Testimony

 Thank you to the childrens’ Sunday School teacher whose simplistic and dismissive response to 8-year-old-me’s earnest and sincere question led me down this path. If, instead of blaming objective evidence on the deceit of Satan, she had embraced the opportunity to learn together by bringing me and my question to the pastor, I might not have had the opportunity to choose as I do now. I might not have had the opportunity to see things from the outside. I might not be in a position to feel my purpose as wholly as I do. So, to that Sunday School teacher, thank you.

Dinosaurs are cool! The charismatic examples were enormous, powerful creatures that came in an astounding array of shapes and sizes. Our understanding of their fossilized remains and the consistency of God’s creation tells us that they roamed the earth in their greatest numbers from 250 million to 65 million years ago. We make this determination by the very predictable atomic behavior with which God imbued materials like carbon. It’s important to understand that God blessed me with intelligence and left me to develop wisdom the way most of us do, through experience. I was 8. I vaguely remember we’d been learning about Noah when the teacher made claims about the earth being 6000 years old. When I asked about fossils being millions of years old, she blamed Satan, “the great deceiver,” and moved on. I became an atheist at church. At 8 years old, Nuance wasn’t one of my strengths. Neither did I understand that the well-meaning lady who was, essentially, volunteering to babysit with Bible stories while parents attended church, was not an authority on God. I understood and embraced the scientific method and the way scientists have estimated the age of the Earth and fossils. I understood that the Sunday School teacher had given me a choice between science and God. And I understood that science is based on tests and repeatability. I chose hard, verifiable, testable evidence.

I remained an atheist until, at 17, I heard what I call “The Parable of the Lobster.” Nerdy people my age will remember when Nova, on PBS, was all about the science without the politics. Neil de Grasse-Tyson talks about how much he enjoys lobster. He talks about setting the table with a white tablecloth, about the pot of melted butter, and putting on a bib. He talks about setting a plate and claw crackers, and sitting down at the table. He then mentions that no lobster crawls up onto his plate and explains that the empty plate contains no evidence of lobster. He then asks, “Is absence of evidence evidence of absence?” I became agnostic watching a science show on public television.

Over the years, God has let me get right up next to, but not quite over, the precipice of death. I had a head-on collision with a car while riding my bicycle. I rolled onto the hood and windshield, then back onto the street. I got up and walked my bike, with its very un-round wheel, home. While skateboarding downhill and around the corner, I barely clipped the curb, bringing the skateboard to an instant stop and sending me headlong to land just shy of a fire hydrant. I got up and walked home. While riding a bicycle at high speed down another hill, I encountered a logging truck climbing in the downhill lane. I swerved, shot off the road, down into a ravine. I carried my bike back up the hill and continued the descent. Driving my dad’s recently paid off pickup truck down from a hike, I overcooked a corner and fishtailed around 2 curves before heading for the cliff. As the front tire reached the soft edge of the road, the truck spun and rolled onto its roof, the bed hanging out over hundreds of feet of air. I walked away unscathed. I was passing a truck on my way to work when it turned left toward me. I swerved and shot into the cornfield, rolling my Mustang 3 times. It stopped on its wheels and I walked away. About a month after buying my first motorcycle, I ran out of talent mid-corner on the road to Windy Ridge, on the southeast side of Mt St Helens. I rode that Ninja off the cliff and landed in a copse of trees 50 or so feet from where the bike wound up suspended in a tree. We hauled the bike back up to the road, and I rode it the 300 miles home. I high-sided another motorcycle on the freeway, getting thrown into the ground while doing 70 mph, sliding across in front of a semi, slamming feet-first into the curb on the bridge. While I cracked my shoulder blade and several bones in my ankle, I was walking and riding motorcycles again 2 months later. While learning to lead-climb (rock climbing where you carry the rope up with you, rather than it being already in place), another student failed to catch my planned, intentional fall and I plunged 15 feet before the instructor tightened the rope. The right side of my paraglider collapsed on take-off and flew into the side of the mountain, below launch,  at 25 mph. I scrambled back to launch and flew again 15 minutes later. There’s a scene in the Bill Murray movie, Groundhog Day, where Phil catches the kid who falls out of a tree. The kid runs off, and Phill says “You’re welcome. You never say ‘Thank You.” I’ve been that kid because I’ve always been happy to accept the alignment of circumstances that resulted in my surviving mostly unscathed. I’ve heard stories from before my first distinct memory, and there have been many smaller incidents, and I’d always been happy to call them coincidences.

I'm acutely aware of the risks I take and that my close calls are a result of my failure to fully implement the safety systems that have been developed for challenging activities. I also use the best gear I can afford to balance safety and experience to the risk I'm willing to accept.

My heels were dug in on the logical position that, as God is omnipotent, and an omnipotent entity can change evidence at their will, God is untestable and therefore not logically knowable.

