At least my carpal tunnel is getting better

After almost three weeks at Easton, I’m back on the road again. However, I’m not on the road as originally planned.

The other day, I took a test ride to the local town of Greenwich (that the locals pronounce “GREEN-witch”), not a particularly hilly route, and I did it with no luggage. The round trip is 30km, and by the time I got back, my left knee was sore again. As it seems unlikely that I’m going to manage to peddle this bike to the Poconos, let alone New Brunswick, I abandoned that plan in favour of a less knee-straining public conveyance: the Adirondack Trailways bus. As a result. I’ve got Simon and Garfunkle tunes stuck in my head.

Displays of patriotism are everywhere, some more tasteful than others. Here’s one on highway 40:

Now I am in New York City again, where I will pick up a charter bus to the Poconos tomorrow afternoon. This evening, I went to the National Museum of the American Indian, at the southern end of Manhattan, to hear Martha Redbone sing. The theatre in the museum has terrible acoustics, and I could make out almost none of the lyrics, but it was still pleasant.

This church on highway 40 has the crosses all ready to go. But for what? If only I’d had someone to push the shutter for me as I posed…

The nudist convention in the Poconos starts tomorrow night, and goes for a week. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to stand the company of 800 for a whole week, but as Grant always says, “God hates a coward”.

I’ve enjoyed my stay at Easton, and have decided to go back there after the nudist thing. For one thing, I left my bike and most of my luggage there, but also, I like it there. It’s an interesting dynamic. In the simplest description, the residents can be divided into two groups: “The Party Boys” and “The Church Ladies”. Though I don’t think of myself as wholly either of these, I tend to think that I have a foot in each camp, as I appreciate characteristics of each, in my own peculiarly paradoxical way.

Residents contribute, in exchange for food and shelter, to the maintenance and running of the place, which operates a not-for-profit model retreat business, mostly providing programs of spiritual- and self-development to those to those in the queer communities. Last week, I painted the rear wall of the guest house, and washed a few dishes. Who knows – maybe I’ll come back again next summer.

Here’s the view from Jeff’s pool deck, looking toward Vermont/Massachussets:
Jeff’s View

An interesting side note to this summer so far (interesting to me, though perhaps too much information for some of you) is my newfound chastity. It’s been almost a month with nary an orgasm, which is by far a post-puberty record, and not a blue ball to be seen. Really, it seems inexplicably relaxing, like having a vacation from biology. Or maybe my knee isn’t the only thing suffering the effects of a bicycle. Perhaps there is a life for me in the celibate world of the clergy. Well, except for that little atheism problem.

In the meantime, I wander, and experience the non-carnal. I haven’t managed much writing while at Easton, but that’s mainly because I have been more social and haven’t made time for it. Or maybe an overabundance of under-utilised seminal lubricants somehow inhibits creativity.

Now that I am giving up the bike trip, it seems likely that I will postpone the trip to New Brunswick, perhaps until next summer. Instead, I will probably spend the remainder of my time at Easton before returning to Vancouver in early September, though I may stop off in Chicago on the way to visit a friend, if she’s going to be in town.

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hedley bontano