without a shower, but after a day of sweating, heat, and blowing my nose farmer’s style (you know, shut one nostril with a finger and then blow, leaving a trail of snot on the road, my sleeves and shorts), a shower is almost essential day-to-day. I had the perfect place. I walked over to the stream and dabbled my feet to feel how cold it was. Yes, my guess was confirmed; this was icy snowmelt coming off the peaks more than 6,000 feet above me. I stripped down completely, got out a wash cloth and bar of soap, and sat on a rock just a few feet into the stream. There I reveled in the fresh, frigid water as I doused myself with as much of it as my nerves could handle.
Afterwards, I felt clean again. But more than that, I felt alive. Really alive. More alive than I had in a long time. Above me, towering pin trees reached to the sky, allowing intermittent ribbons of light to filter down. It reminded me of the effect of stained glass windows in a glorious cathedral. I had my own makeshift home with a creek that served as a path, a picnic table that was both kitchen and home office, and a tent to retreat to as darkness fell. At home I had a car, a fifth-floor, two-bedroom apartment overlooking the city of Portland, a job that paid a decent salary, and a reputation as a particularly determined community leader. Yet in that simple campsite I had everything I needed.