Tillamook, Oregon—Glad To Be Alive

Nehalem State Park
June, ’80

It was 3:30 p.m. when I reached Tillamook, and found a paint store
with a face mask, and after that I found a Safeway store. Sitting on
the sidewalk, under a protective overhang, eating pita
bread with peanut butter and jelly smeared on it, I tried, but
failed, to keep the falling ash out of the gooey concoction. There,
beside me, on the sidewalk next to where I was sitting, was an ash
coated bubble bee. It was slowly crawling toward me, struggling under
the weight of its ash caked body. If the bubble bee could make it
across the sidewalk and up against the wall it might survive. As I ate
my ashen sandwich and reflected on the plight of the bee, I tried to
imagine what it must have been like at Mt. Vesuvius where thousands
died, and the cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum were buried whole. All of a
sudden volcanoes seemed a lot less romantic to me, if that's the right
expression. When I got up to leave it was extremely quiet. The gray ash
was everywhere. Except for a few scurrying humans that were heading
home and the one dead bumblebee that lay at my feet, there were no
signs of life anywhere--no birds, no insects, nothing, just me and the
falling ash. It was only a month ago that Mt. St. Helens exploded,
killing 77 people and smothering the surrounding wildlife, forests,
and even a river. I couldn't explain why, but, standing there, I felt
glad to be alive.

Before I left Tillamook, I bought a pair of swim goggles. Biking down the highway, decked out in my Mt. St. Helen's survival gear, I felt like a frog on a
bicycle. I didn't care; as I looked out upon a dead and dying environment, I felt safe. However, that environment did provoke some disturbing thoughts concerning manmade pollution. It would be so stupid to bring this kind of
pollution down upon oneself, but nothing is impossible for mankind.
Twenty miles later, when I finally took off my protective gear and
took in a deep breath of fresh air, I was so thankful, I even thanked
the Lord.

When the sun finally poked its head through the clouds, I began to see
the full character of the northern Oregon coastline. It was homey and
quaint. I was having such a good time bicycling I didn't even want to
look for a campsite, but common sense got the better of me, and when I
arrived at Nehalem State Park, I decided to call it a day. A mile and
a half off the highway and close to the ocean, I set up my tent in the
hiker-biker section of the park, and much to my delight found myself
alone on the beach (and still am—I decided to stay an extra day). The Washington
boarder was only forty miles away.

One Eye Watered The Other Shut

"Gimme a capon, some roguish companions
A wench, and a bottle of sack
Take me to the alehouse
Take me to the whorehouse
If I vomit, keep me off-a my back"

Biking Into Mt. St. Helens Ash Cloud
June, ’80

Every time a truck passed, a cloud of ash kicked up in my face.
Everything became invisible for five seconds. When two trucks passed
me, it turned into a horrifying experience. I had my bandana wrapped
around my mouth, but I was still eating ash. In fact, the ash was
plugging up my nostrils. I was blinking my eyes continually to protect
what little vision I had. For the most part, I was running on one eye
vision. While one eye watered out the ash, the other eye kept me on
course. When the good eye plugged up with ash, I would open the teary
eye. Thank god for tear ducts. It got to a point where all I could do
was look straight down at the shoulder of the road. I was eating,
breathing, and blinking my way through the ash, trying to stay on
course, and, I might add, I was not happy about it.

The radio weatherman issued a warning—"Stay in doors. If you must go
outside, wear a carpenter's mask." I wasn't too shocked by that news,
but, the more I thought about it, the more disturbed I got. I did not
know if the ash was harming me or not; after all, I had never met a
person who had survived an erupting volcano before. The first little
town I came to, I went looking for a mask. They were all sold out.
When I passed some road crew guys on the highway, I stopped and asked
if I could get an extra mask from them, but no luck there, either.
"Tillamook," the guy said, "Tillamook will have what you need. It's a
big town." "Yeah," I thought, "it's a big town, but it's down the road
fifteen miles. By the time I reach there, I will have ‘ash pillows’ for
lungs." It was time to dig deep, and reach for my secrete weapon.
Loudon Wainwright lll was singing in my head what I needed to hear,
what I had heard so many times before as I turned up my stereo:

"My father, he thinks I am a good for nothing
And that I won't amount to much
But he's not aware of my secret weapon
I can count on myself in the clutch."

For the next fifteen miles I put my head down and choked ash.