My parents moved to Ocean Shores in 2019. I left a high-paying, easy-for-me job in the spring of 2023 because it no longer felt rewarding, and because I found the constant last-minute rescheduling of meetings too stressful, and the unilateral addition of on-call to my responsibilities interfered with my passion for the outdoors. I tried to start a business. When that didn’t go well, I tried to find work. By the end of the year, I’d run out of money and had to leave Issaquah and easy access to do everything I enjoy within a few minutes walk to a 30-minute drive. I moved into my parents’ driveway and have been searching for a way home ever since. Shortly after I arrived, doctors found a massive tumor in the lining of my mom’s brain and performed emergency surgery to remove it. I was glad to be with my parents so I could help and started exploring the idea that God may have arranged for me to be there for them.

I asked:

“Why did  I have to come here, instead of having a way to bring them home?”

“What do I need to do?”

“How do I know you’re there?”

“Please show me a way to reconcile the last 34 years.”

He hit me with a pickup truck. I was side-swiped while riding my bike. While I walked away with just bruises and mild scrapes, it made it hard to believe God is both real and loves me. I kept looking. I kept asking. I begged for a way home to Issaquah. A year and a half of helping my parents, of being fired from a lifeguarding job explicitly for following the Red Cross training the employer paid for, and the time to read and reflect between the DoorDash jobs that have been just enough to keep my Dog and I fed, allowed me to see that things keep just barely working out just barely in time.

I’ve made many attempts, over the years, at reading the Bible cover-to-cover and always found Numbers and Deuteronomy to be a slog. I gave up. My motivation had been academic. To understand the references made by literary greats like Shakespeare, Dostoevsky, and Milton. This fall, I decided to speed read all the begetting and counting. I kept reading, finding wisdom that applies today. I spotted seeming contradictions and learned to interpret them as opportunities to explore deeper and find understanding that resolves the conflict. But it wasn’t the Old Testament that caught my attention. Neither was it the miracles. It was Jesus’ faith. His believing so strongly that, despite knowing what was coming, he embraced it and sacrificed his earthly life in exchange for our eternal lives, convinced me that I wanted to believe. In particular, it was Jesus’ pleading in the orchard, followed by his acceptance from betrayal through crucifixion that caught my heart. But I didn’t know how. 

I continued to seek a way to know the unknowable. To reconcile my logical understanding with my desire to believe. I started to wonder if God wasn’t waiting to show me a way home to Issaquah until I’d found my way home to Him. And I understood: It’s okay to believe without knowing. That belief is separate from logic, not opposite. That the choice I’d been offered as an 8-year-old was a false choice. That believing without knowing is faith, and that one can simply decide to believe. Issaquah remains the place in this world where I believe His glory can most readily and brilliantly shine through me, and I trust that He’ll help me find my way there, or to someplace where I may more effectively share His glory.

I chose. I chose to believe in God the Father and Christ the Son and our salvation. I will choose to do so continually.

God gave me everything necessary for his glory to shine through me through intelligence, passion, and a challenge. Logic and learning have come easy. I did well in school with very little effort, even in the Advanced Placement classes. I enjoy learning a new skill every couple of years. I made my former career as a self-taught technology generalist and software engineer. The thrill of moving through and observing His glorious creation kindled and focused my passion. I’ve enjoyed cycling for as long as I can remember. I became enthralled with the views and challenges of the slog when I took up hiking with my grandfather. God’s glory has shown through me as He bolstered my resolve and saved me from my mistakes, but not their lessons. He’s given me the challenge of understanding and connecting with people. Community has always been difficult, distant, and fleeting for me. As an autistic person, connection will likely always be a challenge, and I trust God to keep me in that challenge as He has in my endeavors so far. I thank God for sending me out on my own to learn. I thank Him for patiently keeping me as I grow and explore. I thank Him for the opportunity to understand belief and to consciously and deliberately choose to believe. If I could go back to talk to 8-year-old-me, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t deny him the powerful, mostly fun, and ultimately necessary journey. I believe God made this path so I may share the power of movement and observation through His creation, building and participating in the community of His family, and sharing that belief is a conscious choice parallel to, not in opposition of, knowledge. I know logic precludes testing or proving God, AND I believe in Him and His Son, Jesus Christ.

A Framework for Maximizing Consent

Whereas any grant of consent requires all parties to be informed,  

and whereas the right to consent consists of the right to withhold, to grant, and to withdraw consent,  

and whereas any collective right to consent must logically proceed from the collected rights of individuals to consent,  

and whereas all other sentient rights proceed from the right to consent,  

and whereas violating the right to consent must logically forfeit the right of the violator to consent because one cannot claim any right one would deny another,  

and whereas the framework must fail safe, such that any failures at worst create no new violations of consent,  

and whereas withdrawals of consent must be limited to respect reciprocal grants and avoid consent-withdrawal-cascades,  

and whereas, for practicality, the framework centers on humanity as the primary macro-source of sentience (with approximately 8 billion participants), using a simple rubric for sentience defined as the ability to express and defend states of consent,  

and whereas proportionality in forfeiture must deter violations equitably, including for those with greater resources,  

and whereas victims of violations should be made more than whole to the extent possible, empowering them beyond mere restitution,

the following unified framework is established to maximize the consent of sentient entities (starting with humanity) while minimizing violations of consent. This framework is self-reinforcing, human-centric for implementation, fail-safe in design, and adaptable to future expansions of sentience. It prioritizes individual autonomy, reciprocity, equity, and systemic safeguards, with non-intervention as the default in ambiguity to avoid suppression of advancement while preventing imposed harms.

