There are few things in life that stress me out more than the final few hours of Nation Geographic Traveler’s annual Photo Contest.
Any Vancouverite’s willing to loan me a 54 / 56 cm road bike this Friday?
I’ll take excellent of her, treat her to some stunning views as I take on Cyprus, Grouse, and Seymour, and even have her home to you by the end of your work day.
Alternatives. Come take on the triple crown with me this Friday.
I have a plan, and I’m trying to follow it. But it’s hard. It’s a hard plan to follow. I’m trying to get in shape. And I’m trying to live like a primitive man. Sometimes, I feel like I’m not succeeding at either one. I’ve read a lot about primitive cultures. And I use that term, “primitive,” in the sense that it means original or primary. For maybe 99% of human history, a few million years, humans were hunters. They didn’t get up and go to work each morning. That started with civilization. And civilization is nothing but a heartbeat of recent time, 10,000 years at the most. And to hell with that.
I want to wake up naked and alone in the desert. I want to eat sand and drink piss and pass out screaming from sunburn and spider bites. But I know it won’t work, and I know it won’t happen, either because I’m a coward, or unable, or it’s just not possible at all for anyone. Even if I were to wake up naked and alone in the wilderness, I’d still wake up thinking and making sense of myself and the world around me in modern English. And there’s no way I can get around that. So I’m stuck with choosing not to participate, to live apart in any way I can think of. My wife used to like it. I think maybe that’s why she wanted to marry me. But now we have kids, and she sort of changed her mind.