Biking down the road on my gear, under my power, at my own chosen pace? It creates a bubble around me, a roaving place of ownership from which I can recharge, check my perspective, and analyze the world.

Lacking the ability to bike at the moment, I'm back in Duluth, enjoying time with friends, but unable to sate my need for my own space. So, failing a bike ride (for now), it's time to get on the road, time to get behind the steering wheel and start moving again. Where to doesn't so much matter, though good destinations and people tend to pop up along the way. What does matter is the space to unpack the clutter in my head, sort through it, and realign it for a spell.

If I can't do that biking around Superior's shores and I don't yet own my own place in the world, then I'll seek it out through different means. Road trips and hiking tend to do the trick...

From the in-between (grabbing wireless and breakfast in Kearney, NE), here's another article I had published in In The Fray: Six Short Hours

One good thing? They're more familiar with each passing. This time around I can recognize the odd mixture of excitement and melancholy of transition. It's still affecting me, still pulling my mind and my heart in different directions, but its face is familiar. I'm not struggling to understand the basics this time - instead I'm getting to nitpick at the nitty-gritty. I have a chance to dig into which directions I'm being pulled instead of just trying to hold all of my pieces together.

Most of my birthdays in the past ten years have taken place on the cusp of a transition. Some have been in the middle of nowhere, driving to the next adventure, just the road and my wandering thoughts. The timing isn't quite there this go 'round (I leave Boulder a couple of days after my thirtieth) but the craving that I have for the head-space of the road is strong.

I'll get to settle out my mind and the past few months (let alone the past two years) over the long road back to Minnesota. I'll have an entire summer on a bike to catch what the plains of Nebraska don't. I'll lay out my mind, map the twists and turns, and (perhaps) reorder it a touch underneath the big sky that I find so comforting.

If your old password no longer works, email me from another address at nathan <@ symbol> noblehobo com and I'll reset the password for you.

Apologies for the inconveniences...

I crave a return to trailwork, to manual labor where the days tasks are more easily aligned, the outcome more completely visualized. Here and now, I am struggling with the same battle that I often fought with in graphic design - a mental knowledge of work completed that I have difficulty connecting to a physical reality. I know that I am completing a set amount of work daily, know so rationally, but cannot feel it in my bones, nor in my exhaustion when ready for sleep.

I play atop human concepts that rest loosely upon natural ones. I can rationalize a successful path in tracking inventories...but I can feel the weight of a granite stepping stone slide into place.

In the here and now, I find myself an observer of things in the same removed way, diminished in force and passion. In the here and now I am bearing witness to the end of small businesses, to family dreams, to the stability of jobs, to the change as one massive company acquires another... I am indirectly affected by our economic instability through the stories of the lives that touch mine.

I witness human struggle of the immediate reality, but know my own struggles only loosely. Survivor's guilt, as it were... So you offer what you can - hold a friend who lost her job just the other day, listen to the story of another as she tells of dealing with layoffs, reason with a co-worker rationalizing if he will be employed in a year, and ponder bankruptcy and financial despair in the trials of friends and family. I am stable, for now, but know that all is precarious.

In light of that, I breathe deep the mountain air, await the stars racing in after sunset, and remember that there are greater things to explore, to accept, and to be accepted by than the systems we devise on top of the natural world.

Thing is, I wasn't the only one who watched that sunset over the Mississippi. I took part in a viewing audience of thousands - each one of us interpreting the scene in front of us as differently as one sunset from the next. Each one of us bringing our own baggage to the show, our own understandings, prejudices, daily troubles, victories, and more. All of us carrying something different to the same display.

As a worldly people, we share so many of these occasions - sunrise and sunset, sleep and dream, marriage, faith, birth, death... We share the physical manifestations of them, but interpret each differently from our own perspective, our own universe of perception.

We struggle in minuscule and massive ways to come to terms with these differences. We grow frustrated and argue, launch insults, mistakes, and wars. We grow willing to kill over how our different faiths interpret similar moments.

