Madmen and English dogs
my apologies to Joe Cocker.
I've mentioned a couple of times how good the cell phone coverage was on this trip. From my "base camp" (as one person called it) at the foot of Mt Elbert to 13,500 feet up the side of Mt Elbert, to the middle of seemingly no where, I was able to make some kind of contact.
This is good, and this is bad.
The bad, of course, is that it means there are fewer and fewer places where one can actually engage in an adventure - where adventure means you are thinking and acting in the near term on things of uncertain outcome, too busy to consider things of the long term, and the negative consequences of your decisions may be not only unpleasant but downright painful, and you are (for the most part or entirely) on your own.
Wow, quite a definition.
The good part is that one can be the Madman.
The Madman is the guy your wife cannont stand. He is usually single, lives precariously financially and emotionally, and (she says) has never grown up. Conversations usually begin with a late night/early morning phone call with no greeting or names, just "Guess where I am NOW?" and you can never be sure it isn't some foreign jail. More than likely, thank goodness, it is an off beat bar, some little backwater town, or, in my case this time, the side of a mountain.
I think we need madmen in our lives if for no other reason than comparison. If the only relationships we have are with like minded like actioned people, then we would become lost on a sand flat without reference.
Madmen are inspirations for us when we fall too far into our comfort zone. Earning our keep, paying our bills, raising our children and meeting all of our mature and adult obligations is all well and good and important, but I think each of us has a little wilderness deep inside that needs to be nurtured as well, and the Madman shines a light on that with his phone call.
Or her phone call. Some Madmen are women. And sometimes the Madman isn't so mad. I mean, it's all relative, and some of us do the best we can at middle age with 4 kids and a grandchild. 13.5 isn't 14.4, but it's better than a lazy-boy and a football game.
But the legends grow. Madmen sow seeds they don't even realize and may never see mature. You pass a spotless clean SUV on the highway (as you finally come off the dirt road for gas) with a glassy eyed bored kid staring out of the window. At first he doesn't even acknowledge you as you pace the car and stare into his face. Then he wakes up from his daze and returns your wave, ever more enthusiasticly until finally you see him telling everyone in the car that that NUT on a motorcycle, covered in mud just waved at him. And he looks past you to the mountains or the forrest or the river and you can see he thinks you the madman.
And that his mom thinks you should just grow up.
Here's to the madmen.
I've mentioned a couple of times how good the cell phone coverage was on this trip. From my "base camp" (as one person called it) at the foot of Mt Elbert to 13,500 feet up the side of Mt Elbert, to the middle of seemingly no where, I was able to make some kind of contact.
This is good, and this is bad.
The bad, of course, is that it means there are fewer and fewer places where one can actually engage in an adventure - where adventure means you are thinking and acting in the near term on things of uncertain outcome, too busy to consider things of the long term, and the negative consequences of your decisions may be not only unpleasant but downright painful, and you are (for the most part or entirely) on your own.
Wow, quite a definition.
The good part is that one can be the Madman.
The Madman is the guy your wife cannont stand. He is usually single, lives precariously financially and emotionally, and (she says) has never grown up. Conversations usually begin with a late night/early morning phone call with no greeting or names, just "Guess where I am NOW?" and you can never be sure it isn't some foreign jail. More than likely, thank goodness, it is an off beat bar, some little backwater town, or, in my case this time, the side of a mountain.
I think we need madmen in our lives if for no other reason than comparison. If the only relationships we have are with like minded like actioned people, then we would become lost on a sand flat without reference.
Madmen are inspirations for us when we fall too far into our comfort zone. Earning our keep, paying our bills, raising our children and meeting all of our mature and adult obligations is all well and good and important, but I think each of us has a little wilderness deep inside that needs to be nurtured as well, and the Madman shines a light on that with his phone call.
Or her phone call. Some Madmen are women. And sometimes the Madman isn't so mad. I mean, it's all relative, and some of us do the best we can at middle age with 4 kids and a grandchild. 13.5 isn't 14.4, but it's better than a lazy-boy and a football game.
But the legends grow. Madmen sow seeds they don't even realize and may never see mature. You pass a spotless clean SUV on the highway (as you finally come off the dirt road for gas) with a glassy eyed bored kid staring out of the window. At first he doesn't even acknowledge you as you pace the car and stare into his face. Then he wakes up from his daze and returns your wave, ever more enthusiasticly until finally you see him telling everyone in the car that that NUT on a motorcycle, covered in mud just waved at him. And he looks past you to the mountains or the forrest or the river and you can see he thinks you the madman.
And that his mom thinks you should just grow up.
Here's to the madmen.
posted by Randy Masters at 7:10 PM
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