A Mile High on Life

Achewa -- Sitting here at my laptop, at the big, smooth wood-slat table that Michael made by hand, on Buffalo Trail way high up on the ridge in Somers, Montana, gazing out across Flathead Lake to the Swann and Mission mountains, and life is good. I hate to brag (yeah, right! I hear a chorus shouting), and I'm sorry if this makes anyone else feel bad about themselves and wish they were here too (laughing heartlessly), but I simply can't contain my joy and just plain happiness every time I look out the window onto this amazing vista.

I dont know why it is, I honestly don't have a clue where this came from, but I feel so peaceful and calm and RIGHT when I am here -- I feel creative and energized and every moment, no matter what I am doing, I actually live in the now, which is normally very hard for me. This place is totally Power of Now!

I just got back from running, and it was a little scary because I saw a big horned animal of some sort dash up a hillside in the woods as I approached. Was it running from me? or from the mountain lions Jane saw in her yard twice last week? I had a can of bear spray with me, but everyone knows mountain lions stalk their prey -- from behind -- and they enjoy it! At that point I decided to turn around and go back the way I came, where other houses were, and hopefully people. I'd forgotten my cell phone and had visions of being found by someone in a pickup truck hours from now, a bloody carcass by the side of the rutted dirt road. Yes, roll your eyes and call me a drama queen if you must, but mountain lions are no joke!

The photos are of the Going to the Sun Road, an incredible ride that snakes up 35 miles to Logan Pass at the top of Glacier, and is only open in the summer because of high winds, falling boulders and avalanches. Lucky for me -- lots of lucky things seem to happen here -- they opened it up last Saturday because the weather was so beautiful. It has been sunny, clear and warm all week -- really unusual and everyone here is thrilled about it.

I now have to finish a couple of scenes in the novel before my workshop starts tomorrow. Liza is scheming her next rendezvous with Henry, and Brian is preparing for a difficult meeting with the lawyers who are handling his case against the priest who abused him. They're all rattling around noisily in my head. Henry is actually starting to stamp his feet -- he can't wait to get his hands on Liza again. Brian is so nervous he's making me sick to my stomach, so I'm gonna do exactly what Hannah R. Goodman says: just vomit it up, get it all out, and worry about the mess on the page later. (See Hannah, I do listen!)

Then I'm headed to the last farmers market of the season in Whitefish, which has live music and is more like a street festival. Joanie, Jane, Alice and I are getting things for a dinner Jane and Alice are throwing here tomorrow night for various friends, environmentalists, conservationists and a few musicians, including Jack Gladstone -- check him out at http://www.jackgladstone.com/. He's Blackfeet Indian and I watched him record his new CD yesterday, The Heart of Montana -- at a studio here in Somers, which was really fun. The national Christmas tree is from Montana this year, and Jack is performing at the lighting in DC in early December. Of course we're gonna have a party for him, so stay tuned!

Nine Miles and OCMS

Just finished our last training run for the Army 10-Miler -- Ginny, Andrew, Elizabeth and I -- nine miles on a crisp, cool, perfect fall morning. And we all felt great! Finished in about 1:40, or 11-minute miles, which is ok because you're supposed to do the training runs up to two minutes slower than your race pace. I'd like to do the race in under 1:40, since my best previous time is 1:41:something, but you never know. Last week I felt lousy during the entire run, today was a piece o' cake. It's always a crapshoot. Last year it was unseasonably HOT the day of the race.

If we have good weather and if I feel good that day, I just might meet my goal. But the big news today is we're DONE -- one more track day left but all the long runs finished. And tonight we're going to see Old Crow Medicine Show at the 9:30 Club: rock me mama like a wagon wheel -- yeehah! I'm not driving, and I'm not getting up early in the morning for any damn long run. No sir, we are done!

And -- as the icing on the cake -- I leave at dawn on Friday for the last best place again. Gonna learn about screenwriting at my workshop; run alongside the rushing river in Big Fork; listen to Jane's friend play guitar at the Whitefish Boat Club; ride at the Bar W; and dance with the wranglers at the Blue Moon -- someone pinch me, I must be dreaming! :)

Not a Bad Way to Go

My across-the-street neighbor Duncan MacLeod died last Sunday. He was 83, a quirky, funny, friendly and sometimes grumpy old Scotsman, a former CIA covert agent and WWII veteran who earned a purple heart and a bronze star at a battle on the Anzio beachhead in Italy.

He'd had a debilitating illness a few years ago and worked really hard to come back from being almost bedridden. He faithfully did his physical therapy, walked and puttered around in his yard -- which he was passionately devoted to -- and eventually worked his way up to riding a bike down on the W & OD Trail at the foot of our street. I used to get a kick out of seeing him go off each morning. He seemed much older and more frail but just as happy as could be, riding along on his big, blue old-fashioned bike. It was one of those ones with the thick tires and wide brown leather seat. He sat completely upright, which I'm sure was easier on his back, and wore his helmet -- most of the time.

