OMD Travelogue | Day 400
Turning onto the dirt road, I pull out my notes. Double check. Okay, we just need to continue on this and stay to the left when it forks, I mumble to myself.
Zipping the directions back into the tank bag, I hand Baylor a cookie. Wiggle my right hand back into the glove and tap the bike into first gear. Sun lowering quickly, we roll forward slowly.
I hadn’t planned to camp out here, had no intention of racing the last of the day’s rays, but sometimes plans changed.
Having discovered a free, dispersed horse camp yesterday, I’d set up our tent home. Happily anticipated getting a few nights in one location. Looked forward to a break from the hassle of camp up/camp down for a couple days. But as I learned a few hours ago, the camp spot is exclusively for people with horses and apparently Baylor nor Rufio counted.
Luckily county park worker, Sean, knew just the place to send us. Gave detailed directions and wished us well. Which is how we find ourselves unexpectedly bumping down backroads so late in the day.
Looking ahead, I note the uneven road. Weaving to the left, I skirt a large puddle, worry slightly about what lies ahead.
Hopefully the worst of it has dried up as it hasn’t rained in days. Hopefully the roads Sean claimed were totally fine are indeed passable on the motorcycle-sidecar. Looking around I shrug. I guess it doesn’t really matter either way. We’re committed at this point.
Several miles later, I stay to the left. Continue bumping and weaving down ever more remote roads. Normally Rufio being narrower than a normal car isn’t important, but on these uneven, rutted backroads it’s a constant nuisance. I do my best to ride the motorcycle in the middle, keep the sidecar in the right rut. The worst is when the sidecar ends up higher than the bike. In those moments I tense, hold my breath, generally freak out that we could tip at any moment.
Rolling on I try to calculate distance. Surely we must be getting close.
Seeing a sandy spot ahead, I remember to maintain momentum. Slide uncomfortably to the right, but eventually gain traction and pick up speed.
Approaching an uneven hill, I come to a stop at the bottom.
Let’s get a better look at this first, Bay. Walking around the bike, I remove his goggles, unclip the harness. Okay, you can get out.
Furry friend trotting happily at my side, I jog up the hill. Look around. This is the worst of it. Make it past this and we’ll be golden.
Clipping Baylor to a tree, I hand him a treat. You’re gonna sit this one out buddy. Just until I make it up this hill, then you can get back in.
Pulling on my helmet, I fire up the bike. Aim for the left and slide to the right. Bounce and bob, slide and curse. Come to a jerking halt spinning tires on soft, sandy hill.
Hopping off, I try to roll backwards. Sighing, I take off my gloves, toss them in the sidecar. I think about the plan I had for the day. Reading, relaxing, enjoying being set up in camp all day. And the reality. Searching for a new camp spot, racing darkness, sitting stranded in the middle of nowhere. If it wasn’t so annoying it would be funny.
Helmet off, I jog back to Baylor. He grins up at me. Yeah, yeah, that didn’t go as planned. I’ll get us out, don’t worry. He wags happily. Runs off on the trail of fresh forest scents.
Not for the first time I find myself on all fours, digging frantically. Huffing and puffing pushing at the bike. Breaking free a smidge at a time. Little bit by little bit.
Back at the bottom, I set Baylor in place. Reassess my route. Okay, bud. I can do this. I just need to do it with confidence and conviction. Scratching his ear, I look down. Wish me luck.
Swinging a leg over the bike, I take a deep breath. I might easily zip up this hill. Or I might end up tipped over taking a dirt nap. It’s not ideal, but I guess that’s one of the good things about this adventure. If I was any other situation I’d just opt out. Say no thanks, this is too hard. I’d rather go home and enjoy a relaxing night thank you very much. But that’s not an option.
Home is in the saddle bag. And I’ve nowhere else to go but up and onwards.
Exhaling, I look back at Baylor one last time. Inhale deeply and rev the engine. Here goes.
Holding tight, I go at it fast. Stay to the left. Easily pop up and over the hole. Crest the hill and let out a whoop.
Jogging back to Baylor, I smile slightly. I’m hot and tired. Hungry and exhausted. Dirty and worn out. And yet there’s a satisfaction connected to unpleasantness of it all. A joy to coming up against something challenging and doing the best you can in that moment.
There was a time in life when sliding into the hole would’ve only signaled failure. Instead of seeing ways to get out, I would’ve sat around beating myself for making a mistake in the first place. Eventually would enter such a downward cycle that everything would seem ruined and irreparable.
But out here, stuck in a mess of a my own making. There’s no option but to get out. I can’t just give up and cry myself to sleep. There’s no choice but to stay positive and action oriented. It’s a valuable lesson I never expected to learn so often and in so many ways.
Failure isn’t a state of being. Making a mistake doesn’t make you a failure. Bumping into an obstacle doesn’t mean you should call it quits. It’s all just part of the adventure.
As Henry Ford once said,
“Failure is just a resting place. It is an opportunity to begin again more intelligently.”
400 days down. Many to come.
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