(Preface: Sorry, this grew in the writing. It's gotten a tad long. Don't say you weren't warned.)



Amen. Three days post-Bash and I'm still worn out, but holy shit, what a ride!

Yes, there was drinking - lots.

Yes, there was hugging - even more than the drinking.

Yes, there was ass-grabbing - however, not as much as you would think.

Yes, there was flashing - hey, I love the Clash, what can I say.

And yes there was snogging - lots. All good; one so good I was left weak in the knees.

Thanks to Al for setting up this edition of the Blogger Bacchanalia. Huge thanks to Astin for the ride down and to Evy for the accommodations; you two made it possible for me to even be there.

And to everyone I drank with, talked to and played with; thank you for making a middle aged broad feel fun and fabulous even if just for a weekend. My conversations and interactions with you all (and no, I'm not making a list as it's EVERYONE) are cherished.

And those cherished friends who could not make it were missed deeply. I woke up Monday morning filled with regret that we all live so far away, and the thought of waiting another 3 months to see you all again left a bitter taste in my mouth. I had to stop thinking about it. I'm thanking the powers that be for Astin (20 minutes away) and the Tuckfard gang (an hour away), whom I will hopefully be seeing in 2-4 weeks (right, guys?).

(this is where I begin to wax philosophical. You may want to bail now.)

Lately I'm finding that a trip's success isn't dependent on how many drinks I had, who I talked with, what game I played, who I hugged/kissed/ass-grabbed/flashed or who hugged/kissed/ass-grabbed/flashed me. Not to say however, that all those aren't +EV. Far from it.

No, a trip becomes more meaningful the more it makes me think. And I did a lot of thinking on the long, quiet ride to home. The very quiet ride home. There was little conversation as we all tried to recover.

I sat/laid in the back seat and replayed scenes from the Bash in my head. Some made me shiver, some made me cringe (note to self, don't think about that last SoCo shot while still recovering from that last SoCo shot), all made me smile and realize the extent of my good fortune to have stumbled upon and been accepted by this eclectic group of exceptional people.

Also did some internal poking and prodding, pondering the fickle nature of feminine ego and self esteem. Over the weekend I had people tell me I was beautiful, fun, talented, brave and amazing. It's a pity that deep down, I just don't believe them. My secret fear is that one day they'll all realize it's all just smoke and mirrors, and that really, I'm not all that.

Then I thought of the bike trip, and what happened to me both inside and out. And no, I still don't think I'm beautiful, fun, talented, brave or amazing; I'm just me. However, I am pretty damn comfortable now with what that is. And that really is enough.

****

One of my best memories of the Bash was sitting in at the upstairs bar talking to Otis. He asked, as so many do, about the trip to Alaska. It's difficult to explain, so I often just say "amazing" or "incredible", tell a quick anecdote and leave it at that. Like a photograph that fails to communicate the true scale and beauty of that wilderness, words fail to convey how the place got under my skin. But I tried anyway and told him of riding the highway between Haines, AK and Haines Junction, YK.

After I told my long winded and slightly weepy tale, we got into another conversation about writing. I was told not that I should write these stories or even that I need to, but that I had to. And I do believe he was right; I need release from the pressure of them crowding in my head.

So I've spent the morning writing. And it feels good.