Edward Abbey

Supermarket Hippie

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Nearly naked, I placed one foot onto the smooth rubber mat, my mind ringing with Edward Abbey’s war-cry, obey little, resist much!   Abbey was the bestselling author who advocated for protecting wilderness from commercial exploitation, if necessary by sabotage (he called it “monkey-wrenching”).

Instantly the automatic door swept aside, and I entered the supermarket, the tiles slick and cool underfoot.  I noticed the specials (two pints of blueberries for $5) and the surprise on the faces of some of my fellow-shoppers – evident in a subtle downward flicker of the eyes — as they confirmed that I’d violated an unwritten moral code.  Honestly, people are mostly cool with it.  But not always. Continue reading “Supermarket Hippie” →

Supermarket Hippie

To the Land of the Black Sun

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9-hours in my faithful black Jeep, and maybe longer, as Google Maps just shunted me off the highway and now I’m rolling through small beach towns (signs flash Ogunquit and Kennebunk), where tourists stroll the streets and mill around in trendy bars, hanging out beneath tall gas lanterns on this cool summer evening — but I’ve got a dull ache in my butt (piriformis syndrome from doing squats again) and I just want to get to Millinocket – or anywhere, honestly.

Strictly speaking, this is vacation, but my mindset is all business.  My mission — to climb the state’s 4,000-footers, of which there are 14.  With long driving times between mountain ranges and interruptions for work calls that can’t be rescheduled, the schedule has little slack.  And it’s not like I can just bang out these peaks.  I hike barefoot.  My pace is slow.

A few weeks ago, this strange thought popped into my mind – that Maine was the “land of the Black Sun.”  The intuition being, I guess, that if you journeyed far enough from home, you’d find places so radically different from the familiar, that common attributes might shift into their opposites.  Like when Clarence King traveled west from Connecticut to join the California Geologic Survey and then, as soon as the expedition was under way, begged permission to climb a mountain.  Any mountain.  How about the tallest one in sight.  This was 1864.  When he and a companion finally reached the summit of Mt. Tyndall, King looked into the sky and saw the darkness of vast yawning hollow space.  While the desert basins below were blindingly bright.  It was a “strange reversal.”  The opposite of familiar sunlit skies and dark cool earth.

On occasion I, too, have experienced strange reversals.  For example, I’ve noticed when wearing sunglasses with polarized lenses, that when I tilt my head, the contrast shifts.  The brightness flickers.  Shadows come awake.

I roll into Millinocket at 2 am.  An envelope with my room key is taped to the door, just like they said it would. Continue reading “To the Land of the Black Sun” →

To the Land of the Black Sun

10,000 Miles Barefoot

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How irritating — that they would spread salt so liberally everywhere, not only in the streets, but on the smooth white sidewalks where I’d planned to run (and not a patch of snow in sight).  Later I asked my Mom — she didn’t know, but agreed it must have been the City, which forced me to consider the possibility that the local population was so lacking in balance and agility that a late November snow-dusting was seen as potential calamity.  In any case, due to the salt I cut my run short at 4 miles instead of 5 and stepped into a favorite coffee shop for my morning cappuccino, only to be confronted by a young woman behind the counter.  I saw a pale white face, light-blue surgical mask, and a pair of hazel eyes glaring at me. 

“We can’t serve you — it’s the health code.”

With raised eyebrow —  “In Illinois.  Really?”

“Even if it’s not against the law, it’s our right.”

So I left. 

Once back at my hotel, I opened laptop, entered the mileage in my training log, and saw I’d finally crossed the boundary — I’d just passed my 10,000th mile of barefoot hiking, walking, and running.  And then I went back out, still searching for my morning coffee….

Continue reading “10,000 Miles Barefoot” →

10,000 Miles Barefoot

More Nature, Less Technology

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“You’ll be the troublemaker.” Arif gave me a sly look as he guided me to a far corner of the restaurant, and I nodded, because surely life is too short for small talk.

There were six of us seated at the table.  Four middle-aged women — each one attractive, intelligent, engaging, successful.  A quiet-spoken serious young man with a shock of brown hair.  And me, wearing camouflage-colored Yankees cap and a few days’ worth of stubble.

This was an “intergenerational dinner,” hosted by the Hoot Owl, a cozy restaurant in upstate New York with a loyal local following.  The event was organized around a series of questions designed to elicit discussion.

Anne had been tasked as the table’s guide, and now she opened with the first question – what makes you feel most alive? Continue reading “More Nature, Less Technology” →

More Nature, Less Technology