### 1. **Sentience Rubric: Expression and Defense of Consent**

   - **Core Definition**: Sentience is determined by an entity's observable ability to express a clear preference (grant, withhold, or withdraw consent) and defend that preference through communication or action (e.g., verbal, behavioral, or resistive signals). This rubric is simple, realistic, and grounded in humanity's current context, avoiding speculation about infinite sources. It accommodates neurodiversity (e.g., non-verbal expressions via assistive tools) and edge cases (e.g., proxies for infants or incapacitated individuals, with strict oversight to prevent imposition).

   - **Implementation**: Leverage accessible technologies (e.g., apps, voice interfaces, AAC devices) for real-time consent logging and interpretation, ensuring cultural and ability inclusivity. Fail-safe: Ambiguous signals default to non-intervention, invalidating any proposed action to prevent violations.

### 2. **Universal Access to Information and Education**

   - **Requirement**: Provide accurate, accessible knowledge about interactions, risks, benefits, and alternatives via universal communication networks and educational systems (e.g., AI-mediated learning tailored to diverse neurotypes). This counters asymmetries like the double empathy problem by fostering mutual understanding without imposing one-sided adaptations, such as masking.

   - **Fail-Safe and Equity Focus**: If systems fail (e.g., misinformation), revert to localized, peer-driven sharing. Education mandates reciprocal efforts across all groups, dismantling non-consensual pressures and ensuring no entity is coerced into discomfort for others' sake.

### 3. **Mechanisms for Clear, Revocable Consent Expression**

   - **Requirement**: Standardize verifiable methods for expressing consent (e.g., neural interfaces, translators, or signals adaptable to humans), making it ongoing, instantaneous, and retroactive. Collective consent aggregates individual expressions via opt-in tools (e.g., decentralized voting), preventing overrides.

   - **Cascade Prevention**: Differentiate foundational (interdependent) and peripheral consents. Withdrawals require phased notice for foundational ones (e.g., buffer periods scaled by impact), with emergency overrides activating support to mitigate fallout. Reciprocity clauses in agreements define boundaries, with mediation for disputes.

   - **Fail-Safe**: Unresolved cascades isolate impacts without forcing continuation, defaulting to individual autonomy.

### 4. **Derivation of All Rights and Norms from Consent**

   - **Requirement**: Rebuild societal structures (e.g., laws, economies) to prioritize consent as the ethical primitive, prohibiting non-consensual hierarchies and fostering voluntary associations. Defaults favor non-action in ambiguity.

   - **Uplift and Expansion Safeguards**: For borderline or potential sentients (e.g., advanced AI or enhanced animals, if they meet the rubric), default to non-intervention. Uplift proceeds only with overwhelming evidence of benefit and reversible, authenticity-verified processes. Ban engineering biased consents (e.g., predetermining self-sacrifice), with audits to detect manipulation.

### 5. **Reciprocal Forfeiture and Restorative Enforcement**

   - **Requirement**: Violations trigger proportionate forfeiture of the violator's consent rights, enforced via decentralized detection (e.g., opt-in monitoring, AI audits). Forfeiture is temporary, tied to restitution, and scales progressively:

     - **Proportionality Definition**: Based on harm (scope, impact), intent/recidivism, and violator capacity (e.g., resource multiplier for the powerful, ensuring equivalent deterrence—low-resource: direct compensation; high-resource: amplified asset/influence loss).

     - **Making Victims More Than Whole**: Restitution exceeds harm compensation to the extent possible (e.g., additional empowerment like resources, skills, or protections), deterring violations and restoring/enhancing victim agency. This could include preventive support (e.g., consent advocacy tools) without imposing on victims.

   - **Implementation**: Independent, diverse panels review cases; appeals allow defense of consent. Transparency via anonymized logs educates and deters.

   - **Fail-Safe**: Ambiguous detections default to minimal action (restitution only), preventing erroneous penalties. Broader failures halt operations, reverting to non-intervention.

### 6. **Modular, Fail-Safe Architecture**

   - **Overall Design**: The framework is modular (e.g., separate consent verification, enforcement, and education components) with redundancy. Failures in any part trigger shutdowns to "do nothing" states, containing issues without new violations. Self-monitoring detects anomalies early, with recovery requiring re-consent.

   - **Scalability for Humanity**: Start with local adoption (e.g., integrating into existing laws and tech), propagate via demonstrated benefits (reduced conflict, increased cooperation). Adapt iteratively based on consensual feedback, ensuring no overreach.

