Closed Gates, Open Ground
Choosing feet over gears
It was the weekend, which meant sitting still was not an option. We pointed the truck toward Beaver Tail Hill State Park with a simple plan. I would get on the fat bike and head south up the road into the mountains, Mo would wander and explore on foot, and we would both come back with stories. That plan lasted exactly as long as it took to read the sign. Park closed. Gates shut. One of those moments where you stand there pretending you expected this all along.
I poked around anyway, because of course I did, but the options ran out fast. So I pointed the bike uphill, because uphill is what I do when I am unsure. A couple things happened that I am still not ready to put into words, but the feeling was familiar. I want to be happy. Adventure makes me happy. Any device that gets me into adventure makes me happy. And yet the devices keep breaking, failing, pushing back. Bikes especially. At some point it starts to feel less like bad luck and more like a pattern the universe is committed to defending.
While I was wrestling with that, Mo was having a great day. She found a little bubbling spring tucked into the grass, the kind of quiet detail you only notice when you are moving slow. She took photos, good ones, and when she showed them to me later it reset something in my head. Her joy was simple and earned. No gears. No troubleshooting. Just walking, looking, noticing.
Standing there, cold air, muted winter colors, I could see a different version of the future pretty clearly. One where I put the bikes aside for a while. Where I get in shape by walking instead of fixing. Where I hike, explore, and carry a really good camera instead of a multitool and a low grade sense of dread. I did that once before, back in Connecticut, and it worked. Maybe it could work again. Maybe it is time to stop chasing the thing that keeps asking for more than it gives, and start listening to the ground under my feet.