The image, as in a Hexagram:
The hermit locks his door against the blizzard.
He keeps the cabin warm.
All winter long he sorts out all he has.
What was well started shall be finished.
What was not, should be thrown away.
In spring he emerges with one garment
and a single book.
The cabin is very clean.
Except for that, you’d never guess
anyone lived there.
One thing that has become clear to me on this tour is that riding all day into a strong headwind is pretty much soul crushing. Worse than hills or bad roads or traffic; it just takes a constant toll and turns the ride into a grind. Well today had said strong headwind for most of the ride and that plus the fatigue from a week of riding in mountains made this day into a slog. Plus the route turned once again to the back roads and avoided towns all day, thus it was again up and down for e duration with some short hills having exceedingly high grades. Only in these winding valleys would I at times escape the wind – oh and sometimes the hills themselves would block it. Once again these roads were in variable quality but most of them just terrible and yet no matter how off track, or how bad the roads the traffic was pretty constant. The humidity had reached a peak and while clouds often blocked the sun it did seem to mange to burn down whenever one was on a particularly onerous climb. I moved pretty slowly and once again I was somewhat constrained by the camping options but by five pm or so I’d reached the town of Brunswick – the only decent sized town I saw all day. From there I went off route, even off the maps suggested off-route route to the Thomas Beach Campground. A big private ‘ground, it was sparsely occupied on this Sunday evening. My weekend camping, always in question, are done with for this tour and it should be straightforward to camp for the remaking days.
nights eerily quiet
without the cicadas whirr —
the white birch