Sunday November 30, 2008 – Ride of the Ailing

[snoof]

Sunday November 30, 2008 – Ride of the Ailing

Pretty great Thanksgiving holidays. Thanksgiving Day had the five mile Turkey Trot run, a ride on RK with the wife around Lake Travis, and the feast. Friday to the Renaissance Fest with the wife in the cage. Saturday ran and played in the rain. So today required some time alone with Harley.

The only problem is that although I’ve never been emotionally and mentally better (my opinion on these matters is the only one that counts), the body’s been not doing so good. Following the Doctor’s instructions I’m getting off the Lexapro and I’m in my third week of withdrawals. Could last up to six or eight weeks I’m told. The brain zaps, muscle aches, nausea, chills, and general discomfort were joined last week with deep in the bones hurt, some fever, and vomiting.

I woke up feeling like I’d been nailed to the bed and it took me twenty minutes to talk myself into the world. So I decided to head to the northwest of Austin for quality HD time and maybe a cure. Away I went from:

Austin to Johnson City to Fredericksburg to Mason to Brady to Llano to Burnet to Liberty Hill to Cedar Park to Home. 287 miles.

The temp was about 58 degrees and sunny here in Austin and I expected it to be that way, only warming a little as the day went on. I thought it would be too warm for the heated clothes so I left them home. I wasn’t through Dripping Springs before the chills hit me. I also hadn’t anticipated the winds with some forty plus mph gusts. .Someday I shall learn, at a minimum, to pack some warmer stuff to take along, but not today. Fortunately the fever took over and warmed me up a little.

Still the Harley made my mind feel very good and allowed me to ignore the blood-tinged sputum thrust from my lungs by coughing spells that caused my chest to cramp. The burg of the Fredericks was hopping today. A lot of folks at the Market Days outside of town and of course clogging the downtown streets. They looked jolly and Christmas-spirit filled. I like that in a crowd. Much better than the rioting hordes that have pursued me in the past.

Because of the fatigue that accompanies whatever I am suffering from I decided to continue on to the north rather than frolicking. So I said goodbye to 290 and hello to US-87. We are actually having fall colors here this year, probably because of the drought that settled upon us. I enjoyed the red and orange leaves the best that I could given that my vision was blurring. Focus, focus, focus. Fall in Texas, if we have some cold with it, is truly my favorite time of the year. The gray skies, winds, and cold just seem to clear out the slime and dirt of the summer. It prepares us for the death that winter will bring. I myself am thankful for the warning.

Besides the pure joy of riding Road King I had an additional self-serving motive for this route. I was hoping that I’d catch my old pal Musty Delgado at his home deep in the woods between Mason and Brady. Maybe he could hook me up with one of the old medicine men that live in the hills and cure me of the life-ending condition that has enveloped me.

I met Musty in drug rehab back in June of 1988. Musty had been a standout college linebacker in the late sixties and could have gone pro. That was not to be his fate however. His senior year, his father dropped dead as a mackerel of a heart attack while plowing behind his mule. The heart-broken mule continued his cultivating, dragging Musty’s Dad around until he had dug four foot deep rows that had been planned for maize and corn. Always the dutiful son Musty quit school and came home to work the farm, keeping it out of the hands of the greedy savings and loan, and comfort his mother, who had already lost three sons in Vietnam.

Having given up money, women and song for his mother and her land, Musty began hitting the hooch a little heavy. Then a lot heavy. When his Mom was shot and killed by a poacher who mistook her for a wild turkey, Musty went over the edge. He began manufacturing, for his use only, and abusing methamphetamine. Out of his mind he was frequently arrested for running too close to populated areas naked.

Musty has always been a big boy and when insane he had the potential to do real damage. He took out a corner of the Mason County Court House with his fists alone and totaled the sheriff’s cruise before he was taken down with a big game tranquilizer gun borrowed from a landowner who was introducing exotic African game to the area.

The town could no longer afford to repair the jail after Musty had been incarcerated and this last time they shipped him to rehab in Austin. They were correct in their assumption that he was an intelligent man with a good heart and would be a valuable asset to the whole county if they could just get him off the speed and booze.

He had been in the program for two months before I entered and he and I hit it off from the start. He was largely responsible for keeping me sober. In the middle of my worse cravings he tried to talk logically to me. When I told him I was going back out to drink, he talked to me more. When I whined and told him I was going to drink he talked to me even more. And then he decked me. He hit me hard enough to knock me out, but not so hard as to break anything or cause any permanent damage. And from that day until today I have never craved alcohol or any drug.

Besides my family, the hope of a good productive life, and a newly rediscovered Higher Power, I had Musty’s ham sized fists as motivators for sobriety.



Intelligent is not the right work for Musty. He is brilliant. He was excelling academically in physics when his father died. I’ve heard him talk about quantum stuff that I sense he’s right about, but makes no sense to me. He is also one of the most spiritual individuals I’ve ever met. He can not only talk about great mystical truths, about the power of love, of the importance of staying present, but he lives the life of a holy man.

Three years ago, after what he said were many years of counseling, consideration and meditating, he had both of his legs amputated just below the knees. He had to go to Mexico to get a Doctor to perform the surgery. He said that his mobility interfered with his ability to live purely and focus on things of the other realms.

