Present pleasant memories...

I wish I could remember when I began riding my bike on a regular basis and when I discovered that I could! It was a new taste of freedom. Maybe I'll come across the date, or close to it, as I review some of my past written and typed ramblings.

This morning, as I reread the following ramble and then drank in the photo of the Roan with my grandpup Yerba, just staring at it, remembering that very day which I recall well, my body in the present just crumpled at the thought of hiking that expanse now. Instead of that reality causing me discouragement, it made me laugh! That's a good sign! :D Especially since I woke up so blue this morning.

Yes, I may never again be able to hike the Roan Highlands. But I was able to in the past, and I have that memory in the present to help lighten the burdens of life, a bit.

And maybe, with a little (or lot of) luck, I will be able to hike it again someday.

Until then, I'll keep on biking. At least in the warmer months. Not sure about the cold months yet. So far, biking-in-the-cold is not my cup of tea.

Interesting how memory of a past event is in the present. And in the next instant, that present becomes the past and a memory for a future present.

***

From the archives:

September 22, 2014

I love riding my bike along the Greenway.
I am addicted...and it is good.

I drink in the...
breeze
sunshine
aromas
wildlife...

and freedom.

My legs and feet turn the wheels round and round propelling me forward.
My senses take in the grandeur of the moment.
Any pain I have at those moments, goes by with nary a notice.

I am reminded of the hills and mountains that I love so deeply.
And my heart sings.

I picture the highland balds of Roan and of Grayson.
And my heart soars.

I recall backpackers and hikers I've met in the past along the trail.
And my heart warms.

I imagine climbing rough terrain, conversing with other backpackers, setting up camp for the night.
And my heart wonders.

Another world, a world in which I feel at home.
A world where I feel I fit.

And I think....
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe someday I'll be able to hike long distances again. But, if I never make it by foot alone to Mt. Katahdin, I'll at least take a visit by vehicle someday. 

~grandpup yerba along the roan highlands, 2010~

~salem lake trail, near peterson benches, 2014~

~my bike, olivia, 2014~

Asocial

From the hidden archives

July 22, 2015

I seldom write these days.

But I think about it often.
What to write about...
Next....
Or later......
Or maybe someday.

If I do write, dare I display it?
Who would read it?
Who will it offend?

It will always offend someone, even though I don't like offending people.
I don't like conflict.
Offense is conflict.
And then there's defense.

Offense.
Defense.
Us.
Them.

As I rode my bike today, my thoughts meandered to one of my often-thought-about subjects.
I have become somewhat asocial, in a sense.
Not anti-social.
But asocial, not social.
I seldom seek the company of others.
I often analyze how I have come to this place of solitude.

Perhaps solitude is the wrong word.
I'm not a monk or a hermit.

But I am alone often, but not really alone because people are all around.
Alone in their giant tin cans on wheels.
Talking on their phones or listening to music.
But not live music, recorded music.

Before the gramophone, all music was live.
People picked up instruments and made music.
People sang and whistled and hummed.

That is something else I often think about.
As I ride my bicycle alone on the Greenway.
With music playing into one ear.
Songs coming from my cell phone to my Blue tooth via satellite from Pandora which creates algorithms according to songs I have preselected.
I don't know what an algorithm is, but it's a fun word to say.

Sometimes I choose to turn off the algorithmically-selected music.
I take the ear bud out of my ear.
I let birds sing to me.
And the leaves.
And the breeze.

And people occasionally pass by.
We always nod to one another, and sometimes speak.
A couple days ago a biker caught me dancing beside the trail as I listened to the music playing through my earbud that only I could here.
He laughed heartily.
I did too.

See, I'm not anti-social.

"...the Seventh Generation of children to come..."

In our way of life, with every decision we make, we always keep in mind the Seventh Generation of children to come. When we walk upon Mother Earth, we always plant our feet carefully, because we know that the faces of future generations are looking up at us from beneath the ground. We never forget them.
~Oren Lyons, Faithkeeper of the Onondaga Nation
Quoted in the book  Walking on the Wind: Cherokee Teachings for Harmony and Balance by Michael Garrett.

I've never thought of it like that.
"It" being the generations to come looking up from the ground, as I feel that ground beneath my feet.

Step after step.

Most often, I think of ancestors as I walk the soil.
Until I'm tired on a walk, I am quite conscious of the blood spilt from past generations. 

The peoples who once dwelt here.
The animals. 

The plants.
So much life and death, and life and death, and life and death, and life...
I have called it "blood soil."

But I've never thought of future generations looking up at me from the soil.
It conjures up kind of a spooky image.
But I get it, from a figurative sense, whether Lyons meant it figuratively or not.

Of course, I am most always cognizant of the impact I make upon the earth.
Upon her resources.
Upon future generations.
I'm just one person, and I do the best I can.
Though it never seems enough.

Recently, I again see photographs of the destruction caused by Daesh. (ISIL)
The extremists not only rape the people, they rape the earth.
Of course, the USA is not innocent in the matter.
Sadly, I help fund the machine with my tax dollars.

I hiked 4.85 miles yesterday.
Quite a feat for me.
Hiking is much harder on me than biking.
On my hike I saw 3 turtles, 4 deer, 1 chipmunk, a bunch of water bugs, and a few birds.
I saw 0 humans. No cars. No people. No voices.

It was quiet in the woods, a bit too quiet.
So I kept my eyes and ears keen for any bears.
Fortunately, I saw no sign of bears either.

After my walk, on my drive home, I passed the movie theater.
The Peanuts Movie was playing in 3D.
So I went.
I was the only person in the theater.

Zero people at the state park where I hiked.
Zero people at the theater.
I kind of felt like Charlie Brown as I looked around the empty-except-for-me theater and as I thought of my lone hike earlier in the day.

Seven generations.
Currently, a generation is considered to be around 25 years.
In the past it was considered to be around 20 years.
Seven generations from now will be around the year 2190.
Seven generations ago was around the year 1875.

In 1875, on December 30th, the "Andrassy Note call(ed) for Christian-Muslim religious freedoms." 
I'd never heard of the Andrassy Note until this morning when I did a web search on what happened in the year of 1875.

War. War. War.

It never ends.

My hike yesterday was along the Horne Creek and Bean Shoals Canal Trails.

Some bald eagles have a nesting site not far from where I took the photo below.

I hope to catch a glimpse of the eagles in February when they return to ready their nest. 

I wonder where the eagles will be seven generations from now?