Sanity in my Wheelhouse

As the winds of autumn begin to blow through the quickly changing leaves the inevitability of winter is indisputable. Having lived for a time in a tropical environment, I’ve come to appreciate the changing of the seasons, but the long, drawn-out Midwestern winter is something which I dread more and more with each passing year. My seasonal work means Winter’s depressing cold and discomfort is amplified through the gnawing prism of boredom and cabin fever. I can work on projects in the shop, but the rest of the dismal season is spent reading books I‘ve already read, listening to the radio and perusing the increasingly redundant internet. Finally, I sit drooling, shitting small calcium pellets into a bowl of warm goat’s milk, staring at the sinister, oversized clock hanging on the hovel wall which marks the passing of time by taunting me with its unrelenting second hand. Mocking my plight by driving its ticking madness deep into my troubled psyche.

I’ve taken winter bike trips before, but like last year’s ill-fated journey, they can be sometime less than pleasant. So next week I will go in search of a small camper that can be pulled behind my tiny Ranger pickup. With luck I can stick my V-strom in the truck bed and go where the weather suits my clothes with some type of semi-comfortable headquarters.