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One for the Road
In ancient mythology the humorous drunk was a figure to be laughed at, yet revered for his momentary words of wisdom. Though unaware of his faults it was his transparent judgment that made him a man of many words, some of which could hit home. Today I met the mythological drunk five kilometers from camp.
I was sprawled out on the side of the road in the shade of a tree, a long cloud floating above me. As I stared at this cloud I had a vision. In this cloud,I could see something beautiful; the long wispy lines and delicate text of a cold Coke bottle. In this state of near bliss, I heard him, the mythological drunk.
He approached me with the fiery passion that only a drunk can have when he feel he has something overly important to say. He started trying to ask where I was going and why I was riding my bike. What came out was a spewing of slanted English words and a drunken slur. Still trying to gaze into my quickly disappearing vision of a bottle of Coke, I humored the man with a few answers from my quickly dissipating reserves of patience.
Out of his state of desperation for a friendly ear, this lowly drunk struck me with three words of wisdom that would ultimately carry me the final five kilometers to campâ€” â€œJust do your best.â€ With a gap toothed grin and a repetition of that statement I found my way back on my bike and pedaling towards camp.
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