The weekends of the pointlessly motivated have a flaw which is seldom discussed. Professionals everywhere set their clocks to the hour of their daily stumble, where they manage to roll from a better place and into the grind of their typical work week. For your average Joe or Josey, a Saturday morning is an opportunity to take control of one’s diurnal impulses and sleep to the heart’s content, or at least the few extra minutes afforded before the pet/kids/spouse/insane neighbor “accidentally” bring consciousness to town.
But for some folk such modest anticipations are simply out of reach when maps have recently been spread across the office floor, and if these victims normally awake with difficulty at 6:30 am, they will now, with only a simple mission in their mind, awake suddenly at 0500, hoping to fall back asleep for at least another few minutes, but well aware of the hopelessness of their now activated mind and body. The wiser of these will decide to give in, getting the fuck out of bed before they ruin the wondrous slumber of their still resting partner….a veteran move.
For TDM this scenario is recurrent during the summer months, when a winter’s worth of geographic obsession coalesces with newly snowless highlands, allowing the growing adventures lists of the darker months to finally be addressed. These lists have, in one form or another permeated his life since around the age of 8, and though the missions have varied in scope, their character, and the process that conceives of them, have remained constant; comb maps for locations of high mystery, look for access points to either blue or black-dotted lines, and form a circle if for bikes/hikes, or a long steep line if for rivers/climbs. This dish is best served with a pinch of absurdity, so if possible look for other nearby loops/lines/arcs, and combine via some vague clue of connection; usually through use of poor quality air photos or here-say. Now the sketchy part; it is one thing to dream a little dream, but authentic living requires that we apply these ideas at the rate of at least two-per summer, with frequencies sometimes getting up to four or five epics a season. The damage can be extensive, but the rewards last a lifetime.
Just this last weekend TDM found himself unable to return to his beloved zzzz’s, lying quietly beside Pinky trying not to vibrate as he anticipated the list day adventure to come. The anticipation was thrilling, but so was the knowledge that while the outcome of the adventure may range from sublime to abhorrent, the sleep of angels was a certainty in the night to follow.
For more on this last list ride see “Bohemian Crawfish” in the Stories of Terror and Triumph and the like section of this little webzone. Peace.