I'm an escapist.
For 28 years I served as a mercenary for the Poudre Fire Authority. I received good wages to battle occasional blazes and deal with medical emergencies that would make normal citizens cast their eyes skyward to an imaginary Goodyear Blimp. It was a career that suited the aggressive side of me. That's my fight instinct.
(Read all about it in my book Destroying Demons on the Diagonal)
When a situation or a relationship begins to be bothersome, I take to the hills. Literally. That's my flight instinct kicking in. Maybe that's why I wander so much.
So when Dr. Lonny informed me my Prostate Specific Antigen test came in high, I went into flight mode. (After making an appointment to see a urologist on June 14th.)
I sought succor in four reliable pastimes: baseball, buddies, brews and views. I've been on the road since May 26th.
Here's a few of the venues I gave flight to:
Paid homage to 14 Fallen Firefighters.
Took in five games of Junior College World Series Baseball in Grand Junction. It's always a pleasure to visit Jack, Judy and John T too.
Another visit to Great Sand Dunes National Park. I'll never tire of the sensual subtle curves of those high dunes. (Forgive me. It's been awhile since I had a GF) Its amazing what Mother Nature can do with sand, wind and water in the right setting.
Lastly, I was ambushed by a rock on my descent off of West Spanish Peak. Outcome: A visit to the ER and four stitches. (If you want to see the gore, look it up on Facebook.) Steven Spielberg is thinking about making my self rescue into an action adventure film starring George Clooney as the Jewish blogger.
Alas, you can run but you can't hide. Occasionally I'd give thought to my upcoming Doctor's appointment. The other night I woke from an awful dream. My heart was pounding as if I was trying to keep pace with the Kenyans sprinting the NYC Marathon.
The nightmare went like this. I was at the urologist's office. The Doctor, who had the bedside manner of Josef Mengele, told me too bluntly that I had prostate cancer. He then laughed.
If the urologist looks like the sicko in my nightmare, I'll tell him what I think of the Aryan Race and the Final Solution. Then I'll leave. That'll teach him to mess up my night's rest.
I'm hoping this dream doesn't come true.
Wish me luck,