I thought it was a pretty fucked up thing to do but when I spoke with him last year he’d never sounded more joyful and serene. He said that he’d converted his farm to hydroponics and with his writings and lectures he was quite comfortable financially. I just admire the shit out of this man.

I had trouble finding the farm since I hadn’t been here in a long time but eventually got there. The winds were howling, the sunshine in which I had started today’s journey were completely gone, replaced with dark rain threatening clouds, and my knuckles had painfully swollen to the point that they were tearing the seams on my leather gloves. This illness seems to be worsening.

But my heart rose when I saw my pal Musty. He was glad to see me too. I still have trouble with him having no legs, but I need to get over it. Doesn’t seem to bother him in the least. He wheeled his chair up to me and as he does he asked me if I was still sober. I said “Yes” and he responded, again as he always does with “Good. I didn’t want to have to kill you.”

We caught up with each other’s lives and then he said, “No offense Snoof, but you really look like shit. Are you dying or something?”

“Maybe”, I said noticing the welts that were appearing on my face, the sharp pain in my left testicle, and the sweat that was falling from me.

I told him about the withdrawals and he said “Well I suppose you’d have killed yourself in the depths of the depressive episodes, so the medications were a good idea at the time. Seeing your evolution I agree that you don’t need them now. But they’re a bitch to come off of. You’ll probably just have to suffer through the withdrawals. I don’t think Ole Willie can help you, but let’s go see him.”

We got in Musty’s hand-controlled pickup and went driving through his back pastures with me jumping out to open and close gates until we came to a cross fence. He stopped the truck and gave me directions on where to walk to get to Ole Willie’s place. “I’ll wait here for you. Willie knows you’re coming and why.”

I took Musty’s word for it. I guess those folks can communicate without words or any kind of physical contact.

Somewhere along the way the fever got too high and I passed out. I was awakened by an ancient fellow who said he was Ole Willie. He helped me up and we walked a quarter of a mile to his place where he dipped me a scoop of cold water from his well. We then climbed the rope ladder to the tree house which was Willie’s residence. Very basic, but a nice place. When he saw how badly I was shivering he threw a couple of logs in the wood burning stove. He also began burning some sage with seemed to help clear my head.

Before I could thank him for the water and for seeing me, much less ask him for help, he said “I wish I could get you well Snoof, but I can’t. The remedies and drugs of your world come with a dual edge. The unexpected consequences sometimes are worse then the ailment. Sometimes you must take the drugs in spite of their harmful, unintended effects for a greater good. In your case, the drug has done its good and you are right to give it up.”

“However, you must suffer longer as it runs its way out of your body. I would help you if I could, but I can only heal and treat maladies that come of nature. Snakebites, poisonings from the woods, cold and hot, scrapes and bruises; these are within my realm. I cannot fix most of that which is caused by man and his ‘science’. Just know that within the next two months you will be through this ordeal.”

Although my body felt no better, I was OK. This wise one had given me some hope as well as some thought for how to work my life from here on.

“You’re welcome” he said before I could thank him.

He led me to Musty and the two had a brief talk without speaking. Musky took me back to RK, where we said our goodbyes. I think I’ll ask him if I could have a weekend of silence and healing out at his place sometime soon. I think it would do me good.

As I headed toward Brady the temperature seemed to drop, my chills got worse and my calves started to cramp. It hurt so bad that I pulled over at a roadside park and vomited. Then it started to rain. I got even colder. I knew that my mind and spirit would make it back to Austin, but could my body? I had to rely on Ole Willie’s words and of course Higher Power.

I crawled on the wet seat with my glasses covered in wet and took off. If today were happening in any situation other than riding RK I would be angry and forlorn. But instead I smiled and trekked the remaining miles into Brady. I gassed up the bike and made it to the restroom where I cleared my bowels with a fantastic burst of diarrhea. I cleaned up the room for the next Joe and burned some incense that I carry with me at all times.

I think that I decided at that point to ride the rest of the way home without stopping though I can’t be sure because I seem to be suffering rapid memory loss.

I must not have ridden all the way home though because I have vague memories of the Llano courthouse and some paramedics trying to hospitalize me. That will never happen unless my roommate is the RK. I think I did stop in Llano though because I must have eaten some jerky. This I know because just west of Burnet I was sneezing jerky out of my nose and I know I hadn’t eaten any at Brady or any time prior.

In Bertram the headaches started and I developed double blurred vision. A nasty combination. Although I love riding RK I have to admit I was looking forward to today’s ride ending. Thank heavens she’s such a smooth ride, otherwise the hemorrhoids that were growing as I rode would have been painful.

I made it into an Austin gas station just as my jaw locked up and the lower back spasms started. The Middle-Eastern gentleman who was attending the store seemed concerned and came out to assist me as I writhed and convulsed around on the oil-stained drive-through. I choose to believe that he did this out of good will toward me rather than worry that he’d get sued if I got run over. Either way, he was very nice and I appreciated his help.

We made it home safely and although I kept fainting I Bug-Slid Harley so she’ll be pretty and ready for our next adventure.

As for me, it’s writing this, a hot bath, some grub, ibuprofen, and bed. Perhaps my healing dog Skyler can do what Ole Willie couldn’t.

Damn. I’m ready for next weekends riding.

[snoof]

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