The Reset Button

Unfortunately, life's reset button doesn't work like videos games or computers. There's no going back to just before the mistake you made. There's returning to the last known good configuration. There is, however, restoring your attitude to defaults.

Over the last several weeks I've been seeking to clear my mind of one very compelling distraction. Unfortunately, trying to stop thinking about something, whether or not it's pleasant to think about, doesn't work. It's like asking a road to not be a road. Even when it's closed, the road is a road. I went for a ride to clear my head of thoughts of the beautiful young woman I'd met, and nearly rode into the back of a car while distracted by thinking about the young woman I was trying to not think about. I went for another ride with the same end in mind, and in the space between corners, thoughts of her crept in and took over, and I realized I wasn't paying attention to the task at hand as the front wheel approached the edge of the road.

I found ways to temporarily suppress the gravitational pull of infatuation, but the ones involving motorcycles tend to inspire significant constabulary disapproval. In some of my other pursuits the risks are similarly amplified, but the approach and effect were the same. Push, hard, and I could maintain focus on something else. At the climbing gym I sent 30 problems (that's climber for climbed 30 routes) in 20 minutes. I was physically drained, but it was 20 minutes of relative clarity. I took my Kayak out under conditions which were new to me and found another couple hours of peace. Then I went for a ride just to go for a ride. Not to clear my head. Not distract myself. Just to ride. Voila!

Motorcycling is a perfect metaphor for life. Look where you want to go, not where you want to not go. Interestingly, on my recent ride through Washington's back country, I discovered that it's entirely possible to look where you want with both your head and your eyes, and still "look" where you want to avoid with your mind. Guess what happens when you do that. You go where your mind is looking, for the most part. You don't go backwards just because you looked over your shoulder. Instead, you hurtle blindly forward. This, too, applies equally to life and motorcycling. If you need to see what's going on behind you, pull over. Get out of traffic. Stop moving. Then take a good look. The view is better, you can catalog all the details, and you're not going to rear-end a stopped SUV at 60 mph. The applies to getting lost. Don't stare at your phone or GPS, trying to figure out if you should have turned, or where the nearest coffee stand is. Get out of danger and then figure things out.

Life's reset button is all about clearing memory and resetting your attitude. Everything that's happened has happened. Computers can't clear memory that's in use (well, technically..., but that's unimportant). Neither can people. If you're consciously trying to ignore something, you're using that memory, and it can't be cleared. Instead, focus on something else. Find something that requires enough of your attention to keep you occupied and do that for the sake of doing that. Clear your mind and find clarity and peace. Besides, if we go back to just before we screwed up, we just have to screw up again to learn the lesson again. Personally, I don't particularly enjoy the pain that comes with the sort of screw ups that have me looking for the reset button, so it's probably best not to go through it more often than necessary. Reset your attitude. Go for a ride just to ride, your head will clear itself.

Prepare, Don't Over Prepare

The fun in an adventure doesn't come from the things you know about. It's not in the things you plan for. The fun in an adventure comes from discovering new things, even if they're only new to you. No matter how well you prepare, life will find a way to share something new with you.

I did a LOT of preparing for my most recent loose surface adventure. I had everything I needed for every situation I could think of. I had my water treatment system, an extra fuel bottle, several days worth of freeze dried food, etc. There was still a box of stuff I thought I should take, but couldn't figure out how to pack, sitting on the floor of the garage when I left.

I was ready. I was too ready.

Setting aside my ill-advised decision to try to keep up with purpose built adventure bikes on my glorified street bike, the over preparation was the biggest problem I faced on the trip. The top case broke clean off of the bike mostly because it was overloaded. It was full, and then had stuff strapped on top of it.

After a couple of hours of riding careful to protect the strapped down top case, it occurred to me that I could whittle down my gear. I'd wanted to repack, putting the stuff I didn't need in the top case, and finding someplace to ship it home for me. If you find you can do without stuff, do without it. It's more fun to have to figure stuff out any way.

We were never more than 150 miles between fuel stops. With the sort of riding we were doing, I have 180-200 mile fuel range. So the fuel bottle, which never got filled, was just wasted space and weight. For the same reason, the water treatment system was a waste. If you can find fuel, you can probably find potable water.

I don't know how many air-pumps we had in the group. At one point I'm pretty sure there were 3. You don't need to carry an entire expedition's worth of tools and supplies on a single bike if you're traveling with others. Take the time to get together before your adventure. This is everyone's opportunity to reduce their pack load, and increase safety. Sure, some bikes have panniers big enough to live in. Do you really want to pick that bike up when you've filled every bit of space on it? I don't. I don't like picking up my bike, with it's little Givi V35s, fully loaded.

