Pandemic

This was written in March of 2020, one week into the stay at home order in Washington State. It is an interesting look back on my feelings at the time.

I’m not sure that reading “Station Eleven,” by Emily St. John Mandel is the best thing I could be doing right now. “Station Eleven” is a novel about a dystopian society living after a world-wide virus pandemic has killed 99% of Earth’s population. The novel explores what a post-apocalyptic world would look like. It’s a wholly believable tale of how people cope, and how some people don’t cope, with the pressures of living in a collapsed society. The novel also explores the state of mind of people trapped in an apocalyptic world.

One of characters, Miranda, is constantly feeling like she has contracted the virus. When you are living through a pandemic yourself and trying to make the best of things under a stay at home order (this is the end of week one and it looks like we could be facing four more weeks) occasionally thoughts like Miranda’s will creep into your head. It’s hard not to worry. Most of the time I find the novel to be consoling rather than depressing. The scary part of the novel is of course the 99% mortality rate. Today we are looking at possibly a 1% mortality rate in the worst projections, no one really has any idea if that will be the case or not. Frankly I suspect not. What I do suspect is that this will be a defining event in my lifetime, like the Vietnam War, and the crash of 2008. Once this event has passed, I have a feeling we will look at public spaces differently. There could be fewer tables per square foot in restaurants, we may even be more reserved in our public gestures towards one-another. I hope that does not become the new normal. I also believe that science needs a better understanding of viruses in general. As a nation and as a world, we need to dedicate more resources, a lot more, to understanding viruses and learning to combat them. Our health care system also needs to be able to respond to a pandemic effectively and in a humane fashion. It really is rather sad that we live in a time when so many people are so willing to listen and follow others that have such little regard for science.

We now know, as of April 2021, that the U.S. mortality rate is 1.8 percent, almost double what was initially projected by health experts. We have lost over 500 thousand souls, and the number continues to climb. There are countries that have higher mortality rates but the U.S. is currently the fourth highest in deaths per 100,000 population. That fact alone is hard to fathom considering this is the richest country in the world.

Back in Kanab

Friday, February 14, 2020

Kanab Utah


Back in Kanab

Red rock mountains,

Monasteries on high,

Need to explore.

Coffee shops and outfitters,

Art, food, nature,

Coolness abounding.

I think of Watchful Raven,

Where is he now,

Back in Kanab.

Brad Adkins

A Day

Tuesday, December 17, 2019


A Day

some might say it was a wasted day

No. 2 bus to Downtown

in and out of outfitter stores

six Auto-Donuts from the Public Market

more walking

just walking

Street Car to Capital Hill

Light Rail to the University

a Christmas Card

a book of poetry

a Manhattan

a strangely quiet Lyft ride

to the library

return the strangest book

I have read in a long time

try on new glasses

back where I started

not totally wasted

exercise is good

not as good as a cycling tour

but good

i found some inspiration

in the effort

that much a plus

a respite from the

nonsense that is our daily politics

it’s good to be home with you

Brad Adkins

The Country

Wednesday, November 20, 2019

I wrote this poem while I was on my “Southern Tier” bicycle tour. I also kept a journal on the tour, you can read the journal by clicking on the Archive Link at the top of this page and selecting “Southern Tier 2019.”


The Country

What is it like

to ride a bicycle

across the country

  Time

    Distance

      Patience

        Looking Up

          Looking Down

            Pain

              Doubt

                Beauty

                  Love

Those are the words

that come to mind

but how do you put them together

To answer that

you need to get on your bike

and ride just how you like

Brad Adkins

Ferlinghetti Rails

Sunday, November 10, 2019

I wrote this poem while I was on my “Southern Tier” bicycle tour. I also kept a journal on the tour, you can read the journal by clicking on the Archive Link at the top of this page and selecting “Southern Tier 2019.”

