Feels like a lot of work going on. I find I dwell in those deep places I'm exploring in Summer Camp. I feel more lucid, more grounded, but also exhausted. Exercise has been the only release.

Right now I want to write - I feel like writing an entry - but I'm just too drained. I've already written several paragraphs then scrapped them all because the words just weren't there. I've been reading many of my old journals from my teenage years and what I'm writing now seems so much like how I wrote then, which was with little expressiveness and faltering language. Reading those old words, I start to see myself as much more simple than I really am. I know I was some kind of intense knot of emotions - still am - but I didn't or couldn't acknowledge that then.

I sat down here tonight with the intention of talking about the bike ride my cousin Bob and I took Tuesday afternoon up to Port Townsend and back. We met a friend of his from the firestation, named Steve, at a park-n-ride at the turnoff from highway 104; we left the cars and headed off on the bikes from there. I was a little anxious about adding an unknown personality to the ride, wondering if the guy would want to push the speed and I would feel pressured to keep up. He didn't though and the ride was great. I enjoyed having the third person actually. I hung back in last, drafting whomever was in second position the whole way. They are in better shape, I figured they could push the wind.

Still, Steve is a lot different than Bob. Steve is more like what I think of when I think of typical men. And right now I don't really have the energy to list all the details of what that is, but I can say that the thing that makes my cousin unique (untypical) from Steve is a trait I seek in men whom I prefer in my life: gentleness. Bob has calmness that makes others feel at ease. He has soft brown eyes and a round face with soft features. His conversational style is softspoken and usually without judgment.

Dave is a lot like Bob. I was thinking as I was pedaling along the road, staring at the back wheel in front of me, that I've gotten used to gentleness and take it for granted. I have little patience for the Steves of the world. I wish there weren't so many of them.

Through my sunglasses the valley up to Port Townsend looked like it might appear on Agfa 50 print film. The various greens of trees, crops, pastures, and lawns were deeply saturated against a turquoise sky brushed lightly with wisps of white clouds. There were smells too, of freshly cut hay and grazing livestock. Took me right back to our own farm and I could appreciate sharing it with Bob who has memories of our farm too. He seemed impressed mostly by the sky, remarking more than once on its exceptional combination of clouds and color this day.

After the ride we drove back to Poulsbo, stopping by the fire station where Bob works. He offered me a tour since the last time I visited was many years ago when the fire station was still downtown. The fire station is new and large with all the comforts of home. You are allowed now - because I know the truth - to picture the group of firefighters on duty that night, each reclining in one of the 6 or so reclining chairs positioned in front a big screen tv with cable.

I like that Bob is a firefighter. Getting a tour was exciting for me, I guess because everyone at one time or another wants to be a firefighter, or perhaps had a little red firetruck to push around,which inspired their own personal siren sound. Mine sounds like this: wee-ooo wee-ooo wee-ooo. And, society does a good job of reinforcing the image of firefighter as heroic (not merely couch potatos in recliners), which makes them and their equipment seem like much more than just a job, but an honor. I crawled around the fire engine, sat in the driver's seat. They're automatics, did you know? I didn't. Bob said parking it was kind of hard, but I was like: Hey, you get to park in front of the fire hydrant, so there's always a space for you. Sat in the back of the ambulance too; learned about the equipment there. Bob hooked me up to the EKG and I held my breath, breathed deeply, or breathed quickly trying to screw it up. Later he took my blood pressure: 92/56. Do you get headrushes? All the time.