Mount St. Helens

The Calm Before The Storm
June 18, '80


In the morning, waking up to the effects of a few too many “lemonades," I
crawled out of my tent to find what appeared to be snow on the ground.
It didn't take long before I realized the “snow” was ash from an erupting
Mt. St. Helens. The first Mt. St. Helens eruption, the really big one,
took place a month ago. The waitress who handed me my coffee
said, "The guy on the radio called this one a `belch.'” "That must
have been some belch," I said back to her. The mountain was better than
eighty miles away. The townsfolk in Lincoln City appeared to have
gotten over the shock of the erupting volcano because they were making
jokes about the new eruption. The waitress admitted that the ash was a
nuisance, but she also said, "It's a great novelty idem. Why don't you
send some to your friends back home?" She even pointed out the gift
shop across the street that sold little bags of the stuff, plastic
bags with a seal authenticating the ash as Mt. St. Helen's. Before I
left town I did just that. I sent the ash to Mike and Val, my old
roommates, and to the three custodians that I worked with back at CMU.
That task accomplished, I got on my bike and headed north.

It wasn't bad at first. The already overcast sky made it hard to see
the ash floating down. After I stopped at McDonald's and had a
ninety-nine cent breakfast, things got worse though. I found myself biking
directly into a head wind, and on my bike radio the weatherman
predicted 35-45 mile per hour winds by late afternoon. I don't think I
experienced anything worse than 25-30 mile per hour winds—what a
break! Anyway, when the winds started to blow, the bright white sky
grew darker. The clouds were not darkening the sky, the ash was. I was
actually leaving bicycle tire tracks behind me. As it grew worse, the
green from the trees disappeared. And then it became difficult to
see period. What I took to be low hanging clouds turned out to be
concentrated ash falling to earth. Every once in a while a
round-silhouetted sun could be seen barely. It was an eerie sight,
weird and very disturbing too. I hope I never see the sun look like that again.

No Campfire Rule--Unbelievable

Lincoln City, Oregon
June ’80


In the afternoon, after Lisa and Jade headed for Eugene, I stayed the
course, and pedaled into the evening. My knee felt good, and I was
really enjoying myself. I just wanted to bike until I felt like
quitting. I didn't even have a destination planned. I finally pulled
into a national forest and set up my tent. It had been a good day, but
the nighttime weather hadn't changed. It rained into the morning.
Yesterday, I bought a pair of rubbers in anticipation of more wet
bicycling conditions. Actually, it wasn't really my decision; I was
responding to a work stoppage—my feet had had enough. They were
rebelling against their prune like existence.

When I pulled into Lincoln City, and inquired into the whereabouts of
a hiker-biker campground, I found out I was already in one. Just
across the street was a patch of ground littered with broken glass and
other bits of debris. No facilities were available, not even campfires
were allowed, but for fifty-cents I could pitch my tent. I was tired
and wet, so the place still looked good to me. (I was pissed about the
no campfire rule, though.) I had long since realized that the
hiker-biker concept was more about separating undesirables from the
"respectable camper" than it was about giving a break to those who
couldn't afford the fees. But hey, didn't somebody once say, "It's all
about lemons! You put them together and out pops lemonade"--well my
lemonade was a nearby park and, after dinner, it was a pub
conveniently placed between the park and my tent.

Good Stuff Fantastic--In-Between Stuff Takes Care Of Itself

Humbug Mountain Campground
June 15, `80

The rain didn't start until we got back together at our agreed upon
meeting place. The rain continued throughout the night. In the
morning, I put together a rain fire, and made coffee. Lisa and Jade
enjoyed the coffee, but except to go to the bathroom, they stayed in
their tent until the sun broke through in the afternoon. (I guess
appreciating a rain fire takes time). Around 3 p.m. everybody had
dried out enough to bicycle, and thirty-five miles down the highway we
arrived at Humbug Mountain Campground. Once again there was little
time to set up camp before it started to rain. After another night of
constant showers, Lisa and Jade had had enough. In the morning, they
packed up and went looking for a motel. I stayed at the campsite and
built another rain fire.

There was nothing to do except sit by the fire and read my book. All
day long I was half wet and half dry. It was all I could do just to
keep my book from drowning in the rain. I went tent side early that
night. Actually, as long as it doesn't happen all the time, its kind
of fun sitting solitary by a rain fire--reading a good book. It was
late afternoon the next day before I dried out enough to ride my bicycle.

