April 21, 2004
A Year Later

     An adventure.  Boy do I need one.  Tomorrow marks the first anniversary of the “Geezerpalooza” cross- country bike ride.  One year ago I was pedaling out of Florence, Oregon with the immediate goal of riding the sixty miles to Eugene.  The long-term aim was to make Long Island Sound before the 4^th of July.  Reaching Eugene was a given.  But making the far-away Atlantic Coast, powered by my own two legs, was anything but certain.  Three years had been spent mulling, planning and discussing this journey but after all that preparation there were still constant doubts about physical stamina, personal safety, and fear of failure.

     Some folks would argue all that worry was a waste of time.  They could be right but, truth be told, I miss all the anxiety and un-certainty provided by that Trans-Am pedal. Not that the absence of an adrenalin rush in life’s day-to-day existence comes as a surprise.  Last summer, on the final day, while rolling through the sun drenched New England countryside; I wondered aloud what would replace the excitement of the previous ten weeks. It’s now 365 days later and that same question remains unanswered.

     Not that I’m kvetching about the cards dealt my direction since last summer.  No one is more aware of the pat hand life has dealt my direction the past few years.  Still, an adventure would be really, really cool.  The question is, what adventure?

     The selection process has proved most frustrating.  Another multi-month bike ride is out of the question.  Very few experiences measure up when repeated plus a second long distance pedal promises to morph bicycling from a hobby to a job.

     Marathons are out.  They would be a repeat.  Years later the memories of miles twenty through twenty-six remain as strong as if I had run the route yesterday.  Trust me, the last six miles of a marathon have a real low “fun factor” for “squatty body” runners.

     Suggestions of rock climbing, para sailing, hang gliding and skydiving are well intentioned but not conducive to the mental well being of an individual with a tendency toward panic attacks when finding themselves half way up a six-foot ladder.  Also any activity involving fossil fuels and four stroke or six cylinder engines is not for the mechanically challenged.

   So the search continues.  Hoping to be more “systematic” and less “off the wall” while at the same time “thinking outside the box” a set of “Adventure Criteria” was established by Gestalt-ing solo.  In fact no stone was left unturned in attempting to include all known clichés in this adventure quest.  For the briefest of moments I even considered moving my own cheese.

    Any Maynard adventure must include traveling to different parts of the USA.  Of almost equal importance is enough physical activity to allow one the opportunity to feast on anything the heart desires while not adding additional pounds.  A real adventure most certainly would be an outdoor activity.  It must also be an experience made more enjoyable by a late afternoon Bombay and tonic.  Speaking of the end of the day, that portion of the adventure must include hot showers, flush toilets and innerspring mattresses.  This non-negotiable demand eliminates tents, evening meals of pre-packaged de-hydrated foods, air mattresses, and state park Porta-Potties.

     Some suggestions have included learning to sail and then heading for the Caribbean or San Juan Islands.  But with my sense of direction I could sail for Juneau from Seattle and wind up storm tossed rounding Cape Horn.  Others recommended a wagon train excursion through the Tetons but it didn’t appear oxen and wagon trains were synonymous with hot showers.  A West Coast friend and his frau are vacationing in each of the United States but are visiting all fifty in alphabetical order.  That would meet the mattress requirement but falls short in exercise.  Unless you walked to each state.

     It’s also true my “adventure” search is not quite to the point where you’d call it a family-wide effort.  I asked my wife for input and was told,  “If you want a truly different experience try staying home five days in a row.”

     Is it possible wanderlust doesn’t surge through her veins?