Warning: This post contains yet more navel gazing. Not suggested for people born between October 27, 1986 and October 29, 1986.

With a strong impulse of Needing To Fucking Go Somewhere after a bit of unpleasant news Sunday night, I almost bought a one-way ticket to Iceland on Monday morning but after a few hours settled for a loop through Oregon with a visit to Sisters, Oregon. Sisters has been on my mind for years as a possible re-location spot as it has excellent skiing in winter, is close to multiple mountains, has gravel and mountain biking, world class rock climbing, and many people would be significantly closer for a visit.

There are many memories of this area that are no longer fondly remembered thanks to the breakup, so I also wanted a chance to make fresh, hopefully fun, memories. This partly happened. I definitely had fun: with friends, while descending McKenzie pass on my bike, and just taking deep breaths and admiring the views. This is a lovely area. I have really good friends. I had great conversations. There was much to discuss and I learned things I never expected. Reconnecting with people was delightful. 5 stars.

And yet, the trip felt like a bit of a bust as nothing in my life became clearer, in fact things got a bit more muddled. While biking up McKenzie Highway twice (the road is still closed to traffic) did remind me of why I love that route, Sisters is not my place.

The traffic in and around town is exceptionally bad: large SUVs, wide pickup trucks with huge mirrors, and RVs that are the length of a semi with a car towed behind them. I started a road ride that was not on McKenzie Pass one morning and turned around. I felt completely vulnerable with a 2 foot shoulder containing debris and cars going past me at 60+mph. This brings it to a clear point: the bike lane actually disappears in the center of town, when it is probably most necessary. And even the nearby gravel roads and more remote paved roads felt busy with traffic.

Maybe it is the knowledge of the multiple bicycle fatalities in Boulder in the last two years, but it always feels like a when and not an if for getting hit. I am a risk taker, but I do not want a guaranteed way to die. That’s dumb. Getting murdered by an idiot driving too fast with their cell phone in their hand is a shit way to die. And the traffic I saw in Sisters was during the middle of the week before summer has even started. Bleargh. No wonder the majority of bikes in the local bike shop were mountain bikes. All of this makes me miss the road and gravel riding in Boulder, honestly.

Also, I still feel weird traveling by myself. My brain continues to expect someone to be there holding my hand and chatting with me about what we’re seeing. I do not enjoy the sense of missing an important part of yourself everywhere you go. No way to solve that but more time, but it does lessen the experience of traveling.

Did find a bookstore that I am mildly in love with. And the Sisters Coffee shop was solid for working two of the mornings, if a bit warm with the heat and no cooling. The people were quite friendly and the local athletic club has a three-lane lap pool that is salt water – dreamy. Did run into two MAGA idiots who were disparaging Portland and how the liberals ruined it. Icky poo-poo heads.

With all the driving, I ended up spending quite a bit of time in my head too…just processing so many thoughts. Many of my one-on-one conversations during this trip were deeply personal. People who are new, people who I have known for decades, old friends found again. And there was much ground covered. The country, parents, relationships, kids, mental health, and how going to the gym is more important than ever.

At the core of my thoughts, I am still wondering: How did I mess up so badly? Did I actually mess up badly? What are the crucial components of not messing up badly? Can one badly mess up messing up badly? Shit. Too meta. Pull back, Paul, pull back!!

Way back in March, when I met Amelia for coffee in Boise on my way to the PNW, I predicted Tina would start dating Lesley in the next couple months — funny how it happened immediately after she returned from Mallorca with weekend after weekend of fun photos of them together.

I also exclaimed to Amelia during that exchange: “I’m fun! When did I stop being fun?!” which earned me a hearty laugh from her. During this Oregon trip another friend pointed out that she had forgotten how much I just think about everything. Under normal conditions, I have around 4 trains of thoughts puttering around my head with sporadic stops where I consciously realize what my mind is working on. My friend's observation made me realize that, for the past couple years, I had rarely entertained more than a single train of thought—and it usually was a boring monorail always focused on cycling.

That epiphany has stayed with me: I had become boring in Boulder. No real adventures, few moments of zany fun, no longer exploring, and a drought of great stories. That’s pretty darn sad.

So. You cannot think yourself out of needing to take time and be patient with the process of healing, but you can try and figure out what your mistakes were and how not to repeat them. Mistakes in relationships (both friend and romantic), mistakes in living, mistakes in goals. Much to think on.