the dangers of philosophical speculation while planning a bike trip

the dangers of philosophical speculation while planning a bike trip

fiction
edward w pritchard


Planning a walking trip say on the Ohio Canal trail way is a lot easier when traveling by foot than by bike. The bicycle presents so many complications concerning property rights and ownership issues as well as space/time speculations that walking along aimlessly whistling just plain don't.

Planning my bike ride this early morning I understand why most of the Native Americans left Ohio in the nineteenth century when faced with the overwhelming complications of American consumerism and the nit picking rules, customs and bureaucracy concerning being and existence.

Every year for the last many I try to plan one trip to the Big cities and culture and civility, this year it was Chicago which went very well thank you [ see recent blog "congested urban centers blues for my President Obama "], and a second trip back to nature walking and hiking.

A few years ago I followed the entire Ohio Canal trail to it's source near Lake Erie. After Days and days of walking North, north, north the path circles around in a circular looping turn around and you serenely head South. Back to where you began. It makes sense in a Zen like way. Walking as a Koan of realization.

Succinctly to summarize the problem you aren't encouraged to ride a bike on a road in Ohio and you can't get to Lisbon, Ohio from East Liverpool on the Ohio River by bike. You can't get there without  a car and bike rack along, paying more for cheesy southern Ohio hotels than you paid for good ones in Chicago and under no circumstances is it legal to camp without a fee or permit. Also there are few campgrounds, mostly they are only for elaborate RV's. Get way from it all by Recreational vehicle in scenic Ohio. Also there is no archery, buffalo hunting or on ground campfires for cooking without separate permit and fee.

It's hard to hear the music of a different drummer  when all the original drum players took their tom toms and headed for a reservation somewhere out West. To the real West where there is no more back to nature romantic nineteenth century transcendentalism to think about.

Point me to the tow path and I'll re-pace the same old trail over and over.
the last boy scout