Out of the Fog

Millstone offers a great name for its morning medium roast--Foglifter. I've never had it but I'm willing to cut it some slack due to this fantastic name. I wish I had it on that fateful day back in February 1980 when my neighbor Todd Parson and I went into the woods beyond Greasy Creek to hunt quail. There was a dusting of snow on the ground which makes birds stick longer before they break to flight. Quail are hilariously funny to watch when they are on the run.
After spending an hour or so shrouded in the beauty of frosted timber it was time to leave for home. We'd made the trip many times but this one was different. A fog came across the lake and settled into the entire acreage. We knew exactly where we were, but not where we were going. Our bearings were entirely off kilter--lost in a whiteout of snow and fog. If we walked too far west, we could fall through the ice on the creek, too far south and we would be on a thinly frozen lake. It was terrifying.
I grew up hearing my Grandfather preach about Jesus saving those who were lost. I was quite certain that I could only be sure of heaven if I first knew I was lost. That frightened me initially because I didn't feel particularly lost. The only other time I was lost was when I was 5 at a Christmas parade in Providence Ky. It was a three minute eternity of horror that was immediately remedied by the sight of my mother. The contrast in emotions when one is lost and then found is forever etched on the soul.
As I've gotten older, I'm more comfortable with the feelings of lostness. On the occasions I get lost (Hey, I'm a guy!) I still don't like it, but I always sense an assurance for coming through it. In matters of salvation, I wasn't lost because I didn't know where I was, I was lost because I didn't know where I was going, and my options were far more perilous than I wanted to entertain. And just because I didn't feel lost didn't mean I wasn't.
Todd and I determined that day to stay put and stay calm. But the fog didn't lift and it was getting darker. I'm quite sure that moments before we both died from heart failure, through the fog, we heard a voice calling our names. It was my father's voice. He suspected our predicament so he made his way up the trail and called to us from the ridge above the bottoms. We immediately had our bearings. We knew where we were going.
I still get lost from time to time. The fog rolls in and though I know where I am, I don't know where to go. I think back to that day in the whiteout, and I listen for my Father's voice.

A midlife crisis?

I'm such a schmuck. Two days before we went on vacation-- that would be two weeks ago-- I bought a motorcycle. Not a month earlier I had poo-pooed the idea with Gary the Globetrotting Evangelist that I'd never risk endangering my life--not to mention the future of my children's image of my death--by riding a motorcycle. That went out the window for reasons that I'm not certain of at this point. Simply put, I want to conquer my fear of riding this machine on auto infested roads. Being a country boy I rode nobby-tired dirtbikes over the open spaces of my rural upbringing. City riding is more of a challenge-- a fear I want to put to rest. Too much of my life is controlled by fear of stuff..and people. I want to check this thing off my list.
Second of course is all the hullabaloo I hear from riders who speak of how it makes one feel to embrace the elements on two wheels-- words like freedom, relaxation and young-again come to mind. Thirdly, four dollar gas! Though many have told me I'm wasting my time pursuing the cost benefit by the time you buy the bike and all that goes with it.
I have yet to feel any of these presumed benefits but I did take a ride through McCutchanville today and the wind under my helmet and against my shirt gave me some sort of satisfaction. Right now I'm just struck with the "coolness" of it all. I haven't felt cool in a long time. Maybe that's why old guys like me do this thing. Maybe it's a ploy to keep me chasing the cool of my youth while forsaking the wisdom of age. I hope not. That would be a tremendous regret. So right now I'll settle for conquering a fear. That seems noble enough. I'm celebrating with a cup of Myron's Kilimanjaro blend!