firehorserider

adventures with Henk the Buell

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Celebrating people, ideas & things that make the world a better place. Kitchen Chemistry, Social Alchemy, Adventure Activism.

Thursday, June 23, 2005

I just spoke with my great friend Kevin at Christina Lake who's been lovingly polishing Henk in his garage in anticipation of my imminent arrival. "He misses you," he said. I tried not to let him hear me cry and cut the conversation short. On one hand, I'm excited as hell to be on Henk and on my way, and I'm extremely grateful for Kevin's care of Henk over the winter. On the other hand, I know I have to grieve. I've been doing that intensely for two days.

Some people might say that the thought of me crying is like the thought of water being squeezed from a stone. Sometimes it feels that way. This morning in the steam room after a workout my belly and chest were wrenched together in a rocky mass, yet my pores and tear ducts kept spewing acid and salt water as I heaved and tried to let go. I wanted to stay in the heat until there was no more liquid to be had but there is no bottom to the reservoir when all we are is H2O.

Funny that no matter how ready you are to move into another life, the one you're in keeps its hooks embedded until you've crossed some sort of magical time/space barrier. One day several weeks or months down the road you wake up and realise quite suddenly that oh, the hooks are gone. I'm free.

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