Sometimes, however, we find success. We mesh with a group, with a friend, a lover, and find communion of spirit, mind, or heart. Sometimes we only understand better - disagree, but know each other more deeply. Sometimes that simple act of attempting understanding is enough, and budding respect forms.

If I took anything from my Lutheran upbringing, it was the idea of unconditional love. The idea that while we, as flawed humans, might never be able to attain the perfection of it, there was no reason not to continually try. No reason not to strive to find that level of respect for everyone we encounter in our lives.

My Uncle David passed away this week. Today, we gathered family for his funeral. We traded our stories, swapped our memories, and smiled as we tried to imitate Davey's laugh. We will remember a good man - a strong man in family, friends, and faith, willing to offer much to those he cared for. Regardless of the myriad beliefs we carry for the afterlife, we all bore witness to a life on Earth well-lived.

We aren't offered a great deal of time here on this soil, not long to come to an understanding of our selves, let alone each other. Time is a ravage we cannot stop or slow. But we share that struggle, share the attempts to learn, to better ourselves, to ask the big questions and seek answers to the whys that we perceive. We grow together, laugh together, play together - we find ways to cherish what we have been offered, to hold close what time we have been given. We fight valiantly to maintain the flame of life in the here and now and shine the brighter for it.

During the service, a letter from David was read aloud. He had written it to my Aunt and their four daughters on the one year anniversary of his battle with cancer. It was proud, hopeful, thankful - powerful. He understood grief and joy, pain and pride, he offered fortitude for others and gratitude for the strength that he received. He offered hope and he offered peace. In the middle of our grief, as we listened to his words, David reminded us of a more ancient wisdom - the center binding a lasting strength:

"Nothing means anything if you do not have love for one another."

I forget, because it is far too easy to get distracted.

Escape, as I understand and occasionally crave it, takes practice. It can take solitude or sensory deprivation, silence or self-control, a combination of many factors. What it can't seem to take is the constant influx of the post-modern world.

My great-grandparents watched the birth of cars into society, my grandparents, flight. My parents, television, and myself? Computers and the internet, email and cellphones, social networking, and Web 2.0. If you glance back at that arc - the technological development and adoption of the past century, there is an exponential curve evident. A curve leading to the ubiquity of electronic interaction, to Twitter and Facebook, Flickr and YouTube, iPhones and Blackberrys - the younger, more energetic, frenetic siblings of cellphones and texting...

Hold any modern smartphone in your hand and augmented reality sits at your beck and call. Constant updates from friends and loose connections fill your sight, enabled GPS tracks your location, automatically Twittering any friend within a mile of you, letting them know you'd like to meet up. Text messages meander in every few minutes, picking at the ether to see who is around, to say hello, to simply get the dopamine rush offered by a response. Google Street View shows off the restaurant front where you'll meet, with it you've looked beyond what your eyes can see. The photos you upload to Flickr are tagged with the location they were taken in, a friend missing out can enter the name of the restaurant and catch all of you there, texting at the goofiness of a smile, a new haircut... News sites and blogs (from the political to celebrity) have been modeled to read more efficiently on the small screen, now moving from RSS feeds into shorter data streams, grabbing the attention of the table next to you. Bills maintain a texting personality, a small @CellCompanyHere denoting your account due, a new service, an overage. Romantic interests flit in and out of contact, flirting in 180 characters or less, thumbs plying away on a small keypad, lower lip bitten. Job possibilities and contacts, acquaintances that know more about your life through Facebook updates than family do, all these pop in.

I've read that the average Sunday edition of the New York Times carries more information in it than an average person in the Dark Ages of Europe would have encountered over the course of their entire lifetime. I know that using a newspaper as an analogy is woefully past-due, they are nearly dead as an industry and we pack more information into most mornings than the Sunday paper. I know that whether or not it is of quality, there is a massive quantity of data available to us, literally at the brush of our fingertips, often at the forefront of our minds.

