pedadidact

March 12 - Day 27
Bear Creek Campground > Forks & back
Distance Biked: 13.5 miles (in the worst head-wind)

North Westerners sometimes speak of moods shifting with the sun. Not a few admit to having been broken down, as it were, by incessant rain, almost shut in with gray walls and water-logged with melancholy. I would not expect myself to be moved by weather so much, except for an occasional rise of heart with the sudden emergence of cheerful sun, but the dripping steel plate fastened thick to the heavens this morning seemed appropriate to my disconsolate spirit. If reports could be made for the condition of hearts, the atmosphere of mine was “partly cloudy throughout, with occasional showers.”

[Portion omitted until manuscript complete, continued below.]



The heart is an arm by which we lay hold of love, and legs which chase after it. Now, as many times I had learned to do, I slung my broken limb in the sling of an objective truth: these mortal desires are corrupt with personal interests which often look to temporal gratifications more than to an intentional glorification of God. In heaven this will not be so; the hearts of saints are then changed to willfully prefer and rejoice in nothing more than God's exaltation. Then, if not now, I shall understand how painful trials were for His glory, and will take greater pleasure in the remembrance of momentary ordained grievances and their eternal fruits, than ever I imagined would come from once-fancied aspirations. If joy alludes me now in part, it will envelop me then in whole, for all things will be worked together for His glory and the good of those who love Him.
Mighty winds opposed my progress on the road to town. In fact, the strong breeze made pedaling necessary even on downhill grades, a phenomenon I previously supposed to be more likely exaggerated than factual. Sometimes one has to get blown down to learn a thing.


Are these even real?

In the dark of the previous night demons of thermodynamics had possessed my left earphone, causing a spirit of muteness to obscure half of my portion of morning audio-bible tracks. This kind cometh not out but by repurchasing; so I decided to exercise the problem with a new pair. For a mere $10, their sound was as good, though less ergonomic to my shape than the ones replaced. I also stocked my pack to the brim with rice, oatmeal, and cocoa for the coast.

The sun dipped behind its gauzy veil as the pastor of Forks Calvary Chapel, a conservative quasi-non-denominational denomination of typically generous Christians, pulled into the lot at Sully's Burgers – I had been improving my sorrows with their incomparably delicious onion rings. After a somewhat formal greeting, we hoisted my estate, trailer and all, into his spacious Suburban Utopia Vehicle. He and I had some interesting chats, having both graduated some years ago from the same bible school, but nothing prolonged; we were headed just a few miles to a weekly men's home study.



The fellows, seven or so, met at Ron's house. The home was kept tidy as a yacht, and Ron was himself something of an Old Salt, been-round-the-block kind of gentleman with that sharp outdoorsy up-dress of Northwest professionals. Beneath a silver brow he wore kindly creased eyes and a compact stature. The crew besides him was unified in their diversity, one being as perfectly ordinary in appearance as another memorably peculiar. Chris, for instance, was in every way a large specimen of manhood, endowed with an immense frame, full jowls, turkey-leg forearms embossed with a broad green tattoo of a dragon; his great Patriarchal beard was exceeded only by the length of his prayers and apparent largeness of heart.

They gathered first for a hearty meal,– the “young hiker” was pressed upon to receive a "side of steak with his steak", a mammoth potato and fresh salad, too – before digging as eagerly into a discussion of John's Gospel, chapter 5. Several simple old songs were crooned a' Capella, no one seeming too concerned if he knew just half the words; a joyful noise was enough. The conclusion was an extended time of prayer on behalf of such needs and wants common to men and families, and one might say the evening was every way wholesomely spent. Though not a directly spiritual motive, I was glad to have a diversion from my own thoughts for a while.

Pastor Nathan drove me “home” to Bear Creek, rain belting down hard and causing some apprehension, probably in both of us, for the merit of beginning my hike the next morning. We agreed that if within nine days I had not contacted him, he ought to consider the situation an emergency. After scrawling some contact numbers on a card, I bid him thanks and farewell. He laid his hand on my shoulder and prayed God grant a safe journey. As I lay down, my prayers were only an amen, 'Father, bless me and keep me. Your will be done.'