Before Lisa and Jade left the campground, we made plans to meet, and,
as luck would have it, I ran into them just six miles from the
campground we had picked out as our rendezvous spot. That night would
be our last campsite together because we were approaching that fork in
the road that would send us in different directions. I would continue
north, Lisa and Jade would head east. You can't plan to meet people
like Lisa and Jade. It's all luck, lots of it. Appreciation, that's
all it amounts to; you just learn to appreciate the good experiences.
The "in-betweens" have to take care of themselves. As I look up, I see
Lisa and Jade bicycling up right now. That's the way it's been all
week long, and now it's time to stop writing, so as to savior the last
moments of an excellent friendship.

Clattering Buoy Oregon Coast

Sitting On A Deserted Beach
June 11, ‘80

I'm sitting on a big piece of driftwood on the Oregon coast, eating
Oreo cookies, and listening to the surf break off shore. A foghorn is
making intermittent sounds off in the distance, and fifty yards out in
the ocean, clatters a buoy anchored by a rock island. About a
half-mile away is a town, but there's nobody `cept me sitting here on
the beach. Lisa and Jade are probably up in town doing the same thing
that I'm doing. I was hoping they would follow the signs down to this
beach, but I guess its no big deal, we'll get back together soon
enough. If every stop along the way was this nice it would be heaven,
but it would also be impossible because there would be people everywhere.

Here I sit, wondering if my knee will make it. I'm walking up the big
hills, and the elastic knee support I bought back in Brookings is
helping. My knee is sore, but I think its getting better. The three of
us had set for today's goal, a fifty-mile jog to another hiker-biker
campground.

Last night was great! We camped at Harris Beach State Park with four
bicyclers from New York, two from Oregon, and one from Holland— we all
shared the same two picnic tables that were set aside for the hiker-biker.

One conciliatory note: ever since my last journal entry, I've been
depressed. The idea of growing old is not a happy one. I think the
beautiful coastline of Oregon is good medicine, though. Things seem to
be getting a little better. It looks like I had better batten down the
hatches. Those dark clouds moving in my direction are motivators. All
things considered, I have no complaints.

Success Here Will Allow Me To Endure Mediocrity

Jeddediah Smith Campground
June 8, `80


We've been traveling short distances. Presently, Lisa, Jade, and I
are camped at Jeddediah Smith campground, some ten miles northeast of
Crescent City. We're off our route' so this state park in the northern
hills of California, with its beautiful river running through it, is
all ours. I tried fishing this morning, but no luck. Tonight I'll try
again, this time with salmon eggs for bait. So far it has been good. I
just hope it stays that way. My knee feels good, probably because I
haven't used it much. When we leave this campground, either today or
tomorrow, my knee will get tested. Right now, Lisa and Jade are in
town picking up the money they sent for. It's been really good
traveling with them. We shared a bottle of wine last night.

This whole trip has been good, mainly because of no pressure. When my
knee got bad, I wanted to call it quits. I didn't, but having made
that decision, I could then really enjoy my Pacific coast down
time—something I could never have done on previous bicycle trips.
Since I no longer had to worry about getting my eighty miles a day in,
I worried instead about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.

Yes, I'm getting older. Yes, I'm noticing it a lot more, and yes, I
acknowledge that age is going to be a determining factor in my future
plans. This is not totally negative, a limitation, yes, but not
totally negative. A long time ago, I realized that learning and
increased understanding were the only things that made me happy. Now
I'm beginning to see where that kind of thinking has brought me. If
all you want to do in life is "drink from the well," it's a pretty
safe bet that not much is going to get accomplished. I might gain
enough understanding to allow me some happiness and freedom, but I now
know that however much understanding I acquire, it won't be totally
satisfying.

Change is constant, and in terms of age, irreversible. Growth demands
flexibility, and the aging process does not accommodate that kind of
change very well. I hope things get better. I hope I continue to
expand my horizons, but a personal horizon, when viewed
objectively—bares no fruit. Few comforts will surround my twilight
hours. With no money, prestige, or honor—the stuff of a "good eulogy,"
a "gentle passing into the night," if indeed that is even possible,
will not be easy. (For the life of me, I don't know why Dylan Thomas
preferred rage.) So, here's the question, when faced with all these
discouraging and disappointing scenarios, what am I to do? I must
"retool." I must relearn the value of personal success. I must relearn
how to appreciate the "small stuff." I must learn how to stay in tune
with realizable dreams, with friends I have not yet met, and with
music I have not yet heard. Success here, I believe, will allow me to
endure mediocrity, as it allows me to savior the "small stuff." Age
has a way of shoving reality down your throat. I guess that's why
growing old is so difficult.

