Why had I come here? Well, that seemed obvious enough; I enjoy this particular variety of misery. The wilderness is my playground, and it's quiet. My God, is it quiet. No low hiss in the background from the sound of the dozens of surrounding freeways; no sirens, no helicopters, no roaring engines, no people yelling at one another or even having loud and inconsequential conversations with one another...
...for the first time in nearly a year I could hear my own thoughts, and I could hear myself think about how beautiful the stars were without light pollution. I could even hear myself start to think about the people I've lost touch with...
...and so came to my mind a staggering and borderline depressing list of individuals with whom I haven't spoken in far too long including old family from here on the forums. There are even a few old friends whose children once called me "uncle," but now they may or may not even remember my name or face anymore...
And into my mind happened a time from last October. I found myself in a tent, wrapped in a synthetic sleeping bag that was well past its useful lifespan, freezing my tuchus off but, nonetheless, enjoying the quiet, and hearing myself be able to think about the next day when I would make a 30-minute drive into the town of Golden, Colorado. No doubt I would tour the Coors brewery and enjoy some of the local culinary fare, but this was my pilgrimage; this was the town I wanted to visit for the past 10 years.
This was the journey that, for all I planned to enjoy it, I didn't remember to take a single picture...
But, for the first time in my life, I got to set foot in the SFO; I got to lay eyes on the cases full of sharp and shiny tools that once haunted my dreams with their glorious utility; I was privileged enough to shake the hands of the two people that started it all, and to see a very dear friend again. Even my girlfriend, who is able to appreciate edged tools but might not share my level of enthusiasm on the matter, was still enchanted by the place and its people; to this day she'll still go on about how much fun it is to talk with Gail.
Now my hour of glory transpired while bringing with me the bouquet of a man that had spent 3 days camping in the nearby mountains without bathing. For that bit, however, to all that were in the building at the time, I am sincerely and profusely sorry. Really. I'm serious. I didn't realize until afterward when I was basking in the glow of knife-driven sensory overload on the way to dinner.
And yes, on the way to Beau Jo's for dinner (as everyone at Spyderco unanimously recommended), I did make sure to honk the horn when going through each tunnel. One or a few of you will understand
To make the story (if it could be called such a thing) shorter and arguably sweeter, I left this forum long ago to get a handle on my spending. In the years since then I have done so slowly but surely and, yet again, slowly but surely I'd like to find my way back to the family that all hangs out in Sal's living room, and it took me being able to hear my own thoughts again to realize that.
Here's a few pictures from the adventure in which I finally started remembering again.
In before someone says "tl:dr"