I picked up a copy of “A Coney Island of the Mind” by Lawrence Ferlinghetti in a small used bookstore in Silver City, NM. It’s a compendium of poems taken from Ferlinghetti’s earlier works. I’ve been reading it as I have crossed the country. His poetry is deep and has an intellectual bent. He was an accomplished scholar. His contemporaries called him a “beat” poet, which he denied. I agree with his contemporaries. One poem in particular grabbed me. His poem #2 from the 1955 work, “Pictures of the Gone World.” It grabbed me because I have a very different view of life. This poem, that I call “Ferlinghetti Rails” (for reasons you will easily recognize, but also for the intentional pun) is an attempt to present my view. Please forgive me for taking such liberty.


Ferlinghetti Rails

“Love comes harder to the aged.”

I beg to differ.

I don’t want to

“run out on a rusty spur.”

I want to be in the “Saloon car”

with the lovers, “laughing and waving,”

rushing past the spur

where the rails ended

and the aged sit.

Someone has to show the passengers

in the Saloon car

how to live.

Brad Adkins

The Road

Tuesday, October 22, 2019

I wrote this poem while I was on my “Southern Tier” bicycle tour. I also kept a journal on the tour, you can read the journal by clicking on the Archive Link at the top of this page and selecting “Southern Tier 2019.”


The Road

The road is a killer.

The trucks killing machines.

This is how life is,

never swerving.

Could I talk to you,

I would ask you to slow down.

You would tell me to move aside,

for you are in a hurry.

You need to get somewhere soon.

I mourn for all the loss.

Do you mourn as well?

Would things be different

if this conversation were real?

Brad Adkins

Wind

Friday, October 11, 2019

I wrote this poem while I was on my “Southern Tier” bicycle tour. I also kept a journal on the tour, you can read the journal by clicking on the Archive Link at the top of this page and selecting “Southern Tier 2019.”


Wind

The wind

  . . . blew

The temperature

  . . . cold

The road

  . . . narrow

My fingers

  . . . frozen

The bike

  . . . swerved

Again and

  . . . again

The shoulder

  . . . loomed

Blown off

  . . . mercilessly

The destination

  . . . far

Brad Adkins

El Cosmico

Thursday, October 10, 2019

I wrote this poem while I was on my “Southern Tier” bicycle tour. I also kept a journal on the tour, you can read the journal by clicking on the Archive Link at the top of this page and selecting “Southern Tier 2019.”


El Cosmico

The moon is almost full,

wood is burning, warming the water.

Smoke from the fire permeates the air

perfectly.

Not too strong.

I can’t imagine a better place.

I can, but it shall remain a mystery

for now.

I must return here,

to the music playing,

to water perfect temperature,

to the star filled sky and

moon brilliant.

Corded guitar accompanies me,

sounding like symphony

under the stars.

Brad Adkins

Grass

Thursday, October 3, 2019

I wrote this poem while I was on my “Southern Tier” bicycle tour. I also kept a journal on the tour, you can read the journal by clicking on the Archive Link at the top of this page and selecting “Southern Tier 2019.”


Grass

Wild grass has gone to seed,

wind bends the long blades,

they dance along side the road,

dancing in unison, a fractal dance.

The blades brush my leg as I roll by

asking me to stop.

I keep rolling,

much to their disappointment

I imagine.

Looking back,

they appear to be waving.

I roll on,

we agree to disagree.

Brad Adkins

Birds

Wednesday, October 2, 2019

I wrote this poem while I was on my “Southern Tier” bicycle tour. I also kept a journal on the tour, you can read the journal by clicking on the Archive Link at the top of this page and selecting “Southern Tier 2019.”


Birds

I stopped to rest,

the road was long,

the day was hot,

I was tired.

I saw three birds

circling above,

floating on wings stationary,

following each other.

They were in perfect harmony

with the air around them,

it held them up,

effortlessly.

I wondered,

why only three?

Where have the rest

of their flock gone?

Millions upon millions

have been lost,

since my father played

catch with me when I was young.

I want to build them a homeland

free of border walls,

where they can circle

on perfect currents of air.

Soaring freely,

until we can make their home

fit for them to live in again,

elegantly, safely.

