I cut two inches off my sailing kilt, now its just a skirt, a pirate skirt Arggg. I’m going on an adventure and it’s coming with we. I pull out Brompty and pump her tires, do a quick inspection and ride her 100 yards to the airport, I’m hitchhiking to Roche to have lunch with a new friend.
Riding down a quiet country road I’m overcome with creative instinct I pull the bike off the road and start to write, I drift off into some other dimension when I return I have a new story and I’m pleased. I make a B-line for the ferry, I’m in my mental groove and don’t want to waste a single second of it.
A quiet calm overtakes my day when I arrive back on Lopez. My journey to write becomes one of man and bike. I chase lance Armstrong down winding country roads, my quads burn, my lungs soft and weak, they are crying out for a break but I tune them out chasing an imaginary devil through the most beautiful island on the planet earth. Mental inspiration reaches overload, writing in my head as I spin up and down these lazy old roads.
I stop at the southern market for a drink of water and I find a filthy wrinkled 20 spot on the ground, I look around the empty old parking lot. I take my gift, it may as well be a million dollars. Cameled up I head north in my highest gear, it s fruit day and I’m indulging in my unexplainable good fortune. The apparent wind cools and refreshes me while the afternoon sun on my back reminds me that spring is right around the corner.
I could ride forever, maybe someday it will. For everything I love about the freedom of sail, cycling is my panacea, it costs almost nothing, it makes you happy and fit and strong. The freedom of the open road, that feeling of accomplishment at the end of a long day, the promise of sliced summer sassage and a nice crisp ale, lounging around a camp fire, it’s a very primal experience. The only boundary on the open road is that of your own physical stamina which grows every day. I pamper my bike, she is sacred to me, she represents the one thing the world can’t steal from me, my health.
Coasting home, my pack filled to the brim with my good fortune I ponder my digital office. I need to find the smallest tools that can capture the infinite world that I live in. My minimalist journey isn’t just about less stuf, but also a smaller footprint so I can carry the world in my tiny pack. Robin Hood has a mask and sward. Superman has his cape and X-ray vision. I have my Brompton and klettersack. That naked feeling of riding in my kilt reminds me of how little I need in this world, sun, nourishment and freedom.
My sweat soaked kilt gets hung on the lifelines to dry. I tuck Brompty under the companionway steps and unpack my feast. Slathering peanut butter on a crisp green apple I smile. I’ve fought my entire life to live the simple existence of a starving artist.
“Being an artist is like being in a bar fight.You pick up whatever you have to in the moment to stay alive. Then you go for it.” Tom Wilson