Call it post traumatic stress disorder or post travel stagnation dysfunction either way I’m afflicted. I suffer from A.D.D., ADHD, PTSD, CRS “can’t remember shit” and virtually every other disorder under the sun including many that haven’t been discovered yet. I’m easily distracted by pretty girls and shiny shit. I’m slow, lazy and pretty uninterested in most things in life. I’d forget my own name if it wasn’t printed on my Ralph’s card, my only form of ID. My only plan before I blow my brains out with a shotgun in a few years is to give Hunter S Thompson a serious run for the worlds most fucked up book, the kind that will change people’s life’s.I’ve been a bit in edge lately. When I was 17 years old at my high school graduation party I made blood pact with my best friend that at a predetermined age we would both drop everything and hunt the other person down and kill them. We were young and stupid, our brains weren’t fully developed. Putting each other out of our misery seemed like a good idea at the time. Well in less than one year I hit that age but I can’t remember his birthday, he may already be on the hunt. I’ve lost all contact since that day and to be honest my newly developed older age still feels pretty damn young.
I could ignore this as silly children’s games or get on with my few remaining days or double down and get him good before he gets me. The plan was that he would head east in his search and I would head west. The orient seemed a good place for the last battle. I spent half my life training for this and have no questions about my ability but still, he could sneak attack at any point. On the plus side when you know the almost exact date of your big dirt nap there is no reason to save for the future, to build a nest egg, to do any of that crap we are brain washed into. Just live the fullest life you can and the end will come when the universe determines it.
On the down side I have massive travel PTSD. The more I live through the more fear based off that knowledge it generates to the point where I just want to crawl into a dark hole, curl into the fetal position and suck my thumb. Sailing has always been my safe place, at 5 knots there really isn’t much that can go wrong. Cycling 1700 miles solo through the desert certainly could have its challenges but is a hundred times safer than cycling the coast. I remember when I bought my first Harley my dad was so freaked out about my safety and the fact that I refused to wear a helmet.
Bikes on the other hand are a completely different monster. The motorcycle had thick wide sticky rubber tires, I only rode it on reasonably good roads, my disc brakes were massive and it was really loud so people heard me coming. Bombing down the side of a mountain with nothing between you and an 800′ cliff other than a paper thin pair of dapper deny, a foam helmet and some sick shades isn’t what I could call a fail safe insurance plan.
With each passing year the need for adrenaline is drastically reduced. I annoy the shit out if my friends because I’m not doing what they are but they always fail to realize that while I may look thier age I’m actually 20-30 years older than them, when I was thier age I was doing the same shit they are now. Not that a single one of them can hold a candle to me physically but inside my finely chissled Adonis body I’m rapidy reaching middle age. Things hurt easier, pain lasts longer, injuries take longer to heal and my body is starting to feel like an old wooden schooner in a storm, creaking and groaning. My mind is filled with doubt and fear and loathing, oh wait… that’s some other guys story, I’m going to fucking rock it.
“Make no mistake, I prefer peace, but not at the cost of safety. I know the face of the enemy, even if some deny it. I am tolerant, but not in the face of hatred. I respect my fellow man, but I won’t ignore that some may hate me. I am not fearless, I’m just not afraid of fear. And if it’s a fight you’re looking for, I will give you one – your last one”