Poetry, Contemporary Dance and Organic Gardening

        The Kiplinger List of Best Value Colleges and Universities came out today and....for the fortieth year in a row, none of my Alma Maters were on it. Every college listed cost more than $20,000 a year to attend. I'm sure that I spent less than that to obtain either of my degrees, but how valuable was my eight years of higher education? For me, the main value in submitting to over 200 units of instruction was...figuring out what it was that I didn't want to spend my working life doing.
         The most enlightening year I experienced was my junior year at Fresno State..the year before it was officially named California State University at Fresno. I attended poetry classes with Everwine and Levine, organic gardening with Ishimoto, enology with Gallo and contemporary dance with twenty-four of the most graceful and kind young ladies ever collected in one gymnasium.
         You wouldn't believe it, if I told you, how many of those young dancers invited me over,  for dinner and conservation, during my last year at Fresno.
        After three years of experiencing North America on foot, mostly penniless, with backpack...I planted myself in Chico, Ca. and enrolled in the graduate school at California State University at Chico. I was interested in something I called, "Outdoor Recreation Therapy". The Rec department was goofy, so.... I pursued my goal in the Department of Education under the tutelage of Professors Russ Morris and Joe Smith. After three years of struggling to conform to that departments' guidelines and policies and receiving top grades, I was awarded a Masters in "teaching the educationally handicapped"...which I think means... everybody that didn't get a free ride to one of Kiplinger's List.
        So, I've been doing that ever since...mostly from behind the counter of my little bicycle shop. Recreation Therapy and Teaching the Educationally Handicapped.... to keep rolling down the path of life, fixing their flat tires, squeaky chains and unsynchronized gears.

2014, I Resolve....

        The activities we like best, and doing them together, will be the target for us in 2014. Hiking, bicycling, kayaking/ canoeing, camping, sunning and swimming continue to be at the top of our list of joyful living "markers". These are all activities that take time, not money. That's how we have designed our lives...the focus is on out-of-doors activities. We don't compete and we have nothing to prove about our abilities in these areas and therefore, we most often are seen wearing big wide smiles during all of these exercises. The resulting benefits include excellent health and genuine excitement while looking forward to each new season. 

         We share these outings with only a handful of friends who are predictable, reliable and honest.  It truly is one of the great things about surviving into old age...no pretenses. We all know what we are getting in our friendships and associations. I plan to visit dozens of lakes, ride a hundred different roads and trails in 2014. We will take advantage of secluded beaches and collect more of the sun's rays this year than last....therefore increasing our vitamin D intake by at least two-fold over 2013. 

        Call me a dreamer, call me a freak...I'm going "out" with the determination of a young idealist. We are not sure if we have ten years left or twenty, but never let it be said that we wasted our energy on materialism or TV.  We played like Cheetahs and Pandas and Gibbons and we resisted life in a cage...not worrying too much about what others thought of our antics, we were ripe in old age.

Forty Years Ago I Moved To The Mountains, The First TIme.

        Done with college, finished with the BA, finished with the BS, I headed for the hills with my bicycle and my big green duffle bag, I moved to Bodfish on the Kern. This was as simple as it gets. I found a small cabin for which I bartered with work,  pruning fruit trees and repairing sheds on a small ranch on Erskine Creek.
         Soon after this migration to the shores of Lake Isabella, I walked into the office of the local weekly newspaper and offered to write a column recounting my human-powered adventures in the hills outback of Bodfish....no reimbursement necessary. Little did I know, this name...Bodfish would attach itself and follow me around for the rest of my life.
         I developed a knack for riding my bicycle, sleeping bag attached to the backrack, beyond the end of the pavement, in every direction from Lake Isabella. These outings were always worth twenty column inches of adventure.
         I froze my phalanges in Philistine Canyon, developed butt sores just beyond Saddle Springs and soaked same in Miracle Hot Springs. The desert and Sierra all wrapped up in a single package and my bicycle would take me anywhere in one tenth the time...hiking with a pack or walking behind a mule was of no interest to me.
        Off road cycle-touring didn't seem like a big deal to me, I seldom flatted a tire and always had plenty of water. Jeepers and motorcyclists were always curious and generous, but few and far between.
        Three years later, when I settled in Chico, Ca. and staged a bicycle ride in the Upper Park of Bidwell...which I originally planned to call the Bodfish Bump, but advertised as the Bidwell Bump in my Pedal/ Pedestrian Advocate newsletter, local cyclists thought I was "off my rocker".
         We staged it in August of 1976 and the temperature "in the shade" that day was 106 degrees. A dozen fool-hearty souls participated and everyone won a prize. The sport of "Mountain Biking" was birthing all over Northern California but I maintain, this is the only fat tire event in which everyone won a prize.