Work as a team, spreading those items which are essential to the group, but not to an individual, among the group. Be open to surprises. You may have to puzzle through something that would have been easy if you'd only packed the flux-capacitor, but that's why you're going out into the world. To experience new, unexpected, and exciting things. Where's the fun in having everything go exactly to plan? Where's the fun in not having to figure anything out?

Besides, if you over pack, the world will find a way to demonstrate that to you. Then you'll have to puzzle through how to deal with whatever carnage ensues from being too prepared.

Nature's Burlesque

I went for a ride yesterday in full hopes of both clearing my mind and harvesting a story to share. The plan was to ride the Mountain Loop Scenic Byway, which includes roughly 14 miles of gravel. Getting there was the usual affair of slab, which, when the goal is distract oneself from an overwhelming distraction, isn't ideal. I made it off the slab and onto the secondary highway. Navigating by gut, I followed a road sign, and wound up making a big boring loop. Oh well. I rolled my eyes at myself and continued on.

I made the right turn in Darrington and started out the Mountain Loop. I'm a bit amazed I'd never driven or ridden this section of road before. I've known about it, but somehow it never became a priority for me. Perhaps the out-and-back nature of the road imposed by my previous aversion to the loose stuff is to blame. Leaving town, the road has the distinct feel of an old park with weathered pavement and lined with trees planted just a bit too perfectly and a bit too close to one another. The easy, cambered, sweeping curves start just a few minutes out of town. As I rode, I caught glimpses of the mountains through the break in the canopy. I caught glimpses of the surrounding natural beauty through gaps in the undergrowth and places where the road bumped up next to the river. That's when the idea popped into my head. Mother Nature was putting on a burlesque show, with the foliage serving as so many peacock feathers.

Once the idea took hold, that's what I was looking for. That the story I intended to tell. The stream just barely and momentarily visible. The soaring peak framed, for an instant, by deciduous trees in full summer splendor.

Stopping for a brief brake, and considering turning around to snap a photo changed my plans.

As I clambered back aboard the bike something wasn't right. I thought I'd slipped off the foot peg. But no. When I looked to see where I'd gone wrong the problem was obvious. The left side foot peg and shift lever were dangling from the transmission by the shift linkage. I obviously wasn't going any further.

I dug out the tool kit and went to work. My first order of business was to understand the nature of the problem. One bolt had sheared off. In retrospect, I should have suspected this. It's on the side the bike landed on when we went down a few months ago. There was no way I was reattaching the foot peg. So my next challenge was to get her into gear, any gear, but preferably 3rd. She'll get rolling, even up hill if necessary, in 3rd.

She was stuck in first. I couldn't get the leverage necessary to change gears. So I disassembled the foot peg and shift mechanism and stowed them under the seat. This was going to be interesting.

Holding a relatively steady 6000 RPMs, cruising at 27 mph, it took what seemed like ages to get back to town. I stopped at the gas station and tried to sort things out better. Using a lever, I could shift into neutral or first, but not 2nd. Even 2nd would have been better than being stuck in 1st. I spent half an hour trying to figure out. I asked about a hardware store: there was one at the west end of town. They lent me a prybar to try to achieve more leverage. No luck.

I rode the 36 miles to the nearest motorcycle shop in first gear, most of it on the shoulder. I was comfortable cruising at 25-30 mph, but on occasion, where there was no shoulder for a brief section, I which it up to 10,000 revs, 40-45 mph to avoid impeding traffic too much. I'd make the occasional dive into a driveway to let the engine rest and get out of the way. It was a long, slow ride, and by the time I go to Smokey Point, the engine temp light would come on anytime I had to stop. I burned through most of a tank of fuel in that 36 miles as well.

The part I needed was not in stock. The parts guy wanted to order one, but this shop is more than an hour from home under ideal conditions. So I visited the service counter. They were able to extract the broken bolt and find a suitable replacement, so my adventure went about as well as it could, given the circumstances. It certainly did provide, for the most part, the much needed distraction from distraction. I'll have to make the ride again soon to see the rest of show Nature was putting on.

The right tool for the job

There's a saying that it's a poor craftsman who blames his tools. I absolutely agree, but if you know you're a novice, or otherwise lacking in the skills department, make sure you're using the right tool for the job.

I recently attempted a week long back country motorcycle trip. I've only been riding a few years, and the overwhelming majority of that has been on paved roads, so this was going to be a challenge. Mind you, a year ago I wouldn't have even considered this, but I'd done a little loose surface exploring and been bitten by the bug, so I took an Off Road training class. It was an entry level class designed specifically for folks like me, who knew how to operate a motorcycle on the street, but hadn't a clue what do with one in the loose stuff.

When embarking on any new endeavor, the first task is to gain a basic understanding of what you're trying to accomplish, the most common challenges, and some idea how to do what you've set about doing. So, maybe that's the first three tasks, but we're going to group them into one: be less clueless. In pursuit of this, they put on dirt bikes and told us to ride around a field in circles. Easy, right. That beat the hell out of me. Sure, I could mechanically tell the bike to go, to slow, to turn, but I was doing some of that, and everything else, completely wrong. I wont bore you with the details, but by the end of the class I was confident enough to try some more challenging terrain on my own bike, despite it not being a dirt bike.

