When I think about trekking areas where nobody can drive, it is such a humbling experience. It brings a clarity that I can't find in my backyard or even in a lovely meadow in Yosemite Valley.
Yet, I was surprised by something in this trip. The hike didn't work the way it usually does -- didn't vaporize my demons and instill this soul-shaped glow.
I come from Bakersfield, land of oil derricks, renegade red necks, all-night bowling alleys and fist fights on Friday nights. In those days, I went to the mountains only for the purpose of fishing and drinking beer. I mostly hooked hangovers.
Most of the people I grew up with would either laugh at you or slug you if you suggested something bigger than your own daily functions was going on out there. I am relieved to say that I haven't fit that mold in decades.
So, lynch me from the top of Father Garces at the traffic circle on Chester Avenue where the kids cruise, looking to meet each other, purchase booze and discover their own brand of nature.
But I must admit that the buzz from the glacier adventure departed rather quickly. More quickly than this nature buzz ever has. The cynicism of the workplace, the economic downturn and the election year sapped me.
I've taken two weeks off to explore other ideas. Maybe something will spark. Can't wait for Nov. 4 -- election day -- to come and go.
Or, maybe there's another day that is more important. On October 22, I will be 55. Maybe that's the day I need to come to grips with.
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