Pantless

        I start every day the same...pantless. I roll out of bed, take a drink from my waterbottle and stroll into the toilet to pee. I greet the light of a new day by going out on the upstairs balcony, under the skylights, find the top of the stairs and descend. The dog is still asleep on her pillow at the bottom step...I put a toe on her shoulder, she wags her tail twice and stays in place. It really never varies. Pantless, I walk through to the kitchen and flip on the electric teapot, grab an envelope of black tea and throw it in the cup that I used for tea the night before.
        Here's where it varies...is it cold in the house?  Do I have a pair of pants or slippers within reach, anywhere downstairs? Should I flip on the furnace and go out on the back porch to get kindling and firewood? About this time I start to focus on the dreams that filled my night. That was a mighty weird one...yeah, maybe I should go up and get slippers or pants. I grab the remote and turn on the TV, it's usually on the Weather Channel. Still, without pants, I stand waiting for "weather on the eights". Wow, that's crazy, those people have some serious weather to deal with. I flip on a light, a subdued light that won't deplete me of vitamin A, ah, there are my pajama pants that I took off on my way up the stairs last night...still need slippers. So, I am addicted to electricity and living in a house. The remainder of my day varies wildly but, at least I get my pants on.

4,000 lb. Bullys...Part One

       We were soaring down Chandler Canyon off the West slope of the Warner Mountains, deer hunting season in Modoc County, the only motor traffic we'd encountered were "quad motorcycles". I made a tight right turn over a rickety bridge and Wham! there he stood, the biggest jet black BULL I'd ever seen. He only had time to turn his head and take a step back. I skidded to a stop, (We were on mountain bicycles and we were camped on Plum Creek), but before I could warn my riding partner she made the same bridge crossing and stopped. "What BULL", she asked.
        We were discussing "motor bullies" earlier in the day...intentionally, or not, these big truck guys and gals who are reluctant to give a brake (or even a couple of feet of cushion) to us self-propelled types who meekly make our progress down a common roadway. I have been extremely fortunate during a half million miles of cycling throughout North America and around the World to have only been "brushed", by the callous operators of cars and trucks, two or three times.
        Surprising and frightening a mighty large bull at the road's edge is another matter entirely. The result could feel very much the same, but being rammed and pummeled by a snorting pure-bred beast could bring our incredible lucky stretch to a very abrupt end. We took a wrong turn, at the next opportunity that presented itself,  and therefore added an unplanned hour to our four hour loop.
        When we returned to Plum Creek campground we found that we had one camp neighbor, a young man on a motorcycle who was tent camping just above us. We were salty and tired....badly in need of a dip in the creek (no showers at this free campsite). He walked down to our tent and said he'd failed to find a better swimming hole on this stretch of the creek. "So, you don't mind if we take a plunge here." I wondered, out loud. "Go for it, man, you've got to sleep clean."

Dreams of an Adventurous Life

        My dreams seem to be pushing me toward a more daring, less inhibited, crazier, more adventurous lifestyle. I was riding up an impressive mountain road on my bicycle last night...when I reached the top I looked down and I was only wearing boxers...and the downhill was extremely steep....and my handlebars snapped on both ends, leaving me with about eight inches to steer with. I started the downhill thinking, "I'm not going to fall and it's going to get easier."
        Then I awoke and was disappointed that I didn't get to test myself. For twenty years I've been a regular workaday fellow...this steadiness is playing with my psyche. We partake in a yearly adventure....well planned, with predictable results. Never a "Frodo" or "Bilbo" adventure...and this is what is played out in my dreams...dangerous junctions, radical associations, magical uphills and frightening downhills.
         I'm actually a frugal and conservative individual however,  dreamlife has me being wild and a little bit crazy...often not clothed and not worried about it, mingling with others who are nude, we shower and bathe together, jump in lakes and creeks, even eating meals with family and friends au naturale, and no one gives it a second thought. We used to pack up the bicycles with everything we needed for a couple of months of wandering, we'd ride off towards the sunrise and make decisions daily or weekly about where to point the front wheel. I miss the wild spontaneity of those journeys.
        At least I'm having that kind of fun in my dreams...this would be the perfect "retired lifestyle". I'm certain we still have it in us...twenty-five years of being "regular folks" can't squelch this inner "hippie spirit". I'm hoping we'll (Lisa and I) be referred to as "those goofy old wanderlust hippies" some day in the near future.