After recovering from an unfortunate incident, and fixing the bike, I was ready to tackle the loose stuff again. The first opportunity to ride forest roads with friends popped up and I was all over it like a bear on honey. Skid plate: check. Crash bars: check. Tires: we'll come back to that. It was early in the season, so no one really knew how far we'd be able to ride. Between snow and blow-downs from the winter weather, odds were good we'd be turning back before the end of the line. There was mixed terrain, from deep fresh gravel to bumpy, rocky surfaces, to water filled potholes to play in. Splash! Yeehaw! Parts of the road were half blocked by partially cleared trees, but my training proved useful and I made it as far as anyone that day. Confidence boosted.

Another day, another opportunity. This one didn't start out as smoothly: I dropped the bike in the parking lot, standing still. Oh well, c'est la vie. The road we followed on this excursion was more challenging. There were washouts, some of them lined with soccer ball sized river rock, others filled with rain water. This was the most challenging terrain I'd ridden, and the bike was starting to show the absurdity of what I was asking of it. Between a sticky clutch and street tires that are marketed as 90/10 (90% street, 10% loose surface) I dumped the bike hard, twice, trying to cross washouts. I also managed other wash outs just fine, and where the humps in the road called for it, got her air born for the first time. Can you say fun? Yeeeeee-Haaaaaaaawww! But it was clear, I needed to sort the clutch and do something about the tires.

I should note, a member of our party road a cruiser nearly to the end of the trail, so with enough skill, you can drive a nail with toothpick, or clean your teeth with a hammer, though I would necessarily recommend either.

Then came this back country trip. I wasn't sure I was up for it, but I watched the videos from other's excursions and decided it was only just a bit way over my head, and I'd probably be fine. But the tires. I knew the tires wouldn't work, so it was time for a change.

New, more aggressive loose surface tires were installed, with a bit more street orientation in back than is ideal to avoid having to replace them too often (I still do a lot of street riding on this bike). It was time to to test them out, and get some more practice. I set out on the trail from the opening of the season and rode to the end just fine. Mind you, the snow was now gone, but this was the roughest terrain I'd ridden alone, and there were some nerves associated with this. The bike did fine, though the front suspension does bottom out every time I find a pot-hole with it. The bike was definitely not the right tool for the job, but it was the tool I had. I made a couple more preparatory runs, exploring new places, getting a feel for the bike and tires, and pushing myself. I was a ready as I was going to be, given the timeline.

Then came the trip. Most of it was pretty okay. Actually, the trip was fantastic, it was my handling of the terrain that was pretty okay. I broke the luggage system on the bike riding it like a dirt bike when it's really a street bike with luggage designed for the street. That issue was easily dealt with, though it did cramp my style and force extra effort. It was the rocky terrain that demonstrated the foolishness of my equipment choice. The wheels were too small and soft. They got bent out of shape, and though we were able to make a trail-side repair, the lesson was clear. I was definitely not using the right tool for the job. Up next was a rocky incline. I know, with the right bike, more experienced riders handle it just fine. I watched two of them do it, and it was my own failure that put another rider down. The terrain was just too much for a novice rider on the wrong bike. As in any endeavor, it takes time to learn how to do the easy stuff with the right tool, doing hard stuff with the wrong tool is sometimes, even if just barely, impossible. That was the case for me.

There were other circumstances involved as well, but muscling the wrong bike around with too little experience was the biggest trouble. It lead to mistakes which ultimate lead to failure. I only covered half the trail before I had to admit defeat. I count it a success, too, because I went way beyond my comfort zone, learned a tonne, and had a blast. But I learned my lesson. To do any job, you need a minimum capability derived from a combination of skill, experience, and tools. In any thing, if you want to move quickly you need the right tools. If you're okay being slow and deliberate, you can use the wrong tools, but you're going to need a lot more skill, and you're still likely to stumble.

It can be fun to use the wrong tool, but it can also be painful and expensive.

We all have limits

Water, cold blueberries and cream granola, and quiet. I'm a habitual early riser, and while my mind was wide awake, my body was too tired to dig out the Jet Boil for oatmeal and coffee. Even with the cold-medicine and nasal spray, my nose was still pretending to be a garden hose. Everyone was moving a bit more slowly, and bit more deliberately this morning. The enormity of the ride was starting to have an effect, and we were only a third of the way through it. The plan was to ride two sections. They were shorter sections, so this was well within reach.

