The license plate holder read: "I love Jesus." It was attached to a car that blasted off the line at a stop light, forced its way in front of a fellow driver, turned right and nearly forced another car up the curb. Amid horns and single-digit salutes, he sped off.
As a wise woman -- my wife -- once said: "Don't put that kind of message on your bumper unless you're going to clean up your act."
When I'm in the wilderness in August, road rage will take a back seat.
So will telemarketers, unless they get the number to my satellite phone.
A few other things I won't miss:
--The solicitors at the front door.
--The kids playing guitars and drums in my garage.
--The dog that yaps in my neighbor's yard at 4:15 a.m.
--The inane comedy, singing and dancing competitions on television.
--The 81-degree warmth in my house because I can't afford PG&E's rates anymore.
--The daily office grind.
--That ubiquitous haze that everyone down here breathes.
You get the picture. I just want you to know backpacking is more than a list of things I need to get done and worry about.
It is so much more. Think about it for a moment. You pick out the unbelievable views of canyons, glacial tarns and granite spires where you're going to spend just one night. Then you get a whole new gorgeous place to stay the next night.
Along the way, you can see how nature has shaped a primitive landscape and witness the struggle for life -- from the gnarled white bark pine tree clinging to a ridgeline to insects swarming for a meal that will let them live a few hours more.
Yes, it is inconvenient, exhausting and even sometimes a little lonely. It is also magnificent in ways that you can hardly comprehend when you're living in your every-day world.
No doubt I will love to get back to my wife, my children, indoor plumbing, hot showers and real food. But I won't look forward to my first drive back into work. And I will look forward to my next adventure in the back country.
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