Regardless the justifications for killing your enemy, regardless how vile and debase we may think or even witness our enemy to be, killing the enemy should never be ‘relished’ by the soldier. As dignified, honorable people, we should NOT want to kill, but the reality of living in this world is that at times, war is necessary. But it is NOT an excuse to lower our ethos to the practice of urinating on the dead. War is not the time to let lose our hold of honor and dignity, to the contrary it is THE time we should grab hold with both hands and never let go.

Big breath, exhale. We’re not going there.

We know we should do something but sometimes we just don’t have the energy to face it and deal with it so we go on with our lives. Somehow, someway, through time or distance we hope to escape the issue or hope the fear fades away and we move on but the reality is, we can’t move on or at best, we limp onward.  For some of us, we have to deal with these issues and resolve things in order to move (dare I say, run?) fully into the plans God has for us. One has to ask, if they care anything about themselves, what am I missing out on with God by continually avoiding this area in my life?

You know as well as I do, avoiding, hiding or running away isn’t healthy.  We HAVE to face these things and to be quite honest, that sucks. Just being honest. But here’s the kicker, God knows it does. He knows it’s not fun and that’s why He is already there.

“What?  What do you mean, ‘He’s already there’”?

God is already there, in the midst of your issue/fear/concern and He’s waiting for you.

You see, you don’t have to and won’t deal with it alone.

It’s like this.  Let’s say that your issue/fear/concern or whatever it is you’ve been avoiding all these years, is driving a car.   The car itself is your ‘thorn’.  Here’s what I mean by, “He’s already there.” You ready?

He’s IN THE CAR waiting for you! He’s NOT behind the wheel, that’s your job but He is waiting for you to show up, open the door, get in, turn the key and start driving. You will not be alone in the car, He’s right there beside you!

He’s in the midst of your financial mess, your chronic health crisis, your relationships with your husband, daughter, son, parent, boss, whoever, whatever your ‘thorn’ is.

He’s there and waiting patiently for you to show up.  That’s your job in all of this, to show up.

” Haven’t I commanded you? Strength! Courage! Don’t be timid; don’t get discouraged. God, your God, is with you every step you take.” -Joshua 1:9 The Message.

I want to encourage you to be strong, have courage and show up, because He’s waiting.

Before

After

I rode the bike I have ridden for the past two years, my Jamis Satellite.  Loved it from day one and I still love it, especially the “granny gear”. That came in handy this year, something the Miyata does not have which is another reason why I did not ride it. After getting everything together and preparing for the ride Saturday afternoon, I sat outside with my family around a campfire that evening and had a couple glasses of wine, good conversation, laughter and giggles and Bogie, my dog was lying at my feet; one of my favorite ways to spend time with my family. When it came time to turn in for the evening, I wasn’t able to sleep. When I finally did succumb to slumber the clock read, 2:34 A.M. My alarm was set to go off around 5:20 and my last thought was, “How am I gonna ride 45 miles on 3 hours of sleep?”

I hit the snooze button a few times then crawled out of bed, got dressed and took off for Dripping Springs. I rode up to the back of the start line then began snaking my way through and tried to get in with John, my friend who was up by the start line where the stage is but the crowd was thick. 3,100 strong and once they announced that Patrick Dempsey was there, the surge of predominantly female riders towards the stage completely denied any attempt to meet up with my friend.

Whatever.....I just don't see it.

John, who is responsible for getting me into road biking, is a much stronger rider than I. He’s always encouraged me to ride with him but being the realist I am (much nicer way of saying “pessimist” isn’t it?) I knew that if we did ride together, I would only be able to hang with him for the first mile. So it wasn’t too terrible a disappointment when we didn’t meet up.

At 8:13 they sent us off. John, not being shackled by the ball and chain, me. Shot off like a rocket. I on the other hand, got caught in the throng of aluminum and carbon bikes, wheels and spandex, of which some were obviously out to prove the maximum stress load of said material, me being one of them. I didn’t get started on the course until 8:30. It is an overcast morning and it’s cool. Everyone is happy, laughing and riding. By the time I hit the first rest stop, 5 miles in, John had already conquered 16 out of his planned 90. 90 miles…sheesh, I wince at driving 90 miles. The route I rode this year is the exact same as the past two years.  It’s 45 miles in length and I know it by heart. As I always do, I plan to stop at all the rest stops or “Power Stops” as they call them. I also plan to take it easy this year and have already predetermined to walk a few of the hills that are leg and lung busters. I don’t want to “bonk” during the ride and have to get a lift.

