Friday, October 27

Edelweiss Bike Travel, dying and daylight saving time

It’s bad enough that I begin work and return in the dark. October 29th, at 2:00 a.m., we’ll “fall back” and end daylight saving time. That’s cruel! I already feel the doldrums taking hold… I look up doldrums to see if it really captures my pitiful mood. Doldrums... Merriam-Webster Online says..."Etymology: probably akin to Old English dol foolish

1 a spell of listlessness or despondency
2 often capitalized : a part of the ocean near the equator abounding in calms, squalls, and light shifting winds
3 a state or period of inactivity, stagnation, or slump."

One and three about does it for me! Topping it of, I'm battling a potentially lethal case of…

wanderlust. It’s painful and utterly self-absorbing, I know. Again, Merriam-Webster, “a strong longing for or impulse toward wandering. Etymology is German, from wandern to wander + Lust desire, pleasure." I got it BAD! (forgive the grammar)

Edelweiss Bike Travel. The big, boldly colorful 2007 “brochure” arrived—it transcends brochure status and is more of a travelogue of world adventures. It is more seductive than the company's website, which convinced me to send for the "brochure" in the first place. Now I'm wallowing in seasonally induced misery!

Edelweiss Bike Travel bills itself as “The World’s Leading Company in Guided Motorcycle Tours.” I don't even like group rides, which interfer with my hermetic disposition! Nonetheless, the sage folks at Edelweiss reel me in like a wet sock! I am there! I am on one of their tours, having a blast, acting like I like the other people on the trip too. Then it crosses my mind that the only people in pages of the tour "brochure" who look anything like me are the poorly dressed "natives" in Africa. Hmmm...

I finish reading the narratives by detesting the motorcycle tourists for smiling back at me, saying na na na na-nah, rubbing it in that they have enjoyed an amazing adventure. They appear to be adding an exclamation point to my recent visit to the Museum of Natural History (down the street from me) that it is about as close as I’m ever going to get to visiting any place the brochure beckons the reader. Still, it’s a mesmerizing—albeit excruciating—way to dream, that is, if you can resist sinking into self-pity and masochistic thoughts of how you’ve clearly gone into the wrong profession and seriously need to make a quick couple of mil to make this mood go away.