Brad Adkins

Lost

Tuesday, September 24, 2019

I wrote this poem while I was on my “Southern Tier” bicycle tour. I also kept a journal on the tour, you can read the journal by clicking on the Archive Link at the top of this page and selecting “Southern Tier 2019.”

When I wrote this poem I was reflecting on the inordinate amount of road kill in the back country of Texas.


Lost

Millions upon millions lost,

since my father played catch with me

when I was young.

Brad Adkins

Good Poem, Bad Poem

Friday, September 20, 2019

I wrote this poem while I was on my “Southern Tier” bicycle tour. I also kept a journal on the tour, you can read the journal by clicking on the Archive Link at the top of this page and selecting “Southern Tier 2019.”


Good Poem, Bad Poem

What makes a good poem?

It might be the rhyme,

Professor Higgins would agree, on a dime.

It could be the meter,

Dr. Seuss would be on your side here.

It might be the use (or not) of capitalization,

e. e. cummings would agree with that.

I say it’s the beholder that decides.

This is a bad poem,

unless,

you like it.

Brad Adkins

Fishing (Or Ode to Sam McGee)

Thursday, September 12, 2019

This post was written while hiking in the Sierra Mountains


Fishing (Or Ode to Sam McGee)

My friends all went fishing.

I stayed behind to be alone,

I sort of like that.

Fishing is a noble pursuit,

One that I am not much suited for.

I would rather read,

or better yet write.

Writing makes me happy.

So does fishing for many.

I suppose we all have our

own weakness to bear.

The sun is going down.

I’m going to go for a walk

and chase it for awhile.

Capture a bit of warmth

and take it into the evening with me.

It’s going to get cold again tonight.

Last night was the coldest I’ve been

In a long time.

I love backpacking,

I love being in the wilderness.

I don’t like being cold.

Brad Adkins

The Lake

Wednesday, September 11, 2019

This post was written while hiking in the Sierra Mountains


The Lake

The lake is a strand of dark blue

surrounded by a ribbon green marsh grass.

Ducks fly in low, landing in sequence, they

form a line paddling to the opposite bank,

their purpose unknown.

How long has this rock I am sitting on

been in this spot.

Certainly since long before I was born,

it will remain here long after

I have passed this way.

Perhaps it has always been here

since the cataclysmic uplift that raised

these mountains,

now, simply being weathered to nothing.

Perhaps it broke from the peak above,

a disobedient child,

and ran away, tumbling and churning

until it came to rest in this spot,

faraway from its place of birth.

I don’t want to leave this spot,

It sings to me of places far away

and sights too beautiful to imagine.

Brad Adkins

Lake and Sky

Sunday, August 25, 2019

This post was written while hiking in the Sierra Mountains


Lake and Sky

The lake is blue like the sky.

The two could be companions,

but the rock surrounding them

Separates them,

preventing them from touching.

Separated,

like people that can’t see eye-to-eye.

Yearning to find common ground,

but unable to reach out and touch.

They rest together,

each justified in their existence,

each no more right then the other,

each waiting on the other.

Brad Adkins

Sim

Saturday, August 24, 2019


Sim

Why are we here.

Are we real, or are we some future sim.

I have flesh,

how can flesh be rendered in code.

I don’t know.

I’ll have to be content to be me,

whomever that is.

Brad Adkins

Ride

Monday, August 19, 2019


Ride

We went for a ride

The ferry took us across the water

Together we conquered the hills

Brad Adkins

Feeling

Friday, August 15, 2019


Feeling

Do I feel good

or do I feel well.

It could be both.

Although,

I have been told

that “good” is not a “feeling”,

it probably is,

at least it is the absence of bad.

I suspect I am well.

How can one be sure.

I am well enough today,

to ride my bike how I like.

Brad Adkins

Dad

Friday, August 2, 2019


Dad

Who is this man?

I barely know him.

He coaches my Little League team.

He knows nothing about Baseball.

His whole life has been striving

to make the goal…

Executive.

He was a lousy golfer,

he didn’t reach his dream.

He accepted us.

He did not want us to speak

unless we were spoken to.