My route is the Blue line. John's is the black.

I ride alone at this event and that’s both good and bad. I think, pray,  laugh, and cry, as well as curse and always at some point in the ride, panic. I use the time alone to think about friends and family who have been affected by cancer. I pray for them. I pray that God would heal them or comfort them and their family. I laugh at funny memories. I cry for them and mourn over the loss. I curse the disease and its effects and I panic when thinking about friendships I’ve let slide and consider the “what if” and ask myself if I have been a good friend to them. These are the things that occupy my mind when I ride alone. Don’t know if one outweighs the other, good or bad but it is quite an emotional roller coaster. Just like the route through the hill country.

I’m not saying that these are the only things I wrap my mind and heart around when riding. I don’t want to come off  as a bleeding heart-Mother-Theresa-selflessly compassionate for all of humanity type of guy, I wish I was but I’m not. I am selfish and human just like everyone else and I have other thoughts too. For instance, “Why didn’t I choose the 20 mile or even the 10 mile route this year?…45 miles….good grief…and on three hours of sleep no less!” I cry for myself too.  I cry cause my butt hurts from the stupid tiny, little freakin’ seat I sit on for five to six hours. My hands go completely numb, that sucks when trying to brake. I cry cause the back of my neck gets scorched by the sun and of course, my favorite, when my legs completely lock up and can’t move which causes me to fall over on the bike and wait till they relax enough to unclip my feet from the pedals. I curse my lack of training (which is never enough) and then I usually have a severe panic attack when I realize the next port-a-potty is nine miles away…uphill.

So you see, it’s actually a double whammy. It’s an emotional roller coaster and physically, it’s as close to hell as I ever want to get. The only thing keeping it from being a trifecta, is the lack of a  spiritual crisis but thank God for His unrelenting and obsessive love for me. That doesn’t happen on this ride.

I felt good though, even with the lack of training. A little tired of course but the overcast weather early in the ride was welcomed and helped. I love doing this ride actually. I know it doesn’t sound like but I do. It hurts like hell but I love it. I like seeing all the Yankees stop and gawk at the Longhorns. There is a ranch the route passes by that has a bunch of Longhorns. One in particular, I kid you not, was posing for the cameras. Tons of people were stopping and taking pictures of him.  He was beautiful. He was hanging his head over the fence turning it to the left and would pause for the flashes then turn to the right and pause again.  It was hilarious.

As the ride continued, I realized that I was getting slower and slower.  At each rest stop you have a ton of food like bananas, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, trail mix and other assorted goodies. Great stuff for energy and it keeps you going and I was availing myself to such generosity  but regardless, I was dropping down into the “granny gear” quicker and quicker when hitting the climbs and staying in it longer than I would like. No shocker really, again, the blame was the lack of training. I am comfortable on the bike when my cadence is around 75 to 80 revolutions per minute and unfortunately, maintaining that cadence when in the granny gear, moves me along at roughly 5 mph.  This does not bode well for me when I have 45 miles sitting on the table.  Everyone was passing me on the climbs. Everyone was asking if I was alright or if I needed water or help of some sort  or they thought I had a mechanical problem and would slow down and ask. Even the Longhorns looked with a concerned eye in my direction.

See the concerned look in his eye?

A friend commented that I should have shaved the “bad boy” goatee in an effort to reduce drag.

No one liked it but I kinda see his point.

But speed was not a concern or a desire on this ride, just finishing it was but a funny thing I discovered. I do go really fast…downhill. Everyone would pass me on the climbs but I would pass everybody on the descents, even without pedaling one stroke. Now, one would think when you have the girth of a Volvo it would translate into having a coefficient drag of something like the LBJ Library, thus reducing your speed but no, oh no, not me. Now I’m sure there is a physics, trig/algebraic or Mesopotamian-thingy type of equation out there involving mass, gravity, acceleration, stupidity and the density of pudding that would explain why I am fast but I don’t know what it is. What I can tell you is that reaching nearly 40 mph going downhill on a bad road  with barbed wire on both sides on skinny little tires is NOT, I repeat, NOT the time to find out you have a “shimmy” in your front wheel! I looked down and saw my wheel going on one direction and my hands that I couldn’t feel going in another. Now I’ll admit, it’s been a while since I have been so scared that its induced a case of rectal palsy but the banana, PB&J and trail mix I just ate at the last stop were rapidly making their way out the basement. Apparently they didn’t want to be on board for was about to happen.

