What a man can do, and what a man can’t do.

I met a man named John today.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have any time to really talk to this man named John. So I hope he stops back into the shop or shoots me an email.

There have been a handful of times when someone I do not know in any way, shape or form meets me and has read something that I have penned and expresses appreciation for those words. When that happens, it makes me feel like it’s worth the time and effort to keep writing, cuz at least someone gets it.

Moving on.

It has been a full 14 days since I last posted. A lot of things have happened since then. Some I won’t mention cuz I can’t remember them, others I feel like I should mention but feel inadequate at the task of expressing my thoughts about them, and lots of stuff that no one cares about. Out of all of that fuzz, I want to wish everyone a happy belated Boxing Day, my favorite day of the year. And also another Happy Befday to my little sis, who I haven’t been able to see for some time and it was awesome to share some Thai food with her for her birthday. She’s in law school and we’re all proud of her accomplishments.

Moving on.

The rain has stopped for now, but it looks like it will get even nastier here in the next couple of days. Temps are gonna drop and the white stuff is supposed to take the place of all that wet, clear stuff we have been dealing with lately. This all means that not much riding has been taking place and that not much riding will be taking place any time soon. It also means that next week when I head up to my mountain I’m hoping it is covered in feets of snow and it is difficult for KB and I to make it to the top.

This winter I’ve come full circle back to my love for the cold. Cold is something that I crave. That feeling when you walk out of a warm shelter and the cold hits your face and you smile. It then works its way down your spine and into your core and that leaping feeling of cold as your first shiver erupts involuntarily from your body. And then you know you are alive because if you stayed out in this weather they would find your body wrapped around itself in a corner, frozen. The cold purifies the soul. I wrote those words almost a decade and a half ago. Any time I step out and feel that eruption, feel that cold wither its way into my soul, I remember those words. And if you happen to be standing next to me, I will probably quote them to you.

Regardless of all the times I’ve been in the cold, I rode my bike to school in logan when it was 15 degrees below the big egg, the coldest I have ever been was in Santiago, Chile. It never freezes in Santiago, but the wet, humid air that drifts in off the coast just leaves you wishing you had more layers, which do absolutely no good because the weather cuts you deep into your soul and everything you ever wished to hide comes pouring out onto the floor. One of the times I returned from Santiago happened to be in their winter. When I got home all my clothes smelled like mold and were wet to the touch.

The end of next month marks a full decade since I first set foot in that amazing land, my “segunda patria.”

1/30/01 I wrote:

First day in chile, as you can see I got a new journal this is because my backpack with everything in it got stolen about 1 hour after we got to the mission presidents house. I had to get all new scriptures, journal, I still need to get a new camera and a new backpack. I love it here, when we arrived and head to the mission home I could tell it was an awesome place.

1/31/01 I wrote:

I love this place I totally feel like I should have been born here. The people, everything is awesome.

2/1/01 I wrote:

Got hit by a truck this morning, but I’m alright.

Yes I really did get hit by a truck my third day in Chile, and yes, I was robbed the first day there. And still I would give my left nut to charity to go back. Hopefully soon…

For some odd reason I ended up with my “mission” journal in my hand last week. I’m a sucker for poetry, especially when I wrote it so I ended up spending close to two hours thumbing through all the pages scribed when I was exiled to that skinny, South American land. I can remember thinking that I didn’t feel like myself and that I wasn’t sure that I wanted to be a missionary, but after reading the pages upon pages that I wrote, I can honestly not remember being so angry and out of place in my tie and white shirt. Looking back, it makes a lot of sense, but I don’t remember feeling that way. I guess that’s why I write so I don’t carry all that baggage around with me all the time.

I’ve never been someone who is “popular,” I’ve never had a lot of friends and my mission was no exception. There were a handful of guys who understood me and who I could understand and we got together as often as possible. One of those guys was Elder Jones, Elder Jonathon Jones. He was my “papi,” my trainer, the guy who took me into the “poblas” of Santiago and took care of me for the first 90 days of my mission. After one day with the guy I felt like he was my friend and we held that kind of bond throughout my entire mission. It was 2005 after Veronica and I had moved back from Chile that I received a call from one of the other people who I considered a friend in the field. Jonny Jones had killed himself. He had expressed his fear of returning to normal life because he was worried about returning to a lifestyle he had tried to leave behind. He was worried drugs would overtake him and he wouldn’t be strong enough to go forward. I guess he wasn’t. But he took care of me and I owe him an acknowledgment, RIP Elder Jones…

There are only a few people in my life who I name as friends. I think this is mostly because I like security. For me to call you a friend means more than that we have ridden our bikes together, or that you have been to my house for a drink, or that maybe we feel the same way about the world. Actually, none of those things mean shit when it comes to being a friend. A friend to me is that person that regardless of what happens you can call and they will be there asap to help you get through it. They are those people who you would trust with your life and not think twice about that trust. There has on occasion been a person or two, who after a very short period of time, I have entrusted them with that loyalty and I have considered them a friend. But there has only been a few. One of those is the Great Yellow Socks, whom is also known as the German, and who I wish was here to drink with me…

But as friends go, it is difficult for me to let you into my circle and my standards are high, so it is easy to fall from grace. Most importantly, and what I am trying to say, is there are things that aren’t done. As Utah Philips, one of the people I have learned so much from, said, there is that bedrock morality, that everlasting no. As Jack Sparrow put it:

That idea of what a man can do and what a man can’t do sums up my idea of a friend. If the things that are listed in your can and can’t do lists line up with mine, you’re in. If not then we might as well not even consider the other option. Recent events have forced me to think, analyze these lists and I’m not sure where or what to think, but WTF. I really don’t feel like I can fully express myself on this subject. Yup, it was that one in the list. Nuf of that.

On the subject of Elders, as defined by Utah Philips, an Elder is someone who you owe. I owe a lot of people. There are countless people who I consider my Elders. One of them is Philips even though I never met the man and he has passed. His words, thoughts, philosophies have shaped and influenced my life for close to half a decade now. I want to say thanks for the words and share with you the following clips.

To all of you who are allies, I hope all is well and if there is anything I can do for you, please let me know. To the rest of you, I hope you figure your shit out. Let’s ride. Let’s live. Let’s change the world.

Life goes on. Ride it on a bike.

P. L. and R.