Getting The Vibe at Mojo

This time of year, I can't help but think of the different places I've lived during Christmas time.

There's my hometown of Turner, ME. The mid-Atlantic town in Waynesboro, PA.
Presque Isle, ME...

I spent 2 years working for Mojo up in Aroostook County, and it changed hands twice during that time.

There were times when it seemed like everything was always up in the air when I worked there- it is a high end gear shop in an area where financially, things aren't always stellar- but there were a few things that always stayed the same.

The employees who believed in the place, and the customers who had faith in it.
Those people who "got it", as I liked to say, didn't think Mojo of as a store.
It was a platform for people to launch healthy lifestyles.
It was a meeting place for those like-minded individuals to grab a cup of coffee, socialize, and then head out for a bike, run, or ski. There was always an employee or regular customer there to get advice from on any sporting issue you could come up with.

The grumblers of Aroostook County didn't shop there or support the place. The grumblers didn't "get it".
They didn't take the time to go to any wax clinics, bike maintenance clinics, or running workshops.
They might come to our group rides to test if their phallic size had grown over the winter, only to find out that our group rides were only about social spinning(not hammerfest-ing), and that more than likely, there was still someone who could outride them there.
The grumblers didn't care about having fun, or buying into the idea of a social circle of fit people.

They didn't come to our Breast Cancer Awareness Ride, or any other ride for any other cause, for whatever reason.

They simply didn't want to take the time to realize that Mojo wasn't the usual bike shop. It wasn't a peckerhead shop where, within 5 minutes of entering, an employee asks what kind of bike you ride in an effort to size you up.
I keep saying was, because it WAS a year ago when I left. The same ideas apply now.

There are still grumblers, but more importantly, there are more people who are still buying into Mojo as an idea.
I cannot count how many people's lives have been changed by the shop, from simple weight loss to fitness goals achieved.
If you have reservations about the store, you don't Get It....but that's okay. You still can join the people who are considered less like customers, and more like family.

I'm not saying you should go in today and spend $1000 on gear. Indeed, on your first visit, you need not buy anything.

Go in, meet Mark, and ask what's coming up next on the ridiculously extensive calendar of Outdoor Events in Aroostook County. Say hi to his well-behaved kids, who are usually hanging out there. See when the next clinic or weekly ski is. Sit on the big comfy couch, and I guarantee within minutes someone will sit down and strike up a conversation by someone who Gets It.
That's just how it is there.

werewolfin'

There's a roof over my head, and the rooms inside are heated.
I could go to the next room and take a shower right now if I wanted to.

A fluffy couch. A dining room table.
A toilet that flushes.
The softness of the civilized world encroaches upon me always.

I must keep it at bay.

-----
Last night, I left work.
Saddling up on my old Trek, I set off on the last half of my 56 mile round trip commute.

It was cold, and my toes numbed within minutes.
My face froze.
I hadn't eaten much during the day, and I welcomed the wobble in my legs.

Tractor trailers blew by me, and I snuck dangerously close to the white line, catching free speed from their drafts.

Soon, the lights of the city were gone. My small headlight shone on the pavement ahead- just enough to see any cracks in the road that might cause significant damage.

Other than the hum of my own tires: silence.
The moon hung in a perfectly clear sky- a sure sign that the temperature was only going to get lower.

I was left with nothing but analysis:
Of how my feet were going to hurt when they finally thawed.
How the moon and I have had some pretty intimate nights together on rides and runs just like this.

How being out there in the cold and dark, hungry, is so not something humans seek out. As a race, it's just not something we do. Much better and safer to go home and turn on the TV. Comfort. Why?

For a while, I pretended I was something else, and acknowledged the moon with a low howl.

BrainDump

So, it's been a little over a month since the mountain-man summer.

I've been bumming around kind of, but things are about to change. My life has gone from super simple to busier than I can ever imagine, in just a matter of weeks. I can say I'm pretty happy about the way things are going.

Got a job pedaling gear at an outdoor store. Also teaching a spin class at a local gym. Waiting to hear back about a part time, overnight job as well. 3 minion jobs.
The last few years, I have been going through some things mentally... career wise.

I know that I need to advance in whatever I do, but ever since Olympia, I have been really apprehensive. This apprehension is because I know no moderation. Once I start, I have a tendency to go balls-out. I give my soul away, work hours not fit for a human being in order to make things perfect, and big companies take full advantage of that.
My inability to balance work and life scares me, and makes it extremely hard to want to commit, because I can already see the writing on the wall. I know for a fact, the last 2 years, I haven't given it my all, because if I do, my life will be work.