Inter-Connectivity Of Everything

Physics Discussion Concluded

The following is my own (possible) solution to the problems discussed in the physics discussion preceding this post. This post, by the way, will again be posted at the conclusion of my next and last physics discussion, which takes place high in the Rocky Mountains (also on this bicycle trip).

Nov. 2011

Dialectical Freedom’s Structural Form, b~b~bb, Summarized:

[From within the context of the b~b~bb structure, the “seeming contradictions” that separate Relativity physics from the physics of Quantum Mechanics become logically necessary. In fact, not only does this structure explain some of the weirdness associated with Quantum Mechanics, it also identifies the origin of logical thinking per se. Here’s a quick breakdown of the b~b~bb structure—reading from right to left this structure is describing discontinuity occurring in continuity—time of mind, (~bb). Because of this structure a person like René Descartes can express the truism “Cogito ergo sum,”-- I think therefore I am. But, “time of mind” only accounts for half of the b~b~bb structure. “Time of mind” occurs within the universe at large, (b~b, continuity occurring in discontinuity) i.e., growth, decay, fission, fusion, etc.]


Quantum Strangeness Structurally Explained

“Relativity,” according to Laszlo (2004), “did away with space and time as the backdrop of deterministic motion of mass points, but it preserved the unambiguous description of the basic entities of the physical universe.” In my structural theory opposites are necessary in order to preserve “wholeness,” so discontinuity, indeterminism, and non-locality become just as essential for a description of the physical universe as determinism, continuity, and locality. Levels of negation, in this new theory, answer the question: Why do contradictory aspects separate micro universe from macro universe or, put another way, why are micro events probable and macro events deterministic? Predictions for micro and macro events are possible (micro probable, macro deterministic) because the evolution of the universe takes place in the space that separates, embeds and connects—connects to the structural space of logical implication. So now we may ask: What are the pre-conditions for this state of affairs?

Determinism, locality and continuity allow for reductionist methods of science to work; that is, until science penetrates deep into that area where the integrity of the physical universe breaks down, where the deterministic motions of mass points no longer exist. At the depths of the “material world” there exists a fuzzy world that exhibits only statistical behavior, behavior only when we observe it– when we separate ourselves from it. There we find a physical reality with no uniquely determinable location, a physical reality that exists in several states at the same time, a physical reality structured by a mathematical equation. In the theory of freedom’s structural form, two “forms” stand out as a way to better understand the contradictory concepts, which remain at odds with one another in the theory of relativity and quantum physics.

The same attributes (discontinuity, indeterminism, and non-locality) that characterize self-consciousness characterize also the “double negation” that serves as the ground of freedom. Both of these “forms” generate implication. At “ground” implication remains open, while in self-consciousness, implication opens up the human world-historical-process. In other words, the negation that lies at the center of self-consciousness, the negation that permits our capacity to solve mathematical equations, lies also at the “ground level” of our experience with quantum physics. Because observation takes place in the space of continuity, determinism and locality– self-consciousness’s negative space— there is an unavoidable clash of worlds—the world of continuity, determinism and locality (relativity) clashes with the world of discontinuity, indeterminism, and non-locality (quantum physics). Bottom line—the theory of relativity accurately describes natural phenomena. Einstein’s equations, when applied to the world of physical events, provide accurate information concerning our status as participating agents in the physical universe. Likewise, quantum mechanics accurately describes natural phenomena. Only the phenomena being described are “fuzzy” because, as it is throughout freedom’s dialectic, the space that separates also embeds and connects. In other words, on the quantum level, self-consciousness confronts its own ground condition in the form of the “phenomenal strangeness” of quantum physics.

Ultimately, from its most holistic perspective, dialectical freedom’s structural form tells us: Were it not for the negative space/condition of determinism, continuity, and locality, the human consciousness of discontinuity, non-locality, and indeterminism (opposites are necessary to conserve wholeness) would not be free in a world of our own experience (by degrees, experience of our own choosing), seeking truth, justice, and religious meaning.