At the end,

I held his hand

and looked into his eyes.

He spoke the words I had

waited a lifetime to hear…

”I couldn’t have asked for a nicer family.”

Brad Adkins

Hills

Saturday, July 27, 2019

This poem was written when I was cycling around the Finger Lakes in Upstate New York.


Hills

I learned once again, facing a hill

you have a choice to make.

Several choices.

Go up or go around is the first choice.

To go around is rarely the right choice.

It is an unsatisfying option.

Go up.

Once you start the climb, you must commit. Shift down and keep moving.

Look up if you can,

If you can’t look up,

focus on the ground in front of you,

keep moving.

A time will come when you must face defeat.

The hill will laugh at you,

but you have the last say.

You can accede defeat and turn around,

or you can continue the climb on foot.

When so doing,

the hill will tell you it has defeated you.

As long as you keep moving,

You will reach the top.

Once there,

you can look down on the hill and say:

“You have not defeated me today!”

The hill will laugh and say:

“I have many sisters.”

“One of them will succeed where I have failed.”

This is just idle chatter.

There is no hill that can’t be conquered.

That is what it means to be human.

The hills were put there to test us.

There is no hill that can break us.

Hills are a part of us.

Hills are the challenge that bring out our best.

Without hills, life would be meaningless.

It is the hills we choose to climb that define us, that make us who we are.

The beauty of cycling,

is that it is an embodiment our existential reality.

It is a physical expression of that reality.

You see it with your eyes,

You feel it with every beat of your heart,

with every breath you take in,

with every ache in your legs.

They are our life.

Brad Adkins

Just For Fun

This post is rated for language

Just got an email from Microsoft. They are in the process of shutting down an email account of mine (didn’t know that I had one, but not outside the realm of possibility). The email looks very authentic, and frankly, is well done. (No reference to a Prince anywhere.)

Just for fun I clicked on the link in the email, ostensibly to allow me to “recover” my mail box and preserve it for future use. The link took me to a Google Doc page. This is problem #1. A Microsoft email recovery process would not use a Google Doc page! The doc asked me to enter an email address and a password. Obviously, this is problem #2. The ironic bit is the fact that at the bottom of the Google Doc page was the warning: “Never enter your password in a Google Doc.” …No kidding.

Well, this kind of shit catches a lot of people I’m sure. There are a lot of sucky people out there. It’s a shame they can’t put their skills to better use.

It leaves me wondering why now? I rarely get scams like this. We are starting to come out (we hope) of the worst phase of the Pandemic. Do scammers think we will have a natural tendency now that we are starting to feel “optimistic”, to fall for this sort of shit?.

So, naturally, I filled out the form! For email I put in “FuckYou@FuckOff.com.” For password I put in “FuckOffBastard”. I even had to write in my country! You can’t even call that problem #3. Anyone that gets this far is doomed in the gene pool, presumably natural selection will be running its course very soon. Next step, hit “Submit”.

Guess what. Nothing to see here! I got a nice message saying “Your response has been recorded.” I hope so! I hope someone reads it too!

The Worst Roads

There is no state with narrower roads, narrower shoulders, and more voter suppression than Louisiana, except maybe Georgia.

That’s not a fair statement, I’ve never cycled the roads in Georgia, but it is safe to say (as of today) Georgia leads America in voter suppression. I’ll have to go cycle the roads there to make an accurate comparison.

In defense of Louisiana (this is where I make James Carvel proud, even though he was born in Georgia…) the nicest people I’ve met in the South were in Louisiana. Mississippi came in a close second.

I haven’t seriously considered returning to the South for another epic ride, but I have to admit, the Natchez Trace Parkway is calling my name…

Natchez Trace Parkway

Why This

I’m finally getting around to (self) publishing the journal from my Southern Tier bicycle trip. If you click on the “Archive” Menu and select “Southern Tier 2019” you can read all the entries without distraction.

That was then. As far as the future goes, I plan to use this site to share my thoughts with you. Thoughts on cycling, skiing, hiking, politics (but mostly cycling, skiing, and hiking).

