Zen In My 911

I awoke in a funk.  I had been out of sorts for several weeks, as work was insane, causing Pam and I, and consequently John and Kris, to cancel our trip to Austin.  On top of that, I had been dwelling on the Route 91 shootings all week.  Pam and I had plans to see Jason Aldean at the Forum Friday night, but, thankfully and appropriately, the show was cancelled.

I got up and just felt wrong.  I thought about going outside for a walk/run, but as I walked around the house, my hamstring reminded me why I shouldn’t.  I thought about going to the gym and riding the bike, but then I thought about doing that tomorrow and just lost interest in exercising.

The only tug I felt was from my 89 911 Targa sitting in the garage.  I realized I wanted to get out and drive.  I did not care where.  I just needed to get in the car and go.  So after playing with the dog and eating breakfast, off I went.

At first, I wasn’t feeling it.  My drive down Robertson towards the 10 was lumpy, more crowded than normal on a Saturday morning.  I stopped to get some gas, got back on Robertson and then got on to the 10 west, heading towards PCH.  The 10 west was lumpy, too.  As I entered the McClure Tunnel, I was still in a funk.

I had my iPod, yes I still have an iPod because I like special purpose devices, playing on random.  While I was in the tunnel, I heard the first few notes of one of my favorite Bob Dylan songs, “Desolation Row. ” The twisted lyrics of that 11 minute song never cease to grab me, and I marveled at the timing of it popping up on my iPod just as I hit PCH and absorbed the beauty of the Pacific Ocean and the bluffs of Santa Monica.

I drove.  Dylan sang.  There was enough traffic that I had to work the five speed manual transmission most of the time.  Clutch out, accelerate, clutch in, shift gears, clutch out.  Repeat.  Decelerate, brake, clutch in, downshift, rev match, clutch out.  Repeat.  Repeat.  Repeat.

I made my way up PCH.  “Desolation Row” ended.  I replayed it.  I drove on.  My window was open.  I felt the wind.  It added to my soundtrack.  I kept the 911 in low gears.  The engine noise added to my soundtrack.  I relished the repetitive manual motions to work the gearbox.  I became present.  My mind stilled.

I continued up PCH.  “Desolation Row” ended.  I replayed it.  I drove on.  I did not care about pace.  I did not care about anything.  I vaguely noticed other cars.  I vaguely noticed the ocean.  I stayed present.  My mind stayed stilled.

“Desolation Row” ended.  I replayed it.  I drove on.  “Desolation Row” ended.  I replayed it.  I drove on.  I felt great.  I relaxed, truly relaxed, for the first time in weeks.  No funk remained.

I found myself at Encinal Canyon, and decided to drive up it to Mulholland Highway.  My Zen state ended.  I was still present, but my mind was active.  It was time to focus on the rest of my drive.