There was no way to finish that hike to the mountain top with that hideous forest in the way, so I was resigned to retreat. But what was that barely noticeable lightness hiding behind the forest's black curtain? I must have been intrigued--what else would make me wade in through that crap?
I couldn't believe it. It was a small meadow, an island of light and air. I really didn't know that such islands existed. Sailors must feel like this when they discover a small, secret cove that isn't on the charts.
It was exquisite to feel sharp pain and pleasure at the same time, like tasting sweet and sour on different sections of the tongue.
Rather than break out onto the grassy slope on the way home, I decided to walk along this shoreline of forest and grass, and plunge into the arboreal netherworld whenever I thought there was another of these little meadows.
Walking along this shoreline something caught me eye. There she was: a wild rose.
I had an RV friend from Alberta, whose license plates proudly proclaim "Wild Rose" country. I asked him once if he had ever actually seen a wild rose. His answer was, Yea, once. Ever since then I've thought they were rare and exotic.
A few minutes later they started looking as exotic as dandelions. I was crushed. How can you feel so rich and blessed when you have a little of something, and feel so poor when you have more of it?
It is July and soon the bicycling crazies will be riding across Iowa by the thousands. RAGBRAI. Heat, humidity, headwinds, more hills than newbees expect, sore butts, thunderstorms that flood their tents on the junior high school athletic fields. What makes people do it?
But...oh how they love to tell you of the pleasures after the suffering. That's what it must be. They no longer want travel to be "nice"--that is uniform, sugar-coated, jello-like. They want intensity. They know that pleasure can only be intense if it follows discomfort.
They have learned to glory in the emotional roller coaster of travel.
