Ramblings of a Nomad

The end of another Summer.

Days are getting shorter, and nights cold enough to warrant extra layers in my sleeping bag.
From my viewpoint on the side of Mount Garfield, I can now see blotches of yellow creeping into the foliage on the side of Galehead and South Twin.
Fall may not be here officially, but we have definitely turned a corner towards it in the mountains.

During one night in my last stint, I watched a thunderstorm miles to the north. Lightning lit up the clouds to a bright orange, creating all kinds of shapes in the clouds. Above me: a perfect clear and starry night. It was late, but I had to share it with someone. Luckily, some campers were awake. I persuaded them to come over to my tent, which has a great northerly view. We stood there for an hour and half, looking at the stars in between lightning strikes.
On nights like that, any regrets about the lifestyle I lead are forgotten.

I couldn't help but reflect on how the change of this season always seems to bring change to my life... especially in the last five years.
In August of 2006, I moved to Pennsylania.
October of 2007, I relocated back to Maine.
August of 2008, I gave up a shitty job trying to climb a corporate ladder for pennies, and moved to Presque Isle.
August of 2009, I put up with enough crap to last a lifetime, and switched residences again.
November of 2010, I left Northern Maine.

Here I sit, watching Hurricane Irene blow leaves around outside, wondering what change life will bring me this September, when my current job has run its course.
Unlike other years, it's more curiosity than worry. I've been through it so many times that I know the chips will fall where they may, and should anything unfavorable happen, I have my old standbys.

I will still have my bike.
My running shoes will always be waiting, smelling up my pack, and calling for me when I need to let out some steam. Of all the changes-negative and positive- I've had in my life, one thing has always been there for me.
My fitness.

It was there in high school, when I was ineligible to hang with my Cross Country friends because of my bad grades.
The day my dog died, I escaped the world via two feet and tunes.
Even when I was injured from the Triple Iron and lost mentally because of some major changes in my life in 2009, I still went out every night on Skunk Patrol... my name for night training in Presque Isle on the bike path.

Change is on the horizon. I can feel it.
And I'm ready.

krp