Bug Bites and Battle Scars

“Boys, it’s OK if you get the clap; at least it means you’re gettin’ some.” This tarnished pearl of wisdom seemed ridiculous when Shawny’s dad imparted it on us back in high school, but, now that I’m older, I can see that perhaps it holds a bit of truth.

The memory of this conversation is recalled as I sit at my desk with throbbing, blistered feet and a body pocked with mosquito bites resembling the waiting room at the Zit’n’Pimple acne clinic. These are a few manifested memories of this past weekend’s 24-mile backpacking adventure. Normally we think of pain and discomfort as negative things, but for those of us who sit at desks week in and week out, they can be pleasant reminders of weekend adventures. How many of you have a favorite scar? I know I do.

The balance between safety and adventure can be tricky. Society sends us mixed messages. We’re perpetually being told that the world is a dangerous place and that we need to seek refuge. Terror alerts, home alarm systems, protective padding for virtually every sport, tazers and mace are all things that we are urged to place between us and the hostile world. Yet at the same time, we are sold products such as pre-washed/pre-torn jeans, aviator jackets, tan-in-a-can, camouflaged gear, and a plethora of other products to give us the appearance that we live rugged outdoor lifestyles.

The whole thing can be darned confusing. Shawny’s dad is no longer with us, though it would be nice to call him for the occasional “should I stay or should I go” council. These days I look to what I call “my deathbed self.” I go into the future and ask the happy, shriveled figure what I should do. Ultimately, he’s the one I have to answer to anyway. On many occasions he says “stay,” but once in a while I hear, “what the hell, go for it, that’s what shots are for.”

This isn’t an article condoning unprotected sex or taking stupid risks. I don’t even know if the Clap still exists. I just know that I’ve heard more than one person this past fortnight lament that summer is almost over and they haven’t taken the time to have any fun. The truth is, we haven’t even reached our half-way point. Padding or not, get out there and enjoy.

1737Miles

When Paulie hit send last deadline and our paper began its journey to the printers, I blasted out of the office like Luke and R2D2 leaving the exploding Death Star. The only casualty from last fortnight's 1737 mile adventure was the untimely demise of thousands of unsuspecting insects. Fortunately, the thrills outnumbered the carnage.


It was a glorious spring in the Yampa Valley this year. The abundance of snow this past winter has kept the hills green and the Yampa and Elk rivers flowing. Something about the ideal spring and early summer has given me the "leave the party while it's still raging" urge. Subsequently, when last issue came out on the 3rd of July, I decided to escape to the woods where traffic and fireworks wouldn't disrupt my flow. The woods I chose were in the Grand Tetons where our friends the Rainbow Family were gathering.


Coming from the south, Rock Springs was the last big town I went through before taking a right at Boulder, Wyoming and heading into the woods. Unlike two years ago, I only passed one officer, two hitchhikers and some cars before parking my motorcycle right at the front gate, trading my riding clothes for hiking attire and leaving the real world behind.


I was on assignment two years ago when the Gathering was on the front page of the local daily paper almost everyday for a month or more. This time I had the luxury to experience it at my own pace without having to take notes and photos. A kundulini yoga class nourished my body and mind while an edible and medicinal plant walk nourished my body. As in any society, I met people I would steer clear of and people from whom I learned a great deal. I can't say my experience at the gathering wasn't entirely uneventful, but due to space restrictions that info is on my blog:. Scottglackman.blogspot.com.


Trading hat and t-shirt for riding jacket and helmet, I pointed my front wheel west toward the setting sun. This time I passed more than 12 police cars, some going to the gathering and some pulled over to the side of the road. According to the Jackson Hole Tribune, once again I had left an exploding death star, this time consisting of "officers pointing weapons at children and firing rubber bullets and pepper spray balls." By dark I was well on my way to Flaming Gorge, and early the next morning made my way to Steamboat for a quick week of work. Judging by reports from friends, Steamboat's 4th of July wasn't without carnage, either.


I made it through three and a half days of work before being overcome by wanderlust again and vacating Steamboat, this time to rally with adventure riders in Silverton, deep in the jagged recesses of the San Juan Mountains. Three days of alternating roller-coaster like riding over passes and valleys broken up by slide shows from people who have ridden around the world on motorcycles similar to mine, made it almost impossible to come home. I fear I'm getting addicted to the solitary life of traveling long distances on two wheels. I can already tell that by the end of the summer my report card won't say "plays well with others." More likely, I'll be reprimanded for playing too much with myself.

...and a few more for good measure

Faces of the fortnight

Here are a few of my encounters in the past two weeks.