Relative Something

It is sort of a deja vu for me to be packing for a trip so soon after returning from the big trek in Nepal, but it is time to do it again. This Friday, I depart for a week-long bike trip “through the land and among the waters where those rollicking Frenchmen roamed,” referring to the fur trading voyageurs of days gone by. I will be joining friends and fellow bicyclists for the 35th annual Jaunt with Jim bicycle trip in the middle of June. This year we explore the upper reaches of the Minnesota portion of the north shore of Lake Superior, all the way to Grand Portage, and make a foray up the Gunflint Trail for a bit. I haven’t done any packing yet, but I’ve started my planning to pack.

The first time I rode “the Klobuchar” –one of several nicknames for this annual week of biking and camping that has visited just about every nook and cranny of the state of Minnesota, as well as several jaunts to neighboring territories– was back in 1994 on the occasion of the 20th ride. I have missed 3 or possibly 4 of these trips in the years since, but it is something almost automatic for me to decide I will ride the Jaunt with Jim every June. When I got home after the ride in 2000, I composed a song about the experience. It ended up being so wordy that I had a hard time establishing phrasing that worked well with my melody and made it almost impossible for me to memorize. I decided to share it with the group a couple of years later, as a poem; reading from the page instead of reciting from memory.

Occasionally, I bring a guitar along on the trip. I don’t do it every year, because it does add one more thing to be concerned about and sometimes I enjoy having a break. But I do miss it when I don’t bring it along and I receive a fair amount of requests from others to make sure to bring it the next time. Last summer was one of those years I didn’t bring it, so when I got home, I mentioned how nice it would be to have a small travel guitar for just such occasions. My wish was granted on my birthday when Cyndie and Julian took me guitar shopping and I picked out a Baby Taylor guitar.

So in honor of the new guitar, this year I worked on memorizing that poem as a song again, the way it was originally intended. It really is targeted to a specific audience, so I’m not sure how well it comes across to others, but I will share the lyrics here because they really do paint a picture of what a week of riding the Jaunt with Jim is like. Don’t worry about getting the itch to sign up to join us this year, after reading it, we’re beyond his maximum already and he’d have to turn you away. But, there’s always next year… we hope.

The Middle of June

What if it fit in the form of a perfect song?
The trial of surviving a ride through a daylong storm?
Some things come ‘round only one time a year
you need to grab and hold tight or chance missing the magic parts
that live in the stories and sweet spots of our minds
You know so many friends who can’t fathom that you do this
And fashioned a bond with the rest of us
who’ve joined you once again

Chorus:
It’s the middle of June
And here I go again
I’m getting back on my bike
To go Jaunting with Jim

You might call it neurotic, that pallid look that arises
when all too quickly I discover my time for packing has expired
and I’m suddenly in some form of campground of some outstate small town
The faces are familiar, though sometimes names come too slow
A ritual of pack and lock the auto, a parting glimpse to ways of yore
You can watch it as it blossoms and the trip so deftly is born

It’s so great to see you, tell me how have you been?
I want to share within your laughter and bow my head to hear your tears
Who is it brought a new bike there, who hasn’t changed theirs in twenty years?
If you put a piece of tape there, it might work fine, just look at his
Can I be your tent neighbor, will you snore more than me?
Once I’m packed in the morning, I’ll have much more than I meant to bring

How can that be Jim’s whistle? Good Morning right back at you
Do I wear my new tights yet or will it be 95 degrees?
I can’t see yet if it’s cloudy, nor discern if there’s any wind
Where’d I put my water bottles and oh my god do I have to pee
We thank you oh Conductor for this special opportunity
Please forgive me if I waiver and consider a jaunt to a B & B

We eat like we think we have to, then have some more when it tastes so good
wait in line to use a restroom and see our bottles all start out full
Then just repeat Jim’s instructions, did he say 59 not 23?
We’ll snack in eighteen hill-free miles, can it be this easy?
The road just rolls past our tires, “On your left” so you say
Who’s that singing while they’re riding? Haven’t you passed me twice today?

We fan out across the horizon, dodging roadkill and debris
Shouting Gravel! Hole! & Bump! while speaking with whomever we happen to be
We notice wild flowers ‘tween the farm fields, gaze on lakes as well as woods
Wave at gawking rural town folk and race with dogs past the point they should
It isn’t always smooth sunny tailwinds, yet it always ends up manageable
And we shout out the joys of elation the sight a water tower can tend to bring

Soon one day gets confused with others, it’s hard to say where we’ve been when
I remember bits of one funny incident, though which town I can’t quite claim
The shared meals more than nourish us, the joint accomplishments give common bond
Communal showering to humble us, and ties like family are coming on
Mere words can’t describe it, when you ride with us then you know
After years of having done this, it gets more important for me to go

All too soon the trip is over, the time just comes, the dancing’s done
Bittersweet to reach the start again, don’t want to stop, can’t wait to get home
What will it feel like back in my bed again, how’ll I do riding on my own
I’ll pretend I hear a morning whistle, the sound of tent poles breaking down
But I’ll rarely find convenience, such as the freedom from planning out
All the details of my day’s plan, as on Jim’s annual ride around

It’s the middle of June
And here I go again
I’m getting back on my bike
To go Jaunting with Jim

© 2000  JWHays