So, why do I do this? Why put myself through the emotional roller coaster you might ask and the physical hell? Well, just as always when I ride, I remember, my friends and family didn’t sign up for cancer. They didn’t choose it. When filling out the registration form under “Options” when you enter this world, you check the boxes of  Laughter, Happiness, Education, Marriage but no one checks the little box next to cancer.

Cancer is no respecter of persons. It has no regard for age, sex, race, occupation, ethics, beliefs, social, moral or economic standing. It doesn’t care if you’re fat, skinny, tall or short. Could care less if you are smart, stupid, smoke, don’t smoke, hairy, bald, drink, or don’t drink. Doesn’t give a flip if you eat right, eat trashy, or if you are a poet, a scientist an artist or a mechanic; a lover, fighter, strong or weak, loud, quiet, outgoing, or a wall flower. Has no concern if you are athletically inclined or a couch potato, a peace lover or war monger. It’s an equal opportunity disease and it sucks.

Each year, I write the names of family and friends who have lost the battle or are in the midst of the battle or have survived the battle over cancer on my race bib and unfortunately this year saw a few more names get added. I lost one this year; diagnosed in March and passed away in May. She was a friend of seven years and coworker. She was someone I saw every day. Someone I laughed with, shamefully gossiped with and joked with and we encouraged one another. She always laughed at my stupid dorky jokes. She always asked about  my wife and family and was genuinely interested and very happy that I am happy. I will and do miss her. Another, a mentor during my youth is in the midst of his battle (treatments) and yet another, who is a mighty woman of God has been victorious in her battle. Praise God! Not to mention my own sister who recently had a scare and just found out all is good! No cancer!

I do this ride to remind me that this life is not about me.  It’s about others.  I do this so I can identify with those who have been or are effected by cancer. Rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn the bible says (Romans 12:15). In other words, get into their lives, their world. Identify with them.

The ups and downs of the course are much like the ups and downs of treatment. Some hills are a piece of cake, others might as well be Mt. Everest and my personal nemesis, head winds just flat out suck. Some days treatments are easy-peasy yet other days it’s hard as hell with the nausea and vomiting and everything else your body does in revulsion to the chemo or radiation. Not to mention the effect it has on your family. The strategy I plan out for my ride is much like the strategy the Dr. plans out for treatment in that the goal of both is getting through this trial. Knowing when to push hard and when to hold off. The title of this event is called the LiveSTRONG Challenge and it takes someone who can and does, LiveSTRONG to make it through the Challenge of both the ride and cancer. There are a myriad of other analogies I can make about the struggles of the ride and how it relates to dealing with cancer but the most important part about the correlation between the Challenge and battling cancer is the SUPPORT one receives during such times, especially the support of  those living with cancer.

Read that again please.

The support one receives is paramount to the success of the challenge. In this ride, the riders have the support of event coordinators, volunteers, friends and family. Even those not associated with the event like the ranch owners along the route were very supportive.  They decorated their fences and gates, some even offered their own drinks and cold towels to the riders. Played music and rang cow bells and whooped and hollered and shouted encouraging words. The “Power Stops” were magnificent. As mentioned before, bananas, PB&J sandwiches, Gatorade, water, fruit slices, trail mix and other goodies were offered. Medical needs for your body could be met at each stop as well as mechanical needs for your bike. Even while on the road between the stops, they had men and women riding with us who were medics and mechanics carrying all manner of necessities. It is a fantastically run event and the support we receive is above and beyond and the support we give to those who are living with cancer should be no less!

Support in the form of loving and encouraging words, prayer, rejoicing in the good times and mourn with them in the mournful times. Take care of them and their family. Cook for them, mow their lawn. Run errands. Clean their house. Or simply sit at their side. As I have parroted before the words of the pastor of my youth. For love to be love it must be practical and observable. These are things you and I can personally do for those that we love that find themselves stricken with this disease. But what of those we don’t know?  Do they deserve any less effort from you and I?  How can you or I show our support and actually do something about it?

Well, this is why I ride.  To raise money for those that I don’t know. I choose the LiveSTRONG Foundation because, well, I like bikes and I like riding them.  Obviously not very well at times but I like it. I want to encourage you to find your way to support those living with cancer. Through your church, or school or a foundation, there are a lot out there.