No restaurant breakfast this morning, we were camped right at the beginning of the next stage. Cold gray clouds hung low in the sky as we road out of the rocky cattle bathroom we'd chosen for camp. I was glad to have a stuffed up nose that couldn't smell a thing. The first couple of miles out of camp were wonderfully twisted, smooth old pavement. New pavement can be sticky, but its also unpredictable. Old pavement has mellowed, found it's natural inclination for grip, and is very predictable to ride. There's also a special romance to an old road. My body wasn't quite synced to my mind as we started charging through the corners and I grabbed the front brake mid-corner. Just a little unsettling, nothing big. "Stupid!" I thought as smacked my helmet with the heal of my hand. I know better. At the top of the pavement there's a single track trail to "the rider's cabin." This is where the VerSys not being an "Adventure" bike is highlighted. The distance between the road surface and the trail is greater than my bike's ground clearance. I opted to wait at the trail while Trevor, Jon, and Kyle went exploring. They didn't get very far. Over the radio I heard discussion about downed trees and over-growth. It was time to hit the dirt.

Jon took the lead as we rode out through the recreation lands to a bluff which was still clouded in. All mostly easy riding. A few drainage ruts to hop in and out of, but nothing gnarly. Coming back down I was again reminded of the damage to my bike. A couple sections were steep enough I really felt the strain of being forced forward in the seat. Once you know what you're supposed to do, not doing it, no matter the reason, just feels odd. We were riding an open area with smooth gravel so our pace quickened briefly. Then it was decision time. Straight ahead, or right. I don't recall the name of the route we took. There was talk of a "beehive," but I was busy trying to sniffle enough to breath through my nose, or at least keep my upper lip from becoming the top terrace of a fountain.

We went right. It was spectacular. The rode winds along steep ravines, up and down and all around. As long as the corners weren't too tight, I kept up with Jon and Kyle. Then the road got twistier, and bumpier. I had to slow down and avoid being pummeled by the strapped down top-case. I'd re-worked the straps before leaving camp, so it was more stable, but still not confidence inspiring. The real disappointment came when found a section with innumerable drainage cuts. I know the other guys were enjoying some hang time. I had to take a different strategy. Instead of running up the cut and jumping it, I ran up to each one, grabbed a bunch of brake to just keep in contact with the ground, and as I crested, was hard back on the throttle, compressing the suspension through the dip and around the next corner. It's a different approach. It worked for the circumstances. Next time the bike will be in better shape and I'll get play more.

We passed a father-son pair of motorcyclists who'd stopped for a breathtaking view along the ridge. As I came out into the clearing, wide-spot, the others were already stopped and relaxing. The world spread out before us in shades of bluish-green, ruddy-brown, and gray. The views in the back country are incredible. The pair we'd just passed caught up with us and we had a brief but enjoyable conversation before they hit the trail again. We let them have a few minutes before following suit.

We rode around the bend and were immediately back to the twisty stuff. Then there was a buzzing near my ear. And then again. A bug had gotten in my helmet, and it wanted out, badly. I had to find someplace to stop. There was no way I could concentrate on this level of technical riding with a bug trying to fly around the space between my ear the helmet. If hadn't been wearing ear-plugs I'd have completely flipped out. I stopped at the first wide turn I came to, tore my helmet off, wiped my ears out, shook my helmet, inspected it, and slammed it back on. I was loosing ground.

With an insect free helmet I could push a little in pursuit of my companions. I was getting comfortable again and starting to push. I had more than one "interesting" moment, but never dropped the bike. A few times she tried to get away from me, but that was starting to become fun. I'd find a straight-ish stretch with little in the way of bumps or ruts and wind the bike out in 3rd gear. There's an advantage to a street machine, it'll go pretty quick where the road is compatible. Then there'd be more corners and I'd have to take it easy. The VerSys likes to wash out in front if I push too hard, and I don't have the experience to slide the back end around to keep up with the front. There were places I found it easier to just ride in the ruts, then take bounce up onto the level, then back in the ruts. My companions were no where to be seen, and had been out of radio range for a while.

As I came around the bend Jon was standing there with his arms out. He started to say something about the next section, I finished his sentence with "a bit interesting." I like to use the word "interesting" for anything that might otherwise be construed as difficult or unpleasant. It's a trick I use for staying optimistic and having fun when others might complain or freak out.

The road was washed out, about three feet deep, but there was a pretty clear single track through the wash with a smooth approach and exit. As Jon started to give advice I interrupted with "I've got this" as I grabbed a fist full of throttle.

It was uneventful. I rolled smoothly to the edge and as the front wheel dropped in, I grabbed some more throttle. The bike compressed a bit at the bottom, but I had the momentum I needed and all but cruised up the steep bit on the other side. Rolling off the throttle as the front wheel cleared back to graded surface, I rolled to a stop. I learned later that Trevor had been disappointed in the ease with which I handled it. He wanted more crash footage. It's good to know you have friends on the trail.

We continued to wind our way down the hill side, me bringing up the rear. I knew they'd stop if anything seemed to extreme.