I have spent almost my entire adult life developing infrastructure for the delivery of information to corporate employees. (Specifically Database and ETL systems.) Here I am now, retired, and a consumer of the internet-at-large. I’ve never been a big consumer of that because I was too busy building my small corner of it. My current status will occasionally force me to reflect on all of my past experience, but I’ll try keeping that to a minimum.

To the previous point: I’m concluding that the Internet has lost itself. Ask Tim Berners-Lee, Vinton Cerf or Robert Kahn. The Internet was intended to be a medium that would connect people of all nations and races. Today, it is mostly a medium designed by corporate America to divide, classify, and distinguish us by our ethnic, social, economic, and political “potential.”

What do we do about that? I suggest we publish. Publish independently. Publish in our own voices. Don’t be lazy. Don’t give Facebook, Twitter, 4-Chan and all the other echo chambers, the ability to tell you what to think (or buy). Publish your thoughts and views in an independent manner on sites like Micro.blog. Let your voice be heard independently. Don’t be a megaphone in the echo chambers of narcissism. Say something meaningful, say something that comes from you.

Does it matter if people listen to you?

No.

Does it matter if you are “followed” by hundreds, even thousands? As a matter of fact…

No.

Here’s why:

It will make you a better person. The power of real persuasion, the sort of persuasion that leads to positive outcomes, lies in personal communication. When you put your thoughts in writing instead of re-posting other peoples’ thoughts, you have taken the first step towards independent thinking. Ancient Greek thinkers believed people should observe the world carefully and draw their own conclusions from what they saw. I don’t think those same thinkers would endorse listening to “opinion shapers” and “influencers” (or Autocratic leaders, or Sociopathic leaders for that matter).

The future of our country — as it has always been — is in our own hands. What you are reading here is not pushed into your “feed” by a Troll Farm operating out of some foreign nation-state. What you read here is authentic and personal. It is from me.

Cheers! I hope you enjoy.

Prologue - Sat Sept 14, 2019

“Once upon a time in a far-off kingdom there lay a small village at the edge of a wood…”

San Diego

Here I am, about to start an epic self-supported bicycle adventure. San Diego California to St. Augustine Florida. It will take 67 days. There will be 9 riders in total, none of whom I have met. The trip is organized by the Adventure Cycling Association. They run trips like this all over the country. They have an extensive catalog of routes from fully supported to self-supported, short duration to extended duration. This trip, the so-called “Southern Tier” across the United States is one of their most popular. The trip always begins in September to provide the best chance of friendly weather across the entire route.

I’m a bit anxious. I’ve only done a moderate amount of riding in preparation for this. I have been hiking in the Sierras this last week, so at least I haven’t been sitting around. I originally envisioned doing this journey solo, but never having done anything like this before, I decided that it would be better to go with others - at least the first time.

I hope this turns out well. I’ve brought my iPad along to keep a journal. I’m actually quite excited about the prospect of writing each day and recording the days events and impressions. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do. It should be a blast.

Besides… “I’m a great admirer of my own writing.” - Snoopy

Tomorrow the adventure begins!

Southern Tier - Sun Sept 15, 2019

Day 1

San Diego California

The Southern Tier Tour officially begins! The group met to discuss the routine we will follow and we had our first dinner together. Our ride leader prepared the meal for us. Tonight and tomorrow night we will be right here in the Point Loma Hostel. Tomorrow we are only riding 5 miles. We are going to dip our wheels in the Pacific and take a group photo. Then back to the hostel to make any final gear adjustments. I have been assigned to be one of the two cooks for tomorrow night (cook teams consist of two people), which means we are shopping for and preparing dinner, breakfast, and lunch. That is the routine we will follow, with each person getting the assignment to cook about ever four days.

Earlier today I rode out to the Point Loma Light House, a 10 mile round trip from the Hostel. It was a pleasant ride. There is also a National Cemetery on Point Loma which is beautiful. The bike is rolling nicely. It looks like I got it assembled all in good order. Not a huge day today. Things will get interesting on Tuesday.

Miles: 0