Hopefully you have laughed, giggled or even gave a slight groan while reading this but make no mistake. The point of this is to move you enough to DO SOMETHING. I would love to see all of you who read this participate next year. I know riding is not for everyone but they do have the 5K walk/Run as well and of course, you can participate by giving a donation.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to read this.

I love you all,

Eric

P.S. It’s amazing how strong the sphincter muscle is. Crisis averted, no carnage to bike or body to report

They are very encouraging to listen to and really do help keep me and my thoughts centered on Christ and what we (Christians) are really supposed to be about…LOVE. One of the ways they do this is something they have started called, “Make a Difference Monday” and this has reminded me of my pastor in my youth who taught a series of sermons on what love is and it boils down to this.  For love to be love it must be practical and observable.  And this is what Make a Difference Monday is all about. This is a very simple and practical way to love someone.

My daily routine is waking up (Thank you Lord) getting ready for work and driving straight to Starbucks. As usual I am listening to KLOVE on this one particular Monday morning and of course they are encouraging their listeners to Make a Difference today in some small way in order to express the love of Christ because let’s face it, the one simple little act of love that you do today may be the only way that person sees the love of Christ in their life.  Sobering thought don’t you think?

So I saunter in as usual, “Good morning Eric” I hear from behind the counter. “Good morning Michelle”, I reply as I stop to read the front page of the New York Times. A few of the regulars are there already: Earl and Greg, two retired men that sit and flirt with all the young women that come and go and get into heated discussions about History that only they know about. The quiet Arthur Fonzerelli wanna-be with the pompadour hair, long sideburns and the black motorcycle boots, jeans and white tee shirt sitting in the corner. If only he realized he was closer to Earl and Greg’s age, he wouldn’t look so out of place.

I place the NYT back in the stand and approach the counter as another regular, a city police officer, does the same. “Grande bold with room.” Michelle states more than asking a question. I nod in agreement and then point to the police officer next to me and say, “And whatever this gentleman wants.”

The puzzled look on his face was funny. Michelle blurts out, “Oh, how nice.” She smiled really big as did the other girls behind the counter who heard. Three smiles. The officer, realizing I was serious, stepped up and placed his order, “Grande Pike, please” Looked at me, stuck his hand out and said, “Thank you very much sir” and smiled. Four. I shook his hand and offered a prayer (unbeknownst to him), “Just a way to say thanks for your service to the community and may God protect you as you serve today.”

I paid for the coffees, $2.00 each. He went over to talk to Greg and Earl. Told them what just happened and they made some comment about waiting outside until I come in tomorrow then laughed and nodded their heads in my direction and smiled. Six smiles. As I walked towards the door, I glanced over and caught The Fonz giving me a ‘thumbs up’ and a smile. Seven.

I sat in my car and thought how easy that was and how amazing that a simple $2.00 cup of coffee on an early Monday morning produced 8 smiles, the last being my own.

I want to encourage you to do the same. The same being, Make a Difference. It can be something as little and easy as a cup of coffee or whatever pops into your head or whatever God places in your spirit and nudges you to do, I encourage you to do it.  The joy you receive from seeing another person blessed is better than winning the lottery or receiving a gift yourself. I promise. Nothing in life compares to living out the life Christ intended for you and I to live.

Thank you KLOVE.

(Sniff…sniff)…”Oh geez”, (sniff). “Oh man, this is not good. (Sniff) What on Earth is that smell?” I think as I start my 2 hour drive back home from spending Easter week end with my parents. My son and I, at times live in my truck or at least you’d swear by it if you saw it. For some unknown reason, my OCD cleaning habits does not extend beyond the front door of my apartment. Old mail, baseball gloves, bats, shoes, books, iPod Nano, pocket knives, loose change and of course the empty sacks of various fast food joints and soda bottles have found a home on the floorboard of my truck. That is until I have had enough and finally clean it. It stays clean for about a week or so starting when Grant is with his mom. When he is with me it only stays clean for the first three minutes after he’s entered the vehicle and for the following week, I don’t care because it’s “Da Boys” for a week, (insert manly grunt here). But this, this smell was all kinds of wrong.