Also, I've worked too many jobs where the higher-level managers are held with such reverence, and the big boss is feared so much, that they may as well be God.
This is a game that I am absolutely done playing. These people are no better than anyone else... in fact, in my experience, they have more transgressions than most. Everyday, they also sit on the toilet and take big dumps, just like you. Think of them on the toilet straining next time someone says,"The Regional Manager is going to be here, don't do this or that!"

I don't know. Got off on a little tangent there.
The will to commit is there, but I don't want to go over the edge.
I don't want to take on the persona of just the average joe who works at that place.
There is so much more to life than working.
While my training is a great outlet, I have also started Gutter Race Productions.
This is a cause I believe in, and I think will help me focus on other things than work, and so I can punch in, give it my all, punch out, and stop thinking about work.

Paid my first month of rent in about a year and a half the other day. Can't say as I'm happy about it. There are 2 ways out. Go back to the VagabondLife(not an option with a woman in my life), or buy a house. While I'm not happy about rent, I am happy that my life is taking some direction.
I know where I want to be, I just have to go balls to the wall for a while. The challenge will be balancing it.

The Handwritten Diaries: Caught with my Pants Down

6/12/11
(After 10 days of training, this is the first night at the site)

The weather is junk: socked in, cold, and rainy.

Climbed to the summit of Mount Garfield. It was socked in with fog.
7 PM and no visitors yet.
Stoked that the site had a coffee pot. Took me 20 minutes to clean out the old coffee and mold. Yuck.
I forgot cream and sugar, so it looks like I will have to learn to like black coffee. Brought waaaaay too much food, which made for a tough hike in. I guess I'd rather have too much than not enough during these 10 days.
You hear stories of bad planning, and the last days' meals being peanut butter spoonfuls.

Gonna do last rounds and hit the sack.
Crossed fingers for no mice invasion.

-----------------------------
6-13-11
One thing I love about this job:bed at dusk.

Summited Garfield this AM and it was socked in, again. I am living in a cloud.
Getting killed by black flies.
Was cold last night. Had to put on everything I brought up, including rain gear. Not as bad today.
Every once in a while, the fog lifts, and a good view of Galehead is possible from the lookout.
No visitors last night, which is I guess rare for this site.
Earlier today during a rainy period, I stepped out of the tent to take a leak, and out of nowhere, a woman came around the corner to check the site out. What are the odds that the only person I've seen in the last 24 hours arrives and catches me mid-piss?
Luckily I was back-to. Unfortunately, that didn't make the camp tour less awkward.

Lots of down time up here. Some veteran caretakers say it helps to have a goal not job-related to occupy your mind.
Can definitely understand that. Got plenty, just need to figure out which ones should come first.
Peace out.

Ignorance: the New, Radical Adventure

Sometimes, I have the feeling that I was born during the wrong era.
I am just...bothered.

By what?
Oh, I don't know. Everything.
Whereas this makes me sound like an angry, cynical mountain man, perhaps I should explain.

I hate that we live in a world and society where everything needs to be quantified.
There is literally an answer for everything, and for the most part, it is absolute.

Where is the mystery? Where is the magic?
Easy answer: science and technology took it away.

Maybe our world is a slightly better place because of technology and progression. There are some cures that we can credit to our medical advances... but is that even a good thing?
The overpopulation of humans on earth is documented, which I also hate.

I don't want to believe in evolution. Why? Because that shit is boring....not to mention, there is NO way that all of the factors necessary for human life just happened to come into play at just the right time, one of the bazillions of results equaling me being able to type something on a device that I can carry around with one hand, post online, and have it be read immediately by people around the world.

If we didn't have TV and communication, beliefs of all kinds, in each region would be intact and with morals. We wouldn't be looking at Hollywood, getting married and divorced in the same day, trying to recreate what we see.

It would be nice to go into the woods and NOT know people had been there before, because there would be no maps made.

With all due respect and well-wishes to all victims of natural disasters, I find it refreshing that we can build massive structures and bridges, and nature can dismiss them in a matter of seconds.
Humans. We think we run shit, and it gets really tiring.

Wouldn't it be great to believe in ghosts, psychics, and ufos, without some asshole in a pocket protector and clipboard telling you why they don't exist?

If I'm bushwhacking in the western mountains of Maine, and I think I saw sasquatch, I wanna go back to camp and tell people that I think I just saw Bigfoot.
I love reiki, massage, and all other alternative methods of medicine because I believe there is a dimension that the whitecoats can't touch. The human mind. A God. Etc.

