Bike Trip / Spain Journal #6

Grey and Stan graciously gave me a ride to the airport yesterday morning. I arrived in Chicago at two pm to shocking weather. As I looked out the planes window, I couldn't see the sun. Nor could I tell if the sky was thinly clouded, or clear. It was a strange, lightly darkened blue. When I reached the train platform, I discovered it was warm. And a sunny, cloudless day. Oh. Joy! And that strange blue, I suppose, is pollution. A pall for Chicago. I saw Kyle, and his roommates. I was happy to see him; I miss him. It had been a year, but it felt like far less time to me. I stayed with them for the night before heading to the airport this afternoon.

Their home has some surreal nostalgia to me. When I performed my sudden move to Portland, it was Kyle and his roommate, Brandon, that took care of the apartment and belongings I left behind. Kyle told me that it was as though I had died, and they were disposing of my meager estate. My words, not his. Sometimes, it's necessary to die. I told them to keep what they wanted and toss the rest. Touring their home, I found relics of my past. My old computer, a paper lamp, a pile of books. The computer I won in a raffle, the lamp that was a birthday gift from my mom, and the books that were given me by an avid reader who was disposing of the duplicate books she'd acquired over the decades. Searching through her discards was like being offered my pick of a pile of treasure.

Each item brought memories and stories back to me; even two boxes of tea, apparently left untouched since being removed from my old place. Melancholia comes as easily to me now as it did ten years ago, but it rarely knocks me down anymore. I am sincerely glad for it's poignancy, though. It is a powerful reminder that I have lived.

My flight to Dublin was delayed for three hours, but I'm finally in the air. Ten minutes before we were to board, we were told that our plane was being taken out of service. It took three hours to get another plane out to us, from Rome, to Boston, to Chicago. It must have been an awful scramble for them, and I could see how stressful it was for some of the passengers missing their connections; I'm glad to not be one of them. My touring of Dublin has been cut in half, but I'll still have time for a pint of Guinness, and to see Dublin Castle.

I've made promises to some of my friends to type up this travelogue for them when I'm through, and now I'm conscious of other readers as I write this. I hope it doesn't become droll. If I see that path being tread upon, I promise to fabricate some excitement. Which reminds me of something I read on a bathroom wall in a Chicago bar: “If you are always honest, you don't have to remember anything.” Perhaps we'll see if I've a good memory.

We're passing over a large city. It's a cloudless night, and I can see it well, though I've no clue to it's name. As I look at the lights, and smell food cooking in the planes galley, I'm reminded of home. Warm light and comfort. Eating a meal at my desk, or watching a movie in the dark. Alone or with friends. Home is not a fixed place for me. There is no place I reflect back on as home, none that I return to for holidays to meet those I grew up with. Home, for me, is a concept of comfort. A scattered thing that represents solace, it is found all over, in the various places that my friends and family have settled and resettled in. It's where I keep what brings me comfort, and where I have secured some privacy. Ten years ago, movement and moving was hell. It tore me open. Now, I feel more secure, and home has become much more personal to me. I realize that it is something that I carry with me, more than a place to return to.

I've made it into Dublin. I overheard the bartender at the Temple Bar talking about Connomara whiskey, the only smoky Irish whiskey. So I tried it. I am such a tourist. I have about an hour to wander Dublin before I need to wend my way back to the airport. Where shall I go?

I'm bewildered. I just saw Dublin Castle, Trinity University, and had an Irish whiskey and a Guinness at the Temple Bar in a little over an hour. Caught a taxi back to the airport. Had a great talk with the driver, and got to the gate just in time. Beautiful weather in Dublin. Really perfect weather. On to Malaga.

I just remembered this. On the last morning of my bike trip, I was descending the mountain. Snow and sunlight alternated. A truck passed me and threw up a spray in the sun, that formed a rainbow, a full half circle directly in front of me. I could hardly look up at it for more than a half second at a time, but it stayed magnificently with me for at least half a minute, riding down the mountain.