I had to keep right to avoid the 4X4 coming up the hill. As I came around the bend Kyle was stopped beside the road. I slowed to see what was up. A sweatshirt had escaped from Trevor's pack. One of the mountain bikers on the trail had picked up and passed it on to Kyle. Nothing serious, and one of those many moments that show how, once you get away from the BS of civilization, most people are pretty darned awesome. It's a pain to stop and start a motorcycle on a hill, where millions of years of dead dinosaurs are doing all the hard work. It's a huge act of kindness for a bicyclist, who has to do his own hard work, to stop and pick up a dropped sweatshirt.

As we got onto more developed and maintained gravel, there was a bike parked in the drive-way to the lake. I figured it had something to do with the couple standing at the top of the drive and kept going. Kyle made the turn. I looked over my shoulder and realized it was Jon's bike. He and Trevor and pulled in. The father-son duo we'd met earlier were there too. Trevor was getting bolts from their spare bolt kit. He'd been rattling bolts off the bike the entire trip, and things were on the edge of become very "interesting." Okay, one more bolt and yes, interesting would apply. So would dangerous and probably tragic.

While Trevor secured the bash-plate on his bike, the rest of us continued down the road. This section was wide and smooth. We made it to town where the plan was to find lunch and let Trevor catch up. We stopped at grocery store. I'd picked out my lunch and was searching for more cold medicine (I had some somewhere, but couldn't find it) when I reached for my wallet. It wasn't in pocket. "Oh. Shit!" What the hell have I done. My ID, my debit cards, and my house key. I replaced the chicken strips in the deli cooler and hustled out to the bike, checking all of my numerous pockets on the way. There it was, dangling by the luggage key from the back of the top case. At the time I thought I'd ridden all the way from camp like that, which would definitely make for a better story. But in retrospect, I think I'd been searching for my cold medicine before we went into the store, and it was actually only hanging there in the parking lot. "Fheew."

As the three of us munched our lunches, Trevor showed up and made a B-line for the Starbucks. Kids these days.

Then we were back on the road, ready for the next section, but there was a bit of pavement to ride first.

Stopping for gas in Cashmere, my front tire felt a little squishy. I'm sure it was just the difference in altitude between where we'd reset and inflated the tire, and where we were stopped, but I aired it up any way. Then the exhaustion of riding hard with a cold caught up with me. It was in the city, leaving a gas station, that I made the mistake which would ultimately end the trip for me. Getting out into traffic was proving impossible, so we headed for another driveway. "Bang!" As I turned into the road, I clouted a concrete planter with the right foot-peg. I was fine. The bike felt fine, so I didn't think anything of it.

Nahahum Canyon road is a favorite for me, even on my super-sport. It's wonderfully twisty, with many different turn profiles and loads of grip. Diving into the first turn I went to trail the rear-brake and was surprised to find the bike maintaining speed. A little more lean and all was well. "Interesting." I stomped the rear brake in the next straight. Nothing. I pumped it several times. Nothing. "Hey, guys. When we get to the end of the pavement, I need to stop. I don't have any rear brake."

The impact had loosened the banjo bolt on the rear master cylinder and all  of my brake fluid was now on the road. Of all the things we'd all packed, brake fluid was not among them. Jon rode back to town while I stripped off my now stifling jacket and got to work. The peg was definitely twisted backward, the sub-frame stay was cracked, and a bolt that attaches the sub-frame to the stay was missing. As I considered the situation I said to Trevor, "I think it's time for me to bow out. This cold is kicking my ass and my next mistake is going to be expensive and or painful because it's going to brake something big on the bike, or me."

"I agree" he responded immediately. Thank you, Trevor, for being so upfront.

I couldn't get brake pressure. Kyle had a look. My rear pads were completely gone, too. I later found a stone wedged in the caliper that I think was rocking back and forth, allowing just enough movement wear the pads out extremely quickly (they were almost brand new). I'd also been riding the rear brake pretty hard on every descent. Whatever the cause, this sealed the decision. I lack the skill to try to ride street bike in the back country without a rear brake. The three remaining rider, Trevor, Kyle, and Jon, kicked up a cloud of dust as they hit the trail again. I buttoned the bike up, strapped the top-case back down, choked down my disappointment, and turned around. I can limp a bike home on the street. I've ridden worse.

My adventure was over, but I'll be back. Sections 4-6 are calling, and I'll find an opportunity to visit them before the summer is over.

I love traveling back roads, secondary highways, and now the back-country. There's so much to see and experience.  I'm so grateful for the opportunity to ride with new friends and push myself well beyond my limits. By myself I'd have been in way over my head. With friends I was still in over my head, but there I had help recovering, which granted me the extra confidence necessary to ride harder and avoid the mistakes that come with hesitating and worrying. I like to look for the lessons in life. The lesson here: put yourself out there and amazing opportunities unfold. Also, as much fun as I had on what is quite clearly the wrong bike, sometimes it really is best to use the right tool for the job. I'm sure I was working harder on this bike than I would have on more dirt oriented machine, and that contributed to the exhaustion and mental lapse which ultimate cut the adventure short for me. Jon, Kyle, and Trevor all continued on, having their own adventures and learning experiences.