I want to believe there is mystery on earth still. Not scientific mystery- they're locked into their own perimeters and walls, and will probably never think outside of the box.
REAL mystery.
Maybe I've found it, and a lot of people(the quantifiers) will probably laugh.
Ignorance. It's not just bliss anymore.
Turn off the TV, iphone, and laptop.
Disconnect from all technology, and connect to the real world.

krp

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

Puke Run: A Colorful Experience

Yesterday I walked out of the woods, looking for a good workout.
What I got, however, was a day of toughening that perhaps I've only seen a few times in my life.

I woke at 1:30am, and forced my stuff into my pack: axe, clothing, food, water, and propane tank. By 2am, I was headed the long way out of Garfield Ridge Campsite.

The waterfall/trail was tricky to navigate in the dark with my heavy pack, and this was compounded by my not having coffee. I had just 6 hours of sleep total the last few nights, so I felt kind of groggy.

I am not afraid of the dark, but am man enough to admit that my heart rate was higher than usual as I rock-hopped the technical 3 mile section from the campsite to the Galehead Hut. If I broke an ankle or had some other type of injury, I would be out there for a while before anyone came. There wasn't much room for error.

Upon reaching the hut around 3am, I was drenched in sweat. I de-layered and made the turn up South Twin.
Instantly, I felt the weight of the pack as I began to scale the slabs of rock they call a "trail". Gravity became my arch-nemesis.
.8 miles has never felt so long. I had given myself 6 hours for the 15 mile slog, to catch the Hiker shuttle...a 2.5 mile/hour average.
I could feel my time slipping away as I crested the 4900' mountain, but I just had to stop and admire the stars on a clear night. I'd never been above tree-line at this hour. The feeling was eerie, and at the same time, strangely calming.

As I made my way down the mountain and towards Mt. Guyot, I picked up the pace, making up for lost time. Occasionally I would look to the East and see the sky getting lighter. Time was going way too fast. At this rate, I would never make the shuttle.

I hit Guyot as the clear sky was turning from black to pre-sunrise gray. I cursed myself for breaking my camera, but no pictures could capture this moment... not in this light. Words cannot explain the monochromatic panorama of countless peaks in front of my eyes. I wanted to puke from going so hard, but some things are so beautiful, that even in moments of extreme pain, the mind can appreciate them. 9 miles to go.

Up over Zealand, the sky was every hue of purple, pink, and then orange as sunrise was in full bloom.
The forest was changing from predominantly evergreen to deciduous vegetation as I ducked below 4000', blasting over bog bridges and step stones, with my headlight only useful in groves of pines and hemlocks, where light still hadn't penetrated.

I crossed over Zealand Falls and as I ran by the hut, early risers on the porch gave me strange looks. Who was this weirdo with an axe-handle and random bicycling gear sticking out of his pack, running by at this hour?

Making the right off of the Zealand Trail and on to the A-Z Trail, I was behind schedule, but thoroughly enjoying a trail much less traveled than anything I'd been on so far that morning. The handle of my axe and my bike helmet frequently snagged low hanging branches, as I tried to go as fast as possible. The bushwhacking was fun, but being behind schedule was kind of stressing me out. I wanted time to get the Highland Center, change, and kill some French Toast and breakfast burritos before departing to Pinkham Notch.

Soon, the trail was going uphill in a big way, and I was back in evergreen country. Having only stopped twice for water and a few Nutter Butter cookies in 5 hours, I could feel my body using its last resources. Every once in a while, my stomach would heave as my pulse pounded to a rate it doesn't often see.
The intersection I came to said "Crawford Notch- 2.3 miles, Mt. Tom Spur-.5 miles."

I had hoped to go up Mt. Tom, but I was toast. I didn't have time, anyways. I plunged down the mountain, brushing past ferns and hobblebush, admiring the occasional cascade by the trail. Bear tracks were everywhere, but at this point, I figured I was making so much noise huffing and puffing and clinking down the trail that they wouldn't be interested...besides, I had gone 10 days without a shower. They wouldn't want to eat anything that disgusting.

It's always a weird feeling to exit out of the woods and into the world of vehicles. Walking on the smooth, hard surface of pavement feels strange and foreign, after rock hopping every step of every day for a week and a half. It was 8:15... I was a tad behind schedule, and seeing stars from depletion and deprivation of everything necessary for human life, but otherwise happy to see that breakfast was still being served.

After eating with a fury for 30 minutes straight, I boarded the shuttle and began the voyage to Pinkham Notch, thoroughly spent, but happy to be headed to civilization, and a shower.