It's been said that dating is dead - that texting and flash-mobs of friends have lead to brief meet-ups, six-degrees-of-separation connections providing commonality, groups providing anonymity and a break to the nervous stress of a first meeting. We don't knock on doors to say hello anymore but we don't need to. Texting is akin to it - to unexpected distractions and moments, with the same ability to ignore as the doorbell, but more frequent, our immediate response more Pavlovian.

I am living in a world where the constant influx of information drives me, feeds all of us. A world where we are all far closer to the data stream than we may care to admit. A world where boredom need not exist, where an instant hit requires only to dip the toes in, to drink just a little of the digital froth.

So escape? I get distracted. I forget. Instead of escaping into my mind alone, into contemplative silence, into peace, I escape into diversion. I end up in a whirlwind or wild ideas and useless drivel, of heart-felt moments and half-assed thoughts... I end up in the whirlwind and forget to get out, forget to break free and let my mind wander, let my thoughts settle, do something with all the ideas consumed.

I forget to escape.

They're all tools. That's the true trick to remember. All the toys to access the information - just tools. And tools you can set down on the work bench.

Escape is this image: Looking out to the backyard from inside the garage, camera low, on the floor. Remnant objects of a project are strewn about, evening light streaming in, and dusty footprints move out toward the backyard. Panning up, the camera catches the hint of a silhouette in the setting sun, an arm unbinding a burden, tossing it aside. The silhouette disappears, leaving the yard, walking off, simply, to somewhere else.

Somewhere a little more quiet.

I'll miss you, Dusty. Miss you a great deal...

Tonight, when the snow is still falling and it carpets the sounds of the city, I'll go out walking in that muffled comfort.

For now, I'll be working from home (spreadsheets, documentation, and email, oh my!) and enjoying the view.

Strange to think that back in early 2003 my site was one of thousands upon thousands being cataloged in an attempt to "preserve" the internet. Strange that I've a few magnetic bits floating around in petabyte upon petabyte (that's lots upon lots) of information in a server room in San Francisco. Strange that for all the preservation being done, it's so fragile (a whole discussion on the archeological ramifications of our digital storage of current history). Strange indeed, but satisfied.

Satisfied that I've got a few old entries back - that there is an equivalent feeling to finding old journals once lost again. Even if I may not be immensely proud of what they contain, they still contain me. I'd rather not lose that small bit of memory, that small piece of my soul.

I've an idea in my head for a trip that I'll be going on from June to August, one that will be finalizing itself in the next couple of months. A human-powered trip to discover the human power that drives Minnesota. I'll be spending the summer bicycling throughout the state, interviewing as many people as possible, striving to listen to a cross-section of folks and seeking to learn how Minnesota is tying into the green technology revolution, into sustainable agriculture and community-sponsored movements. The path I'll travel by will follow state parks for camping, the interviews I want to tackle, and by weddings of friends and family that are not too be missed. What I'm interested in, as I build the details of this trip up, are brainstorms and thought-wanders, are connections and interesting people, be they you, a friend of yours, or an acquaintance. I'm well open to suggestions now, to ideas and thoughts, so if you've a moment and wish to be involved on any level, send your reflections my way. Feel free to pass this on to others you know - to spread the search for folk attached to the movements I mentioned or just plain intriguing folk. Send me stories, ideas, new branches to explore...I'll have ninety days to learn about the state of my birth, to listen, to breath it in, to write, to think - and no telling what may come of it. I may be working with radio and magazines, I may publish with local papers, I may form up a book - or I might just drink it in with a giant grin and share what of it I can.

Here are the areas of focus I'd most like to pursue (and where I'd most like your suggestions) but if something outside of this stands out to you - launch it my direction anyway:

- Individuals/groups to speak with in the areas of the green technology movement (non-profits, windmill co-ops, solar projects, hydro, alternative fuels, sustainability pursuits, soil conservation, rural projects, urban projects, etc.)

- Individuals/groups to speak with in the areas of community and sustainable agricultural movements (local food co-ops, community sponsored agriculture, successful and consistent farmers markets, anyone sharing information we might be losing over time such as canning, salt-curing meats, non-industrial farming techniques, local organic or natural farmers and farming methods, etc.)