“What is that smell?” I ask him. “I dunno” he replies flippantly; great, we’ve already reached the, “I dunno” stage of life. He doesn’t smell anything. Of course he doesn’t smell anything because it all smells normal to him. “This is getting really gross. I have to see what it is.” I say to Grant but he couldn’t care less. I find a gas station and pull in and immediately I hear, “Dad, can you get me a _______?” I have no idea what he asked for, I zoned out. I was focused on getting this smell out of my truck. I can’t have this smell in my truck.

I open the door and look around, nothing. I open the back door and look around; again I see nothing that looks like it would be the cause of the smell. I go around to the passenger side and open both doors and nothing. Grant is completely oblivious as he has his nose buried in a book. Not wanting to give up, I look again checking under the front seat then onto the other side then back again only this time to take a look from a different angle. I really, really did not want to unload everything or even move it around. I am anal when it comes to packing for a trip, even a small one…and here’s where I will admit something.

It’s true; men can’t find what they are looking for when they are looking for that something. That something can be anything really, shoes, a pen, the last can of soda in the fridge, the remote. It doesn’t matter what that something is because men won’t move anything when looking for that something. Its part of the male genetic make-up, even little boys do this and here’s why. The object of the game is to find whatever it is we are looking for with as little effort as possible and if we have to move something when looking for the other something, well, the first something we moved won the game. And we all know men don’t like losing to anything, especially a something when looking for anything! Had you been at that gas station, you would have witnessed this in action. The game clock runs out and no tic-mark will be placed in the “W” column today, I lost. I pull everything out.

I commence my search. Looking, looking…looking some more. I move the seats up all the way, nothing; I move the seats back all the way, again nothing. Hmmmf. I go to the back seat, pull the lever with one hand and raise the seat bottom with the other and time stopped.

You know what tunnel vision is? Where the only thing you can see is what’s right in front of you and you cannot see anything else? It’s literally like looking through a tunnel. BINGO! My vision actually narrowed when I saw it.

I don’t know what it was or where it came from but what I do know is that it was in my truck for at least two sunny, steamy hot 90° plus days with the windows rolled up. Who knows how long it actually had been there.

It was green, I mean really green. It was red and a purple-ish blue color too. There was a lot of it. “Oh hey you found it!” I hear from the front seat. Look who decides to show interest. “I found what son?” not really sure if I wanted to hear an answer. “A science experiment I was working on.” He said gleefully.

You know those moments in life where you just don’t have any words to say? I mean absolutely nothing comes to mind? This was one of them and for those that know me, that’s quite the accomplishment. Visions of Sigourney Weaver in Alien come to mind as I stand there looking at this thing. I half expect it to jump up at me and try to implant some alien egg in me.

Que visual…

I swear I saw it breathe. I reach down and poke it with my pen; it’s a gooey, gelatinous, gooey, sticky goo type…goo stuff.

I ask Grant if he knows exactly what it is. “No. but my teacher said I should keep it in the fridge.”
“Really?” Of course this wasn’t really a question I was asking.

So I take a deep breath and go in for the removal sans the flame thrower. Paper towels in hand and oh so desperately wanting my Clorox wipes (note to self: carry some in my truck from now on). I start to pick and prod at it. A little bit here and there I work at getting it out. After 15 minutes of pulling and rubbing and pushing it here and there, I finally see an end, sort of. The smell has subsided some but not all; I fear that it is in the carpet for good. My nose just inches away, (sniff…GAG-COUGH-KAK…Cough). The hair in my nostrils begins to fall out my vision wanes and my limbs go numb as my fear is realized. I am horrified. I will not be getting this smell out tonight.

It was a long, long, long two hours home.

Such are the joys of being a parent.

“Hungry, anything will help”.

I feel a twinge of disgust and I look away like so many of us do and turn up the radio.

“If he spent half as much time looking for a job as he does panhandling, he wouldn’t need to be out here.”, I think.

“Pretty judgmental on your part don’t you think?” I hear in my head. I know who it is and I am immediately shamed. I knew instantly what He wanted me to do.

“But all I have is a single $5 to eat lunch on”.

“Give it to him” I hear.

“Crap.” (I admit, it’s not the greatest attitude to have when ‘blessing’ someone.)

And as I do, the man barely looks me in the eye, embarrassed by his predicament. He doesn’t even look at what I give him. He simply mutters,

“Thank you.” and moves away as if I am the one who has leprosy.

As I drive off I see in my review mirror the guy open his hand and see the $5. He smiles and clutches the money in his fist and pumps it like Tiger Woods just made an 18 foot put. He folds up his sign, jumped on his sorry excuse for a bike and rode over to the Wendy’s across the street jumped off and literally ran in the door.

