Today was kind of unusual. Nothing startling happened. There
was no wind, no rain, no mishaps. I went from here to there on roads that for
the most part I have traveled before, and there was a comfortable familiarity
to it all. No flat tire, or mechanical surprises. No near death experiences or
heart stopping vistas. Nothing life changing or profound fell on me. And as I
look back over the last couple of months and 10,000 miles under me, that is kind
of unusual.
Does that mean it doesn’t count or is not worthy of writing
about? I know that those of the Facebook generation take delight in telling
everyone they know what they are doing at each and every moment, however
mundane. Is it for the purpose of celebrating the experience of living, or is
it a responsibility carried by those in the digital collective? I don’t know.
But I am going to put another take on an examination of the ordinary.
We humans have a tendency to want to classify things. In
particular, events are either GREAT! In which case we love to expound upon them
and exaggerate them and seek to relive them in some way. Or else they are
CRAPPY! In which case we like to grouse about them and seek consolation and awe
from others and wear them on our pockets like Purple Hearts. What do we do with
the other 90% of the life we lead that falls outside these notable extremes? We
promptly forget them, if indeed we noticed them at all. How tragic that we
consciously ignore most of our waking lives.
Each day I am reminded that everything has an origin and a
history. It is changing and evolving, and in the future it will ultimately have
its demise, but will persist in the form of its linkages to other things in either
profound or subtle ways. I believe that that is equally true for historical
artifacts, geological structures, societies, perspectives, and human legacies.
Teachers are in the business of fostering new understandings
in the minds of our students. After 36 years of trying my level best to do just
that, I had a most interesting conversation with some colleagues and fellow
educators at U.B.C. not long ago about “what is the nature of Understanding’”
What does it mean to understand
something? What does it mean for a
concept to be rendered meaningful? In
the end, we agreed (although there is still so much to be said on this) that it
has to do with the degree to which this new concept relates to previous
experiences and personal images and prior knowledge. In other words, something
is meaningful if it is connected to ME and things I already think.
Even the mundane is meaningful--especially the mundane is meaningful--if we pay attention to it and
ask questions of it and endeavour to forge a network of connections with things
we have already experienced.
(Forgive me for pontificating and sharing out loud those things that rattle around in my helmet. These days I have a lot of time to think and nobody at the gas pumps seems to have much time to listen to me on this)!
(Forgive me for pontificating and sharing out loud those things that rattle around in my helmet. These days I have a lot of time to think and nobody at the gas pumps seems to have much time to listen to me on this)!
In the end, nothing is ordinary. Or if we believe it is, we
are missing vast tracts of our own lives. In Eastern philosophies, much
importance is placed on the practice of “living in the moment”. The past is
history and forever unchangeable. Take lessons from it, but accept it for what
it was for we can do nothing else. The future is a mystery. One can and should
anticipate and plan intelligently, but realize that disappointment is on the
flipside of expectations. A journey can be planned, but never accurately anticipated.
(I have lots to say about that!) It is this
moment in which we live and it would be a shame to waste it. As one of the
Eastern masters once said, “when you drink your tea, just ...drink your tea”. In
other words, don’t use this moment to regret and rethink or hope and anticipate.
Take this time to taste it, sense it and remind yourself that you are alive in
it. It is really the only thing we have. I am trying hard to put this into practice as I roar through these ever changing landscapes at highway speed.
There was a bit of freeway travel as we got ourselves to Boise. I quite like that
town. It has some wonderful, colonial style homes and funky downtown area. The Boise River
flows right through the middle of the city, and in the summer time legions of
leisure-seekers delight in drifting down it on anything that floats. None of
those were seen at this time of year, however. It was a pretty angry looking
river that was overflowing its banks.
We followed the back roads out of Boise, heading for the state line. My visit
to Idaho was
quite brief this time. Two years ago The Bruiser and I explored it in
considerable detail, and especially enjoyed time at Craters of the Moon, a not
particularly ancient series of volcanic events fed by the same pot of magma
that formed Yellowstone, Valles Caldera and the ash layers in which the
Peubloeans carved their dwellings near Los Alamos. Those blasts in southern Idaho created a most remarkable
landscape. I camped one unforgettable night nestled in the middle of something
quite other-wordly.
Idaho
is renowned for its potatoes. They even have the message “Famous Potatoes” embossed
on their license plates. This must surely be embarrassing for many who would
prefer that they be renowned for something else. For example, Idaho is developing a respectable wine
industry that I had occasion to study last time. And they also have very
friendly and helpful State Troopers to which I can attest. I think that would
look good on a license plate. “Idaho-Good Wine, Nice Cops”. Whadyathink?
The elevation is down to a sensible 2000 feet now that we
have climbed down off the Colorado Plateau. It is correspondingly warmer, more
seasonal, and (hopefully) the nights will not be so painfully cold.
 |
| One branch of the family made it big in Emmett, Idaho! |
Geologically, (sorry, it is that time again) the plateau
that covers much of the region of Colorado, Arizona, Utah and New Mexico
resulted from a massive tectonic uplift some tens of millions of years ago in
which the landmass was raised almost as a single, unbroken slab by about a
vertical mile. The Colorado River, already a
well established river with a meandering course at the time this began,
maintained its position as well as its elevation as the slab slowly rose. The
result is the Grand Canyon, a deeply
entrenched and meandering river valley. If valley formation is like a knife
cutting into a brick of butter, imagine the knife staying put and the butter
being lifted up into it.
 |
| A volcanic feature near Vale, Oregon |
We crossed into Oregon
in late afternoon and arrived at a campground in Vale that I visited and
enjoyed when I was through here last. I took advantage of the wireless internet
that I can pull down from my campsite and made some tentative arrangements to
have my rear tire replaced tomorrow. You may remember that the thing was brand
new when I started this trip many miles ago!
 |
| Who would think that a town with the name of Ironside could be so serene? |
The sun is now a fireball on the horizon. The internet is
streaming me some good blues, and the sound of howling coyotes—the call of the
Wild West--has been replaced by that of a single bleating cow. There is not a
buzzard in sight.
