A beginning: the bicycle

Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, aphorism 212:

Today, conversely, when only the herd animal is honored and dispenses honors in Europe, and when "equality of rights" could all too easily be converted into an equality in violating rights--by that I mean, into a common war on all that is rare, strange, or privileged, on the higher man, the higher soul, the higher duty, the higher responsibility, and on the wealth of creative power and mastery--today the concept of greatness entails being noble, wanting to be by oneself, being capable of being different, standing alone, and having to live independently; and the philosopher will be: "He shall be the greatest who can be the loneliest, the most hidden, the most deviating, the human being beyond good and evil, the master of his virtues, he that is overrich in will. Precisely this should be called greatness: to be capable of being as manifold as whole, as wide as full." And to ask this once more: today--is greatness possible?

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A point to begin. But in Moraline's writing over the last 2 years, it is clear a physical challenge must be at the forefront of such a 'project' or attitude. A man has never achieved greatness by sitting. A sitter can never achieve greatness because his experiences are drawn from those who have physically moved their bodies while he has not. He cannot know of other languages were it not for the man who went to the foreign land. He cannot read about the greatness of the sea or the mountain were it for it not for the man who climbed that mountain and swam in that sea. He cannot look at a map were it not for the man who first eyed the contour of that land. Hence the milestone of Moraline's attack upon the sitter.

The bicyclist: he has contact with the land and people and carries a reasonable amount of belongings. I have great admiration for the hiker who covers all kilometers on foot and carries the weight of his belongings on his back. He is able to access far more remote areas than the bicyclist. To hike across Brasil--one may aspire.

For the bicyclist: The climb and the descent represent a certain overcoming of the modern road, a reclaiming of the auto-based culture with an equally strange machine, the bicycle. But we must not lose sight of hiking, of swimming, rowing, canoeing, and running across terrain. There is no primacy in bicycle touring--it may be the perfect combination of effort, the ability to 'efficiently' cover distance while at the same time challenging one's body, the ability to meet new people on the roads of villages, the ability to return and backtrack which the hiker or swimmer do not enjoy with such ease.

Indeed, the bicycle represents a certain convenience, but the convenience does not come at an obvious compromise. Bicycling is difficult, and the rock climber and hiker would not have an obvious attack upon the bicyclist because they must admit to the difficulty of long days in the saddle.

Contrast this to those who choose the bus or the train for their method of exploration. The movement of the bus tourist is not powered by the food the bus traveler obtains. The bus traveler does not carry his own weight. The bus traveler hires a man for monetary compensation and pays this man to drive him over mountains and long stretches of valley. A bus traveler thus requires a necessary intermediary: the servant, the 'driver.' A bicyclist requires no such servant.

The purity of running across terrain: a man carries his weight and requires no mechanical artifice save his moccasins or modern running footwear. The primitive foundation of the ancient subsistence hunters. Yet there are limitations that the tribes recognized and 'solved' with the domestication of horses (the ability to carry food and gear and the ability to cover large distances to hunt animals). The horses required care. Horses themselves present challenges in modern travel--air travel to the destination becomes complicated and the safe housing of the horse is problematic in the villages. One may well can observe that the bicyclist has no relationship with a living creature, but there is a certain bond to the bicycle and I myself have spoken to my bicycle yet have never caressed or stroked or consoled my bicycle or led my bicycle to water in a way a man does with a horse. Yet a man is dependent on his horse and the health of his horse in a way a man is dependent on the health of his bicycle. Should he not feed his horse or should his horse develop sores or break one of his legs, a man faces disaster similarly in the way a man faces disaster with certain mechanical failures such as a cracked frame or broken spokes in the absence of spare spokes or a broken chain in the absence of a chain tool or a malfunctioning hub in the absence of grease, tools, or bearings.

Hence the bicycle represents a certain equilibrium very similar to the domestication of the horse. A bicyclist has domesticated a technology and has agreed to stick with one set of artifices which he shall henceforth call 'the bicycle.' He shall not attempt to improve upon this bicycle yet will modify his handlebar, saddle bags and living gear he sees fit.

Mountains

I ran the trail today, in the mountains, rocks, red and brown dirt, boulders, ridges, foothills, distant peaks, and the feeling the mountain will kill me.

But what's death anyhow, right? If it is predictable, if your life is prolonged by the wishes or wants of others, you have lost your way. No, rather, go when you want to go. Don't let people say the 'risk-reward' was stupid. No, the death was beautiful, the risk, the courage, the sacrifice, and effort. Choose your death wisely. It will come. Face death with two clenched fists, and a stance that says "I've got 13 motherfucking rounds, you fuck."

Hunting

On the ascent I felt the sitting of the office getting out of the system. Right at the base of the run, it goes up, so you don't know how good you feel. You might feel bad. You might feel fast. It doesn't matter: this is an ascent, just a mild one here, but it doesn't feel good.

It gets harder and rockier. You go into the trees. There is shade. You wind through the boulders, stones, and soil. And then there is the meadow and the sunlight. You look behind and see the mountain range, right there. And then the meadow again. You begin descending.

During the descent the speed picks up and so too your ability to navigate boulders and large rocks.
"I am a hunter. I am hunting. I am hunting."

And you are competing against other men. The primal feelings of following a trail and moving faster than other men arise. Only on this mountain and on this trail.

The men in the city who chase women aren't men--that is to say, their activity is indicative of feminine behavior. Men know the hunt takes precedence to everything. But not on principal. It is a primal urge for a man to want to hunt more than anything else, and part of this hunt involves competition against other men. A woman is only a very temporary need, and if he is a great hunter, not only does he have no time to seek women, women will readily seek him.

A great man does not seek women. A great man naturally pursues his instinct, and his instinct is to hunt.

Running

Indeed, after 4 years of thinking, it was time to go off and focus on pure physical stimulus: A journey on a bicycle, a chance for the body to experience hunter-gatherer extremes, eyes bathed in constant, new images, cultures. Sitting and thinking has and had its place.

Now is a period of trails, long miles, fast races, new countries. No more focus on the 'other,' but on mountains, covering distances. I cannot argue with miles and rocks and trees. I cannot argue with elevation and the beauty of the sky. Mountains never approach me for conversation.

Purity in footracing

It may seem too obvious that I should dedicate myself to running and footracing. Should I abandon all women and all other distractions? Now is perhaps the time. There is a 10 mile race in early September, but this morning I did not race a 4 mile footrace at the King's forest due to carnal distractions. Purity requires I dedicate myself to running. The King's forest is a holy place. I returned to it last night, wiping insects from my eyes and swallowing them into my lungs. My journey begins and ends here every day. What I learned, when in the clouds of Northern California, ascending to Klamath, was that I could not see the King's forest.