“Eric, you don’t know the reason he is out here. He may have a legitimate reason or he could be scheming, you don’t know. You don’t need to know, you just need to obey and trust me. Besides, it’s not for you to judge him, that’s my job.”

I took the turnaround and went back to work. I didn’t quite know what to think. I felt ashamed that I had those thoughts about him without knowing anything about him. I felt incredibly good about being able to give to him so that he could go eat but at the same time, I was honestly a little miffed as well. I was hungry too and now I didn’t have a dime to buy lunch. I was confused.

I really was trying to take what He was teaching me to heart but it was tough. I’m not that nice of a guy or open minded when I’m hungry.

“It was my last stinkin’ $5! I’m carrying ones from now on.” I grumbled. “Just being honest here God. You asked that I give my last $5 to someone so that he could go eat. Umm, HELLO…I need to eat too. You obviously care about him but what about me?” (side note- sarcasm gets you know where with God)

As I walk back to my office, my boss calls out from the conference room for me to come in.

“What now?” I think. The only time he calls me into the conference room is to bust my chops about something. I walk in and I see a spread of food on the table fit for a king! Catered by everything Pappasito’s offers.

“The executive meeting ran long so everyone just left and didn’t eat. Take what you want” he says.

At that very moment, I understood grace.

I serve a great and loving God. Thank you God for your provision, in spite of myself.

Your humbled child,

Eric

Depressing really.

So here is a quick FYI on the subject of Geography/Cartography in case you happen to run into one on the street.

Geography in a nutshell asks the question ‘why’ not ‘where’. Shocking I know. Geography studies the ‘why’ when it comes to the location of things, cities for instance, “Why is Austin located where it is?” In order to know the why, Geographers have to have some knowledge of biology (plant and animal life), geology (formation of rocks, soils, i.e., Earth Sciences, etc.) They also study climate (weather patterns, natural disasters), economy (usually tied to disaster studies), Hydrology (water resources), and of course the human response to these things and the events that occur as well as the impact we have on the environment. All this data is quantifiable in a map. Once symbolized by a Cartographer a Geographer can study the data and recognize any patterns or such and answer the question, why. Lest I forget, an integral part of the study of Geography is time. Studying the same data over time can help answer the question as well.

As for Cartography, it is the accumulation of data (as mentioned above) that is expressed in spatial context to known geographical elements, in essence, the making of a map. Usually one uses a Geographic Information System (G.I.S) like I do. (www.esri.com) Cartography incorporates science (projections and datums and what-not) as well as art. Without getting nerdy, mathematical equations (projections) help portray a round world onto a flat surface and still maintain ‘shape’, ‘distance’ (between two points) or ‘area’, whichever is most important for the viewer to understand. Think of projections this way. Take a transparent globe and cut it in half. Hold one half in your hand in front of you and in the other hand shine a flashlight at it. The result would be a ‘projection’ on the wall of a three dimensional object (Earth) onto a two dimensional wall. The shape, distance and or area would be distorted. Certain projections help maintain these things depending on what’s most important. Ever notice that Greenland is about as big if not bigger than the U.S.A on a map but on a globe it’s smaller? Different maps have different priorities, shape, distance or area. As for the art side, well it’s just a matter of aesthetics really. It has been proven that a ‘beautiful’ map that is woefully incorrect will be trusted more so than an ugly map that is highly accurate. When it comes to making a map the colors, symbols and patterns all play a part in delivering a ‘believable’ message.

There are different maps for different reasons. Is it a map in a book like the Road Atlas (don’t need endangered species outlined on a road map do you?) or is it a huge wall map for public display? (You can’t have small text as most will be viewing the map from feet away rather than inches.) The intended use of a map along with the message to be delivered directs the cartographer in certain directions. Cartography is a fine balance of science and art. Delivering a ‘message’ that is accurate and beautiful is the sole responsibility of a cartographer.