But he never carried any ID or a cell phone, and last Friday he apparently had a massive heart attack while riding. It was a beautiful day, cool and clear with perfect blue skies. Our friend Tom Carter was riding his bike to work and saw the police gathered near Bluemont Park, and more officers searching further along on the side of the trail. Even though he'd be late for a meeting, he turned around to see what had happened. I'd seen Tom earlier that morning when we were all out doing our usual Friday run. After a while you get to know many of the people who use the trail on a regular basis, so he stopped to see if anyone he knew was hurt.

The police couldn't identify Duncan, so Tom called me. I went across the street and asked his wife of 58 years, Marcy, if he was home. She cheerfully reported that he was still out on his daily ride. The police came to talk to her, and took her to the hospital where Duncan had unfortunately been put on a ventilator because they didn't know he had a "do not rescuscitate" order. The only good thing about that was it gave his three daughters time to get here from Boston, Connecticut and London. They gathered at the hospital with all their kids and quietly let him go.

Duncan's daughter Wendy MacLeod is a well-known playwright, and playwright-in-residence at Kenyon College in Ohio. She wrote The House of Yes, which was made into a great movie starring Parker Posy that won an award at Sundance. She is an amazing writer, and gave the most wonderful eulogy at Duncan's service. She said that during the past several years, he would occasionally report on an old friend who had died and would say, "He dropped dead of a heart attack -- lucky bastard!"

As our good Samaritan Tom commented later, "Duncan had a great life, and he died at 83 doing something he loved on a beautiful fall morning. There are a lot worse ways to go."

Completely unrelated sidenote: During his last week of life, Duncan had the pleasure of seeing our big silver maple tree covered in a festive display of toilet paper each day as he went about his business. The deed was done over Labor Day weekend while we were out of town. The culprits: young boys on bikes who also drew giant whimsical pictures of penises in the street and on my driveway with shaving cream. According to my next-door neighbor Steve, they set off firecrackers and shouted "I love you!" at the house as they rode off into the night, full of piss and vinegar no doubt, as we used to say in Rhode Island.

One can only assume these sweet declarations were directed at our darling Maddie. Eric, my other across-the-street neighbor who lives next to Duncan, kindly sent me the photo for posterity, and we all had a good laugh about the curious thinking processes of 15-year-old boys -- truly a wonder and a mystery.

Evelyn's ATV Adventure

So yesterday, as I was trying to decide on a theme for my usual melancholy Summer's End post, I got this great email from Evelyn, A-#1 designer, running partner and partner in several misdemeanor capers as well over the years.

I saw the bruises myself this morning, and that girl is lucky she lived to tell the tale, and to run again! We both agreed that getting injured and not being able to run or exercise any more would be a fate almost worse than anything in terms of the quality -- and energy -- of our lives...Here's her story...

Evelyn: I'm doing well, although a little banged up. My fun-loving wacky brother invited us up to his in-law's cabin this past weekend right outside of Berkeley Springs. He was excited to introduce us to the wonderful world of ATV's-having just bought two himself. Since we all went dune buggy riding out in Oregon and thought it was a total blast, I figured this could be cool. And it was, to a certain extent, except for the fact that it is totally FÖÖKIN INSANE! The course was more suited towards say a professional motor cross'r than little 'ol minivan drivin' 'round Arlington Ev and was only one way - no turning back: this should have been a warning sign.

Anywho I'm driving along pretty well, anxiously anticipating the end of this thoroughly enjoyable, bone-jarring, back twisting funfest, when I came upon a deep gully that boggles my novice ATV navigational skills. Going right could potentially mean driving myself right off the side of the mountain ala Thelma and Louise. But remember how the ending didn't show the final hideous conclusion that would have rendered our two heroines into an unrecognizable blend of human and t-bird parts? Instead it conveniently ended freeze frame, car at its apex, occupants off into the great blue, unscathed, free of torment and indecision. I, on the other hand, was not so lucky...my ending would include those missing ingredients...gravity and impact. So I prudently choose the left –

Wrong.

I wind up driving into the chasm, coming to an abrupt stop, falling off...slowly… as the ATV falls with me, resting on my left knee that couldn't move out of the way because my goddamn foot was pinned under the tire tread -- budding triathlon career flashing quickly before my eyes! Luckily, said wacky brother (and this is the sane one) was right behind and quickly removed the offending vehicle. Afterwards he was like "Hey you want to go again?"

NOT!

I went back to the cabin, opened the appropriate alcoholic beverage(s), got on my bathing suit and went tubing down the creek for the rest of the afternoon, happy in the knowledge that once again I've emerged intact from yet another familial bonding adventure.

Karen: Thanks, Ev -- great tale, well told! And most importantly, a happy and injury-free ending. I would be SO bummed if you weren't there on the trail this morning at 5:30 a.m., and all other future mornings as we head toward the dark, cold days of winter, to help me discuss and deliberate and make sense of another season, another election, another job, another year...so let's stick to run/bike/swim Evil Knieval stunts from now on, OK?!