Gumption Traps

  The sparking blue-green of the Pacific off to my right as I sped southward down Palos Verdes Drive.  Ahead of me I caught glimpses of Catalina Island. Perched on my old Honda the wind whipping my semi-long hair in and out of my eyes. It was one of those glorious southern California days when everything seemed absolutely perfect.
  Of course Murphy's law was about to take effect. With this horrible Pliiing! my bike stuttered then hacked up a hairball of  an obnoxious cloud of of gray-blue oily smelling smoke. Wanna bet I hadn't checked the oil before taking off around PV for a morning ride.You win. I got lazy. It never pays to get lazy when riding a motorcycle. I'm sure Once Known As The Badger would probably say the same about cycling.
  A few months after getting my bike home and replacing a blown set of rings I found a book that after several readings over the decades since has altered my perception of the world I live in. The book was called Zen and the Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M Pirsig. I don't think I noticed this little tagline in small print down near the bottom that said: An Inquiry Into Values. I seldom notice the small print and the book sure as shit had little to do with Motorcycle Maintenance, unlike my Honda manual. I didn't know enough about Zen in those days to realize what I had in my hand was was a book of philosophy. A way life so to speak. In the opening paragraphs Pirsig introduces that theme:

The ideas began with what seemed to be a minor difference of opinion between John and me on a matter of small importance: how much one should maintain one’s own motorcycle. It seems natural and normal to me to make use of the small tool kits and instruction booklets supplied with each machine, and keep it tuned and adjusted myself. John demurs. He prefers to let a competent mechanic take care of these things so that they are done right. Neither viewpoint is unusual, and this minor difference would never have become magnified if we didn’t spend so much time riding together and sitting in country roadhouses drinking beer and talking about whatever comes to mind.

On first reading, for me it was nice little travelogue about four people out on the open road. On second reading maybe a decade later a bit more background sunk in as the author describes the protagonists brush with madness as he explores the definition of quality and his tenuous return from that brink. Finally I realized the book was about mindfulness. A walking meditation if you will. About turning one's attention to what is next to be done. Mind focused, senses alert to the problem, alert to the ramifications the problems present. Well I guess, what I'm trying to say was that Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance was very much like that Honda owner's manual after all. It may not have had anything to do with a specific problem I was having with my bike but, it gave me a toolbox for use in many of the situations I would face throughout my life.
"Excuse me Tag, I feel like a child who walks into a middle of a movie and wants to know... ""What the fuck are you blathering about".
   I'm talking about gumption traps here. This book was the first in my recollection to introduce me to the concept of a gumption trap. A gumption trap is that loss of enthusiasm or gumption (a good Scots word) meaning a sense of initiative that many of us begin the new year with but soon it gets lost along the way. We become ensnared by a gumption trap.  For example, my committment to do a half marathon now only 18 months away, has become mired in the excuses of weather and arthritis and you get the picture. I surround myself with gumption traps to avoid what I don't want to do anyway.  It appears that these cyclists such as cat-i and I suspect badger and Limes have had their own gumption traps they have learned to deal with as they focus on the problems in front of them.
   This was meant to be a post about Bladder Cancer. I will find out in a few days whether or not I can say I'm cancer free for 18 months.  If so then I will be euphoric for a week or so though knowing that eventually, be it 5 years or thirty years I will either succumb to the cancer or get hit by a bus on my way to the market. Well sometimes you eat the bar sometimes the bar eats you, fucking nihilists. Wal, I seem to have lost my train of thought once again so I guess I'll jes' be moseyin' down the road a piece. Take 'er easy.