Not long after moving into the current house, a pigeon took residence on the back deck. At first I thought it was an odd-looking dove as there are no shortage of mourning doves in the area, but it was clearly a pigeon. Having moved from an area (although still rural) where houses were relatively close, to a house on acreage, I was a bit perplexed as to where an urban-dwelling bird may have come from. More than that, I was unhappy that this pigeon had decided to crap all over the place. These weren't minuscule song-bird craps easily washed away in the rain either - but huge emu-sized turds that piled up in the corner where the bird seemed to hang out. After a few weeks of this, I snuck out onto the deck one afternoon and shot the misplaced bird with a pellet gun. There was a puff of feathers; it was over quickly.
I've been wrestling with some of those big questions recently. I guess this is due to it being a milestone year on several levels. I'm only a month away from having worked at my company for 25 years. After a bit of a rough start, things have arguably gone well. But 25 years is hard to comprehend. It was almost exactly 10 years ago when we started the process of moving to the new house. I still remember what it was like to move here; I still love it, although the elation has been tempered by familiarity.
There is our good friend coronavirus - it has taken over the world. I miss travel. I miss planning. I have lots of time for thinking but concentration seems to be lacking. I have time for reading, but tackling anything longer than what would take a weekend seems incomprehensible. While I dearly love the routine - sometimes too much - I miss the clarity that comes from disruption to the routine. I dislike that current events is dominated by exactly and only three things: coronavirus, racial protests, a despicable looming election. I was in a bit of a funk at the end of February and the coronavirus gave me something else to think about. But the subsequent (recent) crash feels like a slow-motion free fall.
I've been streaming Miami Vice since getting a real internet connection. The show has held up well, but it is terrifying that I was watching it 35 years ago. The music and cinematography, while still revolutionary, can be nostalgic in a very unsettling way. Seriously ... 35 years ago.
I needed some kind of break so I contacted a few friends from Michigan and asked if I could stop up to see them for a bit. I have no idea what the COVID-rules are, so I wanted to keep it short. My mom is a bit isolated due to this so I definitely wanted to see her, and I was hoping to see my brother and his family if possible as well.
A few weeks after I shot the pigeon on my deck, I was talking to one of my new neighbors. He mentioned he has pigeons that he trains for aerobatics. Gulp. "Are these valuable birds?" I asked. That neighbor is now getting divorced. I don't think in the last 10 years I ever saw his wife except in her car as I was walking the dogs.
This pigeon story is a total non sequitur. But then again, nothing really makes sense this year.
Up well before light I took my time getting ready to leave. I wasn't too keen on leaving in the dark, but I hated sitting around as well. I also reasoned that I knew the early roads really well - of course so do the deer. I was heading down the driveway right around 5:30. Just at the top of the hill by the train tracks I saw a deer running to the right. Body language was clearly that of a buck, although I didn't get too good of a look at it. Be careful Beagle...
I continued on, motorcycling down roads I very frequently bicycle on. I can see my eyes reflected in my helmet. I do not like this. Some creepy bastard staring back at me. Once I notice them, it is hard not to see them.
But temperatures are near perfect and on a Saturday morning there is no other traffic. With just a hint of humidity it is nearly perfect. I fall into the rhythm of the road quickly. The Triumph motors along perfectly. I may be yawning a bit, but I'm really not tired. I decide to tempt fate and ride ride past the area I deer hunt. I see nothing, which isn't unexpected. Once on main roads it is a bit easier to go faster, and the sky is starting to brighten.
I keep heading north, thinking about everything and nothing. I'm also thinking about gasoline and bathrooms. I didn't want to have to worry about putting on a mask to use the bathroom at a gas station when I see a respite spot for the South Adams Bicycle Trail. It feels like a godsend. It is a perfect spot to stop for a few minutes. The trail looks wonderful although a subsequent search shows this initial stretch is very short - less than a mile.
Much like the trip home from West Virginia, I feel almost normal on the bike. I am once again where I want to be. I jump on the interstate and head around Fort Wayne. Most of the rest of the day will be a slog on the interstate. It isn't my favorite, but it makes sense. It is starting to get warm, but the sun is nice. I cross the border in I-69. I wonder how often I-69 signs are stolen in an act of sophomoric humor? I work over to I-96 - 69 upside down? The road conditions on I-96 are terrible and the amount of traffic is nearly 10x what I've seen all day. Thankfully I'm only on it for around 15 minutes.
I get to the address Mark gave me. I knew he bought property but I didn't know had a house and he moved there. It sits in a bucolic setting with a really nice large workshop which he is outside of, "Do you want to put your bike inside?" Of course!
Mark shows me around a bit and we get to catching up. It is so easy to instantly reconnect with him. I meet his wife Susan who is a wonderful woman - I can see why Mark married her. We eat a nice garden lunch before Mark and I head out on a bike ride on the trail which is about a half mile from the house. The trail is an old railroad bed converted to recreational use and is mostly-packed gravel. With virtually no hills it is an easy but nice bike ride. With virtually no people it is even nicer. We ride about 30 miles total.
Humidity starts to build on the way home with clouds looming and distant thunder. We make it back to Mark's and get everything buttoned up about five minutes before the rain starts.
Dinner is burgers with more things from the garden. Chris stops over on his Kawasaki W800 - cool cafe style bike. We all catch up for a while and it is great, although this is tempered by a thunderous headache. Long past my normal bed time Chris heads out and we all turn in. As I'm getting ready for bed the Arlo on my phone signals motion on the driveway; I see SO putting on the dogs for the last time at night. All is well at home too.
In the morning Mark and I get to talking - mostly about travel, but conversation goes all over. Too soon it is time to head out. I'm grateful to Mark and Susan for letting me stay during a pandemic. I work my way south and east, stopping to get fuel at the station I bought frequently from during high school. The area looks nearly unrecognizable; it feels weird, almost twilight zone-ish.
Once at John's house we sit outside - coronavirus safety, Mom is just getting there at the same time. John has made brunch for us all - I wasn't sure if brunch was still a thing or not, but it was great. The crepes and really good, the scones phenomenal. They had rescued some baby toads and we spend much time looking for bugs and worms to feed to them. Neo is a hoot.
With overnight storms moving away, the day was heating fast. I wanted to be on the road and I it was getting warm for everyone outside. It was time to head home. I thought really hard about heading up to where the shop used to be. But it is important to remember that once someone feels nostalgia for something, that thing is already dead. I head to the interstate and turn south. The trip home is a bit easier with the first leg a slog on the interstate. I stop at the same South Adam's Trail location for a brief break before continuing on. The day is warm but breezy. Sunny but low humidity. I can deal with this. The world is briefly normal.
Unlike the previous year when I came home from Michigan in a bit of a funk the opposite seems to have happened. It is a mess-up year and I'll continue to miss real travel - while swimming in extra vacation days, but life is good if I let it be. And I'm fortunate to live during such a monumental moment in history. The rest of the trip home goes very quickly and I walk into the house to two beagles that are exceedingly happy to see me.
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