- Individuals who you feel are making a major difference in the growth and success of Minnesota, regardless of political, religious, or socio-economic background, powerful characters that inspire others, teachers, community leaders, forward-thinking folk whose goals strive to make Minnesota a better place.

- Things not to miss - places to see in the state be they natural or manmade, the hidden bits that only locals in an area may know such as the Dam Pie Store by Rapidan, Pillow Rock in Ely, or the Graffiti Graveyard in Duluth.

- Ideas on what to pursue related to green tech and sustainability, communities not to skip, and if you'd just like me to pop in for a visit.

I'll be trying to document as much of this trip online as possible (working on a couple of pursuits for internet access while out and about) - putting up interviews, thoughts, a up-to-date mapping of where I am, of who I'm going to be speaking with next. In short, I've a lot cut out to do by June. But then, if I'm not running harried to get the next thing done, I might learn what it's like to be bored...

You can email me at nathan<-AT->noblehobo<-DOT->com (replace the funky bits with the usual @ character and a period) or leave a comment here. Hope to hear from you soon!

Those who dwell there are a balanced breed of redneck and intellectual - all there to determine their own path over any other, to avoid the dictates of disagreed-with laws, and to claim ownership to a space as much as an idea. Trespassing, picture-taking, sight-seeing gawking - these are discouraged passively through the crude, worn look and actively with shrewd eyes, loud voices, and the occasional gun shot. They are not to be easily trifled with.

The county whose jurisdiction they fall under largely leaves them be, coming if called for domestic abuse or something more severe. Generally, they police themselves through restorative justice - i.e. if a resident was drinking and driving and hit a corner of someone's house, a town arbiter would work out what one party need do to restore balance. No cops, no court, no fine - just restoration of the original situation by way of reparation to the victim. They carry their own fire department and their own "police". When a public building was defaced by kids not long back, it was repainted within twelve hours...a strange contrast in a town where many homes have not been painted at all, still covered in the colors of where the paneling and wood were scavenged from.

Gardens sprout in homemade greenhouses and south facing windows, treasures and beautiful rooms are hidden behind ugly exteriors, the ratio of doctorates to general population is eccentrically high, and while not everyone agrees, they all hold toe against a line when something threatens what they have. There's even a pirate radio station that residents tune in to when something untoward is going on, when outsiders linger. More than one home had a wolf standing out front (gentle giant, the one I met).

They tell me that the fourth of July around town holds a special flair - a spectacular mess of explosions, alcohol, the local fire brigade on speed, and enough gun fire in the air to resemble something closer to armageddon than a fireworks display. It's too bad I won't be around to see it.

The mountains are like that - hiding something different around each cornice, in each valley. I've lived on the edge of them before (in Sequoia) but have never moved further into the interior like this, have never begun to grasp the expanse of granite and grit that the Rocky Mountains are. Like Lake Superior is very good at doing, they remind me that I am a small being. They leave me humbled as I stand atop them, a fragile creature in the cold wind, a thankful presence on their ridge-top seat.

Windows down, tight curves at good speeds, hands pounding out the rhythms, head bouncing, smile flaring - there isn't much of a downside. Just sunburn...

Considerable portions of the feeling focus on the craving for love - it's tied into romanticism and relationships heavily. Portions of it fall to love of other types as well - to a love of a community of friends, of place, of the pursuits of ones life... When I am moving, wandering, driving - it's not running (I don't seek it as an escape) but the pace keeps many thoughts quiet. Only in the stillness and routine of a more settled life do I think about the future, about the love that I have, about the love that I want.

An Antarctic winter is steeped in these moments. By the end of that dark, I thought I had a fairly good handle on the longing-quiet, on the melancholy associated with it. In that I can see beyond it, I do. Becoming mired in it or lost in its depths is no longer a worry of mine. So far as not encountering it though? Life always offers an opportunity to be challenged again - I can't seem to avoid it. The universe of our growth is not so easy to run from.

What came first, the music or the misery? People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music?