...in conclusion

Aug 13, 2006 12:21

Well after a week to simmer on this summers events, I am ready to clue you faithfull readers in, though I am sure most of you know the story well. Hopefully this will provide some insights or at most, laughs.

I ushered in August at Zion National Park, and will sign of the 8th month in Boston, MA. With 5 states inbetween, and enough tears, fears, laughs and thoughs to fill a livejournal entry, this is one hell of a month.

Bryce Canyon National Park is one of the most unique places on the face of this planet. As I arrived, I quickly realized that I would not be satisfied if I did not completle the Figure 8 trail, a hike that would compine three seperate trails and cover 6.2 miles. Walking through Bryce is like being a sand fly on the beach, soaring through the tide line, dodging in and out of small children and their dribble castles. Except, the kids are gone, the castles have hardened into stone and were created by water and erosion. These magnificantly pink, red, orange and white pillars cover the canyon, shooting nearly to the rim, and attracting photographers, travelrs, tourists, nature lovers and nature exploiters from all around the globe.

Before I reached Bryce, I stopped for lunch at a diner that spouted claims of great soup and great pie. The split pea was ok, the apple a la mode rocked my tastebud socks. While I enjoyed my tasty treat, this gentleman came in and tried to order a cheese shandwich, but the waitress kept interpreting his desire as "fish" I aided in the correction of this dispute, and didn't think much of it.

After my hike, I was reading some comics, waiting for my dinner reservation (the only place to eat in this park was the lodge, and required a reservation, to which I gave in and waited my turn) As I was sitting, enjoying my wait, that same man from the soup and pie diner, appeared and got my attention. We started jivin, and 4 hrs later this is what I learned:

-Javier Sans is a 38 yr old Spanish photographer from the North East region of Spain
-He went to university to be a lawyer, quite at age 30 to take pictures, and is now working on his second book. This gives me an extreame amount of hope, I only wish that I be brave enough to commit a similar act at anytime of life, if it is needed.
-He writes short poems and hikus to accompany the pictures and is obbsessed with simplicity. He even gave me a collection of these writings
-Javier Sans is a good soul, and after dinner, a look at the Canyon and 3 Heinikin Keg Cans, I consider him a friend.

I arose the next morning, and made my way to the Kodachrome Basin on my way to Mesa Verde Natinal Park in the Southwest corner of Colorado.

I looked at the Chimney Rock in the Kodachrome Basin, which did little for me, and more for a family from Kansas.

I found this intense hike at the far end of the state park, Eagles View Trail. It was made in the '30s, and into this hill face comprised of really soft rock. The trail was narrow and steap, eroded in most places, and required small jumps over rain water washes. My heart had not raced this much in fear since the last time I reached King Kupa. I made my way down the trail, and was anctious to get to Colorado.

I started to head out of the park, and was refrencing my Utah map when it fell from my hands. I casually reached down to retreave it and the access road curved to the left as I barred straight. My front right wheel came off the road with a violant bounce, and before I could recover, the back right wheel did the same, propelling the right hand side of the car into an inground metal pole. Before I realized what happened, I was back in the road, head spining and lacking a passanger side mirror. I 3-point turned my way back to the pole, recovered my mirror, looked at myself in the reflection of the window and accused myself of being a complete fuck up.

I drove the next 45 min or so in slience, first time of the trip, and wondered what the fuck to do now. I couldnt escape the accusing headspace I was imposing on myself, how could I take on this trip, and perceed to do something so comepltly stupid, ontop of the two tickets??

I decided that the only thing I could do was get home, and fix the car, before I returned to Boston at the end of the month. It took hours to call my parents and let them know of my self-impposed fourtine and newly revised plans. It was 12:30 when it happened, and I did not force sleep onto my warn psyche until 3am, halfway through the state of Nebraska.

I woke up the next morning to recieve understandnign messages from my parents, far more understanding than I was prepared to hear, and I lost it. A slue of self-deprecating attacks on my family relations, social skills, fear of lonliness coupled with my fear of commitment and soon to be depleated bank account insued. It was release much needed, and far more overdue than the Super Volcano residing under Yellowstone.

It was Thursday, August 3rd, 8pm, when I returned home...31 days, 13 hours after I had left.

I in no way ever regretted anything that happend over the past month, I just imagined the tears to be that of joy, but what was learned those two days speeding eastward, and lessons that could never be learned elsewhere.

My parents offered refuge in the familiarity of the Jersey Shore, a place I have been every single summer since I was born, and a tradition I was happy to embrace. I have just returned from a week of sand and water, thought and lack there of, and in a week this heitus from school, city and responsiblity will be over.

Some say this is the best time of our lives, I can honsetly say that I have had the best time I know how, which isnt to say that I will never have a better time, but for these summer months, I couldn't have improved more than I did, which is my defintion of "best". And when I think of "best time of your lives," I think having the most uncomprimised, best time you can have for the givin time. And when that time is done, you do it again the next time. Can you dig?

I put myself completly out there, and came back wanting the biggest hugs I've ever gotton, which is what being on your own is all about...appreciating the times, the basement times, the walking times, the foosball times, the concert times, the talkin times. I truly love and appreciate everybody who supported me on this, and on everything else I've done. You rule.

My family, which includes Tony, Bill, Kelly, Lisa, Claire, Rebecca, Mr. Cheney, Lauren, Javier Sans, The Canaidan Hitchhikers, all the people at all the shows, all the people who read this, and who would have read this if they had known about it, you gave me the best reasons to come home, whether I came home to you, or you reminded me what I was coming home to, or both, thank you.

(Summer of '08, Australia - New Zeland - Japan, who's in? I'm not kidding, we graduate, and will need this before anything else. Let me know, and don't forget your shants.)

love drew.
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