So there you have it, a very general idea of Geography and Cartography. I stumbled into this field about 10 years ago and have found that I like it. I enjoy what I do and I often tell people that I play with colors and shapes for a living because most of the time, it’s true! HA! I also have to tell my wife, much to her dismay, just because I make maps for a living does not mean I know where I am or where I am going and no I will not stop and ask for directions! But if you want to test your ‘Geographical” knowledge of ‘where’, go here, it’s fun. http://www.lizardpoint.com/fun/geoquiz/index.html

Wanderlust, it’s an affliction really. I have always had a sense of exploration, even as a child. I would often take off on my bike and see how far I could ride.  As an adult, nothing has changed. I often take an afternoon and just drive. I LOVE to go nowhere in particular, just drive. Turn the cell phone off, roll the windows down, play a little music, don the shades and go see what’s out there.

A while back I took off after work on a Friday afternoon and set out on one of these drives and ended up in a subdivision that was being built out in the middle of nowhere’sville. I was somewhere in Blanco County I think, perhaps Llano. I had been on the road for an hour and a half  turning left and right every so often so I don’t know for sure.

It was one of those places were the well-to-do city slickers play ‘rancher’ by purchasing 10 or so acres or as the entrance sign called them, a ‘Ranchette’. It was in the beginning stages so there were no houses built, only the Sales office stood with it’s freshly stained cedar siding and a porch that stretched across the front. An old horse-drawn wagon was set off to the side. Multicolored streamers spanned the distance between tree and office and back again.  The real estate company’s sign had a giant picture of a smiling blonde lady with super white teeth that stared at you as you approached. Everything was so neatly tucked under the shading branches of a huge oak tree. The marketing people were doing their best to set the stage. The salesman, or lady I guess, had long gone but I drove by slowly looking for any signs of security.  I didn’t see any so I didn’t bother to stop.

The streets were somewhat cut in. An old yellow D-9 Cat (bulldozer) sat idle in a clearing waiting for Mr. Construction Man to come start it up again Monday morning to knock down some more trees. I kept driving and the little boy in me wondered what it would be like to drive one of those things. The streets soon faded to gravel roads then to jeep trails which then faded to matted grasses and then finally, nothing.  I guessed from then on where the road might go. I drove around stands of huge oak trees and groves of evergreen cedars. Followed a small shallow stream-bed then crossed it when I could. I bounced over rocky outcrops and dodged budding cacti. Scared some turkey and of course stopped and spotted some whitetail deer that were stamping their hooves in disapproval of my presence. I had apparently disturbed their early evening meal of freshly fallen acorns. Rabbits darted out from under this scrub brush to that one over there and a squirrel leapt from branch to branch chasing another in what I can only assume was a game of tag. I slowly made my way back farther and farther away from the paved highway and the buzzing and humming wheels of the passing trucks. After 40 minutes or so I crested the top of a hill and stopped. The view was breathtaking. Being a Texan I have no shame in saying this, very little in this world compares to the Texas Hill country on a clear cool afternoon in late October. The smell of cedar was in the air and the wind had the slightest Northern nip to it. The setting sun was laying a golden blanket on the valley and surrounding hills that stretched out to the horizon. There were no clouds and I could see for miles. It was simply beautiful. I stood there under an oak tree and thought how stunning this place was and how privileged I am to witness it. I looked up into the tree and saw a dilapidated deer blind. It obviously had seen better days. The wood is now a silver-gray in color and splintered. Branches have grown in and around and over parts of it, the rest lies rotting in a pile at the base of the tree covered by years of leaves and dirt. Rusted nails stood exposed in the side of the tree holding nothing other than a few stands of Spanish Moss that blew in the wind. I took in a deep breath and smiled, this was a perfect spot for an impromptu camp sight and a good conversation with God. I would not be going home tonight. I gathered some fallen branches and the pile of rotting wood from the deer blind and made a small fire. I rolled out my blankets that I keep in my truck box and laid there with the gentle breeze blowing, smoking my pipe and reading Wild at Heart by John Eldredge in the fading light of the sun.

As light gave way to the hues of blue and purple and then finally black, the stars began to make their appearance; one here, then a few over there, as if gathering for a show to watch and marvel at the splendor of God’s creation.  Conversation was good, as it always is. You learn things from God when you give Him the time. You learn that you are loved like no other. Cuddled by the warmth of the fire and my soul now satisfied with time spent communing with my God, I listened to the crackling fire as  my eyes began to grow heavy. And with the mental image of God sitting next to me tending the fire, I welcomed the mistress of slumber.

1. After a certain time your tookas gets numb and then it doesn’t matter how long you are in the saddle.

2. The last 100 yards to any rest stop will be uphill.

3. You can smell road kill long before you can see it and long after you have ridden past it.