No words can embody The Glory

#78 - Musings of a rubber tramp man

“Not all those who wander are lost…”
—J.R.R. Tolkein

On The Road my senses awaken. My vision becomes crystal clear.

Even when my brakes went out, screaming down that mountain.

To me, The Road is the perfect place to commune with myself. To remember The Glory I am but one component of, by witnessing it firsthand.

My rear view mirror shows me who I truly am as I move through peaks and valleys of experience. There is no way to lie to the light in those watchful eyes.

The only way to get there is to get there, so The Traveler must pack response-ability.

I trust myself to move bug-splattering miles through unknown territory without pre-planning a place to sleep for the night. This land is ours, and there’s always a place to camp.

My trust is validated each night when my Certified Road Dog and I find the perfect patch to pitch up.

When traveling over 800 miles in a day, and camping in remote areas, The Traveler remembers their kinship with all that is.

Because the only way to see the perfect nature of chaos for yourself is to move through it.

The Traveler learns to respect and give thanks to the land which provides. An energetic bond is remembered, and this builds an unwavering trust.

We often find the cuts only accessible by asking locals for advice. The types of places most passersby would never notice.

But sometimes we read the land, conferring with our map to spot signals which usually indicate safe camping.

And every night, after a long day on the road, feelings of magical connection breathe through us as we pull up to an area which instantly feels right.

We arrive without check-in, and sleep in the embrace of our Mother. To then awaken and bathe in Father's light, in beautiful remembrance of what is Natural.

We've been safely delivered countless breathtaking sunrises from dirt perches all over this country.

And each rising moment of connection fills my Spirit with Wonder and Gratitude, for this always-available gift.

This is what I do to feel Alive again, when stints of living in boxes finds me caught in loops of my own creation.

The Road shakes me out of unnatural patterns, and jolts what's truly important back into focus.

It delivers the experiences I need in every moment. And grants me opportunities to overcome years of stagnant fear.

It gifts new friends, and new stories.

Like when a random man pulled me over at an intersection in Iowa by calling out, “Hey Bagger! Dirt Bagger—Come over here!”

He and his son wanted me to tell them why my life was packed onto my bicycle. So I told them, “because it fit!”

Or the Middle-Aged Native in Oregon who taught me how to read the high desert, along with each new town I enter.

He tested my faith in him more than once—the wink of a benevolent trickster.

I’ve met people who instantly feel like family members all over this country. And our electric connection is universally palpable.

I know who I am now. And I know what I need.

To be a moving pin in an ever-expanding map.

I am at home wherever I roam.

Because my home is my heart.

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Oh, before you go…

A tune for your travels ❤️