Bone and barbed wire

I took a photo today while mountain biking. It spoke to what I am all about when I am in the desert early in the a.m. with myself or with one other person. I like things at their wildest. Animals jumping out from behind bushes only fascinate. Snakes on the path only invite. Tarantulas are meant to be photographed and sometimes held. Javelina are cute-but don’t mess with them if they have young with them. Mountain lions and bobcats usually are skittish and run before you can get a good glimpse. Coyotes are lopers and look back if they know you mean them no harm. Bats do not dive into your hair-but I have been hit in the helmet by one who seemed to have temporarily lost his echo-location early one morning.

These créatures don’t care if I am old. If I have wrinkles and no makeup on. They could care less if I am wearing threadbare bike jerseys and shorts and have mud splashed up to my knees and up my back. That I have dried spittle on my chin and a nutrition bar blueberry stuck between my two front teeth. One of many fond memories were the polar conditions of heat/cold on a raft trip in the Grand Canyon. Baking in the sun on the rafts during calm, quiet water only to be drenched with bone-chiliing splash as we rode the rapids.  I prefer to be in conditions that challenge, that break my bones, suck the marrow out and leave them to whiten in the relentless sun. I love experiences that almost stop your heart but yet you continue to move forward.  That’s when you know you are truly living. Take a chance. You probably won’t die. We all die. Make your life worthwhile.

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Ride on. Run on. Swim on. Walk on. And leave the animals alone.

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