As I folded clothes on Tuesday afternoon, I got a message from my friend Steve. He and I worked at the bike shop together a few years ago. He lives about 20 minutes south, and said he had an appointment in town on Wednesday mid-morning and wanted to know if he could tag along for a bit on my lumber before.
Steve is a great guy, and of course, my first reaction was 100% yes. But then I had to think for a minute.
See, I don’t know exactly how or why it happened; it wasn’t a conscious effort, but I stopped going out and seeing friends some time ago. In fact, I THINK the last time I hung out with friends was at a summer picnic in 2023.
I figure it was the perfect shit storm of the first Fuck Face presidency, the COVID years, the continued rise of MAGA and “Patriot” Fucks in central Michigan (and sadly, the entire country), endless unsolicited opinions from anyone with a mouth, Orwellian right-wing propaganda plastered everywhere during election times (or always depending how much of a MAGA Fuck you want people to know your are), another Fuck Face presidency, and burnout on rural entertainment options, it just became easier to stay home. [I guess you do know how it happened].
Not that Wifey is happy with my Declaration of Semi-Social Reclusiveness, but I’m not her master; she can totally do/does whatever she wants, and I’m happy for her when she sees her friends.
With me, it’s a classic case of “It’s not you, it’s me, and also a lot of other people.”
Anyway, this wasn’t going to be amongst the public; this was a hike in the woods with a good friend. But still. What if he can’t be there by 7:45? I always start at 7:45 at the latest! What if this? What if that? You get the picture.
I texted back, “SURE! I usually start around 7:45. Are you cool with that?”
He replied soon after that he could be there, and was stoked to tag along. I felt an odd emotion come over me at that point. I’m not sure, but I think it might have been a tinge of happiness. But it also could have been gas, I had a refried bean quesadilla for lunch.
The morning came, and at 7:45, Steve and I took off down the trail for a chill lumber and some long overdue catching up. Then, at 7:46, it hit me; I WAS NOW A CHATTY CATHY!!!!! But what was more frightening—I didn’t care!
We caught up on life stuff, bike stuff, kids, aging, etc. Steve was even nice enough to let me pause to try to capture some shots of some deer. Sadly, I wasn’t too happy with the results.
The miles flew by, and at about mile 4.5, Steve needed to take off and took a bailout trail on the right back to the parking lot. Before he left, he suggested we try to do something like this once a month; I concurred.
Then, I hung left and tacked on another 2.5 miles and got a couple shots I dug along the way, especially the one of the raven.
Right now, I have a little over 20 miles in my feetz over 3 days, so I know I’ll get my 30 in, but I’m hopeful for more if I can. Unless the deer finally start talking back, I can predict much less “chattiness.”
Later.
Note: This post contained a lot of hyperbole and self-satire. I’m not THAT reclusive… I do stuff. Sort of.