Returning to David Foster Wallace's famous essay, "A Supposedly Famous Essay That I'll Never Read Again," screw that guy. Nothing like making fun of people who are having fun. It's like going to Wal-Mart for the sheer joy of ripping on people. Don't know bout chew, but I go to Wal-Mart for one thing: kickass blinkies. Beyond that, why go somewhere you know you're not going to enjoy, and then bitch about it? I don't recommend David Foster Wallace, if you care (I do recommend David Rains Wallace, however. That guy kicks ass. One of my all-time favorite books: Idle Weeds (stolen from Shagspeare's The Tempest, btw), is a natural history of the blackhand sandstone region of southern Ohio, which has some equally kickass places to ride mountain bikes. Do I need mention the Wilds, and that other place north of Zanesville that I shouldn't mention, or the good shit the good people of Marietta have built in the Wayne National Forest? Some good stuff and good people down there. That reminds me: HOT DAMN, I'm going to WV next weekend!!
TO THE READER: I find myself at a crossroads in this post: from here, shall I
a) "segew" to why a person would ever go to a place like Michigan if all they were going to do is
bitch about it,
or
2) start rhapsodizing about all the John Muir stuff my lovely wife Artemis and I have been......
..........wait a minute, I need to tell you something, dear Reader.. My wife said she fell in love with John Muir over the weekend. Now I don't think she meant "fell in love" like women do a Coach purse or some crap from Panera or a rescue dog they saw on the internets. I mean she fell in love with the guy. Like, wait a minute...You're married to me, remember?....like the "you really love this guy, don't you?" kind of falling in love. I guess if a woman is gonna fall in love with a guy, it couldn't get much better than John Muir.
He sucks.
Ok, I'm over it.
So anyway, I could transition into the really good time my wife and I have had immersing ourselves in the natural history of the Sierra Nevada Mountains as preparation for our trip in April. So I shall:
I gotta tell ya, folks, I'm gonna get to the whole Michigan thing in a minute, but right now, I'm gonna tell you about the "trip" I've been on for the last few weeks: Ken Burns' documentary on the National Parks. Bear with me. (Is it "Bear" or "Bare"? I forget)
Let's get something straight: I Love Our Country, ok? I think the fact that I can drive up to Burger King at 11:00 at night and order a Big Fish with Onion Rings and have it sliding down my gullet in a few seconds (probably more if one of my former students is working) just simply kicks ass. Come on. Think about it. The idea of a Big Fish with Onion Rings sliding down YOUR gullet might not be all that satisfyin' but I'll bet a good part of the human population would, considering their impoverished, wretched circumstances. We are a fortunate nation, and we've done a lot of smart things (and.....some Dumb Ones, ie. kill most of the natives then brag about OUR country) but one of the smartest things we did was to create National Parks. It's pure democracy: think of what would have happened to Yellowstone or Yosemite or the Grand Canyon if the whole deal would have been turned over to private ownership. I'll help here: ever been to Niagra Falls? All the aforementioned places could have turned out exactly like Niagra Falls if private interests would have prevailed (and they nearly did in each of those cases). All the good shit in Europe is owned by the aristocracy and privileged; screw the average person, they wouldn't appreciate it. The National Parks are fundamental to our identity as a democracy (unless I have that all wrong). Watch the whole thing, all six DVDs; it's really kind of amazing. Post back here if you think I'm crazy as a loon.
And so therefore, I'm cool if my lovely wife thinks John Muir was a total asskicker....cause I do, too. I think Ken Burns' documentary should be required watching for every school kid in America. (Hehehe....I'm a teacher so I can kinda make that happen in a small way, hehehe)
Good god: the conflict between Gifford Pinchot and Muir sums up so much of the conflict that we deal with today as a country. Lacy, Roosevelt, the Buffalo Soldiers, Colter, Truman Everts, the real meaning behind the word "Yosemite", etc, etc, etc. It's an edumacation in itself. I'm fired up, can you tell? I knew that you would.
And so my lovely Artemis and I are goin' to California with an achin' in our hearts to see the Sequioias, and Half Dome, and El Capitan, and the Merced, and the Tuolume and Hetch Hetchy (probably not) and I can't friggin wait.
Which leads me to the Michigan thing.
In between my over-the-top, Romantic, ecstatic bro-mance-atic threesome with John Muir, I got a chance to walk the dogs at Proud Lake. I know: I'm from Ohio so I'm supposed to hate Michigan like I'm supposed to hate Lance Armstrong. I could honestly give a flying f*ck about Lance Armstrong, But since I'm on a high horse (like Artemis' beloved thoroughbred-off-the-track, Cash, whom I shall never ride) I'm here to say that Michigan has one thing going for it that Ohio needs to be jealous of.
TO WIT: So we're walking and talking, and talking and walking, walking and talking, and suddenly we see a couple of beer cans on the ground. Now, either someone has been Competitively Littering (a sport in Ohio), or some durn fool was too drunk to remember that them there cans is worth a dime apiece in Michigan, God Damnit! I suddenly says to myself, "Pops, what's the difference between Michigan and Ohio?" Answer: NO BOTTLES OR CANS LITTERING THE PARKS AND THE DITCHES AND WHATNOT IN MICHIGAN. Dig it, boogeychildren: you just don't see that sort of trash in Michigan. And you do in Ohio. Sorry, Buckeyes. Bottle and Can deposits seem like an helluva idea (ok, maybe not quite as good as National Parks), if you like to go stomping about everywhere, like we do. For instance: At the bottom of my own personal Hetch Hetchy (2ton Falls) lies, shall I say (like my Honors Juniors) a plethora of discarded bottles and cans which do totally disrupt the whole vibe, man.
So Artemis walks one way and I stay put. Supai takes off to find the momma. Rogue and Z boy hang with me, cause they dig me. But soon they go hunting for the momma as well.
What ensues is a nice game of "go find the momma but also try to keep Pops herded." Game on. Back and forth, back and forth, and repeat. This is good fun for awhile, until three dogs with very strong herding instincts start to get all discombobulated and stressed out that these stupid humans refuse to be herded. Game over. Wa Wa Waaaaa
(It was a nice metaphor for our marriage, in some ways. I love my wife.)
So anyway, it was a kickass weekend, and Proud Lake is a kickass place to run the dogs without worrying about having them on a leash. And it's also a great place to go mountain biking if you're into less-than-suburban buff.
END OF THE WEEKEND UPDATE: This is what you look like when your ovaries are in a trash can at the veterinary hospital, and you're coming down from a very strange trip, indeed:
POSTSCRIPT: Did anybody get out today? Reagan was in fine form:
(the Rocky River starting to freeze up as I watched)
Checking my trusty Strava, I see that the Merry Pranksters from The Edge were partaking as well.
(I couldn't feel my toes)
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