In Amarillo the seasons change abruptly. On the last day of summer, I was sweating in the shade and on the 3rd day of fall a slight shiver traveled up my unbuttoned flannel sleeve as I walked into The Amarillo College Downtown Campus. Kevin Shepherd was giving a lecture called Cultivating Strong Towns and Neighborhoods to a room full of people sharply dressed …and me.

The Salvation of Cage-Free Media

It was a hot summer afternoon in the panhandle of Texas. The sound of my lawn mower was drowned out by Dan Carlin’s Hardcore History podcast. Physically, I was in my front yard, however, in my mind, I was on the Eurasian steep as one of the most effective conquerors of all history earned his title by ravaging the more “civilized” settled societies of the ancient world. I finished my yard work before the first part of the five-part series Wrath of the Khans was over, and I found myself searching for more work to do. I needed an excuse to continue listening so I could learn how the story had ended. I felt the tug of an addiction forming: I needed a little more, I needed to hear the end.

I always had trouble sitting still in class. With the most earnest intent I would scoot forward, hands placed on my desk, eyes trained on the teacher in front of me. The focus would never last. My mind was a wild animal and I was a poor wrangler. Stories bounced around inside my mind, I was powerless in bringing them under control. The straight lines of the classroom begged to be stressed until broken. The most meaningful conversations always happened outside, in the hall, as a grown up pushed to tears of frustration screamed at a child who truly meant to pay attention. I wanted to be a good kid, but attention was a gift I could not give. I was as frustrated with myself as anyone. The system was easy enough though and I was always able to get passing grades. I ended up being a fair enough student but I always wondered if there were another type of classroom, one I would have fit into better.

The tiny fat hands of my 8-month-old son grasp my fingers as he balances precariously on fat little legs, the concept of taking steps still not present in his young mind. I lean him forward in hopes that the shift of center will encourage the natural step towards equilibrium, but no step follows. A gummy smile beams upward at me as if to tell me he is content with simply standing. He won’t remember these hours of disbelieving stares and light hearted laughter like I will. The amazement of a young parent enshrined in blissful memories. My heart is heavy in my chest as I realize I am watching a baby progress into a kid. Soon he will have thoughts of his own and a will to speak the words of his own crafting.  As I was contemplating these thoughts, my son decided to attempt a dive, catching me completely off guard and reminding me that, even now, I do not control him. He is a sovereign citizen of life and in life there are consequences. 

For a young man, I have an extensive history with old vehicles…not the refurbished diamonds of a golden era type, but the old vehicles that even new were considered bargain types.  As a child, I distinctly remember the winter ride to school, snow whirling in my lap, cold air on my face due to the absence of a window. There were old trucks, the occasional turn of the key without the accompanying turn of the engine. A light-hearted demeanor is required when faced with a ride that won’t roll. Humility cultivated by stepping out of a sputtering steed to a school lawn filled with classmates. It was a blessing, from that early age, to not be reliant on the quality of a possession for worth or security. It all works out. Momentary inconvenience, given time and distance, grew in my mind to provide a clearer perception that I was not what my parents drove.

Do you desire adventure? This is a question that I often find myself wondering. The movies are great and the vacations are fun but those are often romanticized versions of reality: a snapshot of the long journey. The camera is conveniently off when the main character of the featured presentation twists his ankle, the viewer doesn't feel the sting of pain. When Romeo steps in shit, Juliet doesn't complain of the stench or even tell him to remove his shoes. A life of grand adventure requires payments along the way. From financial instability to physical anguish, the true extent of the cost is never known until it has already been paid. Living a life of adventure seems like trying to escape from chains of comfort, like a prison filled with recliners and 1000s of devices designed to keep you comfortable, safe. Why would one sacrifice the comfort of looking at a pretty picture for the struggles of being there yourself? After all, you don't have to smell the shit when you experience it through a picture. 

Generations come and go. Often it isn't until one is gone that the true scope of it's culture can be interpreted and defined. It is easy to see the negatives with the younger generations. Youth always expresses itself more with passion than wisdom. Older generations are strapped down by  a life lived and struggle to reconcile their decisions against the sometimes irrational nature of the younger. Definition is often dependent on the extremes of each generation. The generation that sent man to the moon. The generation that fought world wars. The generation that discovered the world. As things get done, one might sit back and say that the best is behind and the future is bleak. 

In the mountains it is easy to wake up with vigor. You will surely need it throughout the day; vacationing in the mountains is often tiresome work.  The mountains provide an atmosphere of ambition that leads to exhaustion. I know how hard my day will be and it causes me to smirk. I enjoy my morning cup of coffee knowing the harder the day, the more fun. Knowing first thing in the morning that, lord willing, your hardest day, where YOU, not anyone else but YOU, will either rise to the challenge and go home a winner, or you will crumble and be forced to attempt the task another day. 

A road trip can not happen with out a healthy steed.  A few hours in and with a few more to go my steed was dumping white smoke down the highway and into the cab. I feared it was the beginning of the end of my 2003 sprinter van. I eased to the shoulder. Stopped, I set out to investigate. A 13 day trip around the Colorado front range lay a few hundred miles up the road but I was laying on a asphalt road with a smoking van.  I didn't see any obvious damage or leaking. Hopping into the driver's seat I answered my wife's concerned look with a reassuring nod, a turn of the key, and a "We should be good".  The old tin can held together the rest of the trip with no more issues.  Minor problems like this are common at the beginning of a trip, the God of the Road checking your dedication.