Reality Mixture Of A And Not A

Physics Discussion Almost Concluded
June, ’80

"Just words referring to relations woven into one fabric,
interesting point,” Jade responded. "According to some physicists,
words do interfere with reality. For this group of physicists the wave function
is not an accurate representation of what's really going on `out there.'
Rather, they believe the wave function is an abstract creation whose
manipulation somehow yields the probabilities of real events that
happen in space and time. But that's only part of the story, and
perhaps a small part, too. In fact, the mathematician von Neumann,
the same guy who developed a mathematical proof rejecting the notion
of hidden variables in quantum mechanics, believed the problems
surrounding quantum phenomena had nothing to do with nature, but,
rather, they had everything to do with language. We impose, with our
symbolic thought processes, the categories of `either-or.' Language
does not allow a mixture of A and not A. The boundaries of discourse,
rather, are set by discriminating A from not A. Outside that boundary
nonsense rules. Where `separate parts' are not applicable, language
cannot go. Classical physics discriminates between A and not A,
therefore, moving particles and waves can be analyzed. A pictorial
description of nature is never a problem there. At the atomic level,
however, it is not possible to visualize or describe waves because
they are not there—they are purely mathematical constructs. Where
things are not things, the quantifiers of inside, outside, before,
after, between, and connected are not applicable, either. Where
language and logic do not apply, nothing more can be said."

"It seems that physicists," I replied, "at the quantum level at
least, find the same road block that the Eastern sages discovered long
ago. At that point, the language of neti neti, the language of not
this, not that--is all that's left. At that level, all investigations
end, at that level we are left with mere words that say nothing."

"Well, I wouldn't put it quite so negatively," Jade responded, "after
all, at that level, something else comes into play; that is, if you
are a sage--infinite wisdom and infinite creativity. Right?"

"Okay," I said, "then maybe we've come full circle. We've come back
to the endless transformation of energy that the yin, yang symbol
represents."

"For sure, Neil's Bohr would agree with that," Jade replied, "but I
think a little poetry is more appropriate here. After all, who better
to entrust a description of the indescribable then the poet! If my
memory holds, in some Upanishad it says, `He on whom the sky, the
earth, and the atmosphere are woven, and the wind, together with all
life-breaths, Him alone know as the one Soul.'"

"Yo! Fellows," Don shouted, "We're out of beer. No more beer, no more
poetry, pleeease. Thanks for the beer, though. Somehow listening to
you guys makes me feel like I'm waiting for Godet. If you ask me, it
ain't going to happen. Goodnight, see you in the morning!"

Tao Of Physics

Discussion continues
June, ’80

"The observer-generated reality stuff,” said Jade, “is just
another aspect of how phenomena manifests at the quantum
level. The classical notions of space, time, and
causality--objective reality, break down at the quantum level.
Remember there are no waves propagating. According to most physicists,
the wave function is not quite a thing, it is more like an idea that
occupies a strange middle ground between idea and reality, where all
things are possible but none are actual. An electron is not a particle
either, it is more like a process, always forming, always dissolving.
It can't be detected until it interacts with a measuring device and
even if it does interact we don't know if it interacts with the device
per se, or if it interacts with the last link in the chain of events
that define the experiment—the consciousness of the human observer."

"Fellows," Don interjected, "you ain't seen nothing till you've seen
an elephant fly! Come Saturday night--those dissolving particles
ain't got nothing on my vanishing elephants. If you want to see those
mouse hating critters pop out of existence all you have to do is close
down a couple bars with me."

"That's interesting Don; I mean that you should bring up a vanishing
act to illustrate your point," Jade replied, "because the physicist,
Erwin Schrodinger devised a thought experiment that kind of
illustrates his point with a similar vanishing act, only he wasn't
talking about mice haters, he was talking about mice lovers. According
to Schrodinger, if you put a cat in a box with some poison gas and
release the gas the cat dies. But here's the catch, for Schrodinger
the gas release is triggered by radiation decay, which is a random
occurrence. In classical physics, the cat dies at the time of the
decay, but in quantum mechanics the cat dies when the observation is
made, when the last link in the chain of events that defines the
experiment occurs. At the time of observation when the box is opened
the wave function collapses and possibility becomes actuality. Of
course, common sense tells us that can't be true, but that's precisely
the point, common sense breaks down at the quantum level, things are
`different' at that level. So the question remains, `Is it, or when is
it, necessary to include human consciousness in our descriptions of
the world?' Or, put another way, `what role does measurement play in
an experiment?' Does it provide a description of the world under study
or does it actually create that world?' Quantum Mechanics has a hard
time answering questions like that."

"I'm out of beer," said Don, "Anybody got an extra one?"

"Maybe one day that situation will be better understood," I said. "But
until that day comes, talk about `objectivity' is probably best left
to the Buddhists. They don't have a problem with `independent reality'
because for them there isn't any. For them, everything is
co-dependent. My subjective world, and the objective world, is, for an
enlightened Buddhist, just words referring to mutually conditioned
relations woven into one fabric. For the Buddhist, subject and object
are not just inseparable, they are indistinguishable."