I will try to remember always, always to have a good time

It was about 2 in the afternoon. I looked around the apartment looking for something in which to invest my time, having accomplished all that I had to in the day.

My eye scanned for possible activities from books to guitar and then rested on a the back tire of a bike peaking out from beneath a tarp on our patio. It was a beautiful day and the bike beckoned for a master.

I flew into Christchurch with a bit of recklessness. While the city is beautiful, as documented, I wanted to see more. I thought to myself "You are in New Zealand. Go see it a bit of it."

It wasnt long before I didnt recognize where I was. Now, normally meaning back home, this is cause for panic. This time, I shrugged. It was a shot of refreshing freedom. I assured myself, I knew, that I was capable enough for whatever obstacles lay ahead in the unknown.

I had my doubts again. When I found myself on the minuscule bike lane of a highway, cars zipping by me, I began to doubt. "Holy balls man, this is madness." I thought.



I destroyed the thought before it had a chance to influence action. I was going to be fine. No, more than fine. I was going to see the damned Pacific Ocean for the first time in my life. Lost? What is being lost? Being on a set path or making your own?

So I rode on. My legs complained. I noticed them. I didn't let them bother me. This is yoga talking. Real bikers, including a substantially large portion of the Christchurch bikers club passed me up. They were equipped for this. As my coat formed a rather sweet shadow on the ground I realized I more closely resembled batman than an athlete.

I rounded a corner and saw something I am not accustomed to.



Parks in or around Chicago just dont have such sights. Needless to say, I stopped and explored a bit. I had been riding for about 2 hours at that point and needed a lil respite.

Shortly after I had resumed the adventure, I saw something in the distance that conjured a familiar old feeling. You know, that feeling all young boys have in which they NEED to investigate.

It was this that did it.



Investigated:



And there it was. The Pacific. A beautiful scene. The goal accomplished. The defeat of exhaustion and doubt.



Home was approximately 8,300 miles thataway.

I debated climbing a less imposing, but still awesome boulder as I took in the scene and rolled a cigarette of celebration. As I took a drag, a boy no older than 8 appeared at the top. I smiled. I wanted to thank the mother for letting her children explore, and just letting them be kids. Fear doesn't beat you, you beat yourself if you let it control you.

So I completed the day.



Cheers.