Writing on Empty

I haven't been very good at this, of late.  "This," being sharing with you hilarious anecdotes, charming witticisms, and/or dubious pieces of advice.  Wish there was a good reason, but the only one I can come up with, the only reason I haven't written anything here, is because I haven't felt like it.

Yeah.

Haven't felt like it?  How weak is that?  Well, it's pretty weak, no question, but there it is.  Since I wrote in February, I've done two full-time stints with the Air Force Reserve, taken two trips, raced three mountain bike races, gotten a civilian job, finally, FINALLY started back up in school, and once again gone through the silly season known to me and my cycling brothers and sisters as "new model year bike buying time."  That's the whole tank of gas, folks, that's all I've got.  But here I am anyway.

This is me, writing on empty.

I got home from my job this morning, and realized that not writing is worse than writing badly.  At least I'm getting something Out There, staving off full literary atrophy.  That's something.  It's a start.  And then I realized that I gave myself a topic or two in the last main paragraph, which gives me something I can focus in on, and gives this spiel the glimmer of a purpose.  So let's take a look at some of the adventures that ran my tank dry.

VooDoo Fire Marathon Mtb Race, Pueblo Reservoir, CO- 35mi 1/2 Marathon Option- April, 2011

The name was perhaps truer for me than the race directors had planned it to be.  The night before the race, I had had a dream that one of my buddies, Lane, had a bike malfunction that would end his day prematurely.  So imagine my surprise and horror as, 14 miles into the race, I come around a corner with a pack of racers to find Lane, off to the side of the trail, bike upside down, resting on its seat and handlebars, in that familiar position us riders know all too well; something went wrong.  I couldn't believe it, and I wouldn't hold it against any of you who read this if you thought I was grandstanding for this blog entry, but my dream was laid bare, as real as any dream can be, and that's about as unsettling as it gets.  It turned out Lane had experienced numerous flat tires in a short distance, and was dejected that his high-in-the-standings finish had vanished in a cloud of dust and the hiss of an expiring tire.  I did the only thing I could think to do in a situation like that; I quickly popped out of the group, pulled up next to Lane and gave him a CO2 canister so he could fill up his last tube and try to get back in the race.  He thanked me for it and waved me on.

Besides the fact that I had VooDoo'd my friend, I had a fantastic time of it.  I made sure to keep my expectations low going into the race, and in turn finished so far ahead of my time goal that I felt as if I'd won the lottery on my birthday.  Okay, that's ridiculous, it wasn't nearly as cool as that would be, but the high I got from racing for three hours on an awesome course kept a smile plastered to my face for the rest of the day.  It's my favorite race that I've ever done.  Tough to beat that, even with an unwitting act of witchcraft thrown in for good measure.

Landing a Civilian Job- June, 2011

So it's June and my family and I are in my hometown of Boise, ID for a visit, and I'm a little on-edge.  It's been eight months since I left active duty, and as much as I've enjoyed the time off, I want to be back at work.  And no, it's not because the kids drive me batty (which they don't) or that it irks me to play Mr. Mom (which it does), but because I can feel the ideal I've worked hard to achieve slowly slip away.  I take pride in being a professional, and without a full-time job in a similar vein as I had as an officer in the Air Force, I'm in a purgatory I can't find a way out of.  Since Rachel and I put our college town in the rear-view mirror, I've known only the feeling of keeping bread on the table, the bill collectors at bay, and us in the style we've grown accustomed to.  I relish this challenge, it's my true job: Provider.  You take that away, and... well...

I put that troubling thought aside as I reached for my ringing phone.  I glance at the number and see it's local.  I excuse myself from my friends' lunch table and answer.

"Hello?"
"Hey Scotty, it's Tom."
"How's it going?"
"Well, it's looking pretty good from our end, that's for sure.  We got the contract.  You ready to come work for us?"
The thought that raced across my mind was both happy and profane.  I amended it slightly for my verbal response.
"Absolutely!  When do I start?"
See ya later, Purgatory.  I'd say it's been fun, but I don't like you and you don't like me, so what's the point?

Writing on empty is tough.  You've no idea if what you just put down on paper (or on screen) is any good, because your emotions are tapped, your outlook is distended, things are slightly off.  But maybe you get lucky, and you find a bit of juice still sloshing around in the tank, or you siphon some off one of your other pursuits.  That fuel is just enough to provide a spark, and that spark ignites your motor, and you're able to limp back to what you love.

You're still on fumes, sure.

But you're home again.

~Scotty Mac

"Walkin' down king's highway/ Black cat crossin' my path/ I know that's her tryin' to make me stay/ But I ain't lookin' back/ I ain't lookin' back." Kenny Wayne Shepherd, "King's Highway"