My second day in Iron Mountain started on 2nd shift and it was a marathon in this sports' town. I studied into the late morning at my campsite and when rain was finally going to meet up with me again, I figured no better time than now to do laundry for the first time in two weeks. (It's amazing how you can feel so accomplished for doing so little.) Then again I was working on outlines, hoping to finish them by dinnertime.
I spent the early evening atop the city's highest post, the iconic ski-jump that makes this place internationally famous. As I sat there, I couldn't help but think about the hurdles we all make. A year ago, I would have never dreamt to be studying at the footsteps of this giant salom; a year ago you probably would have never thought you'd be reading about this place and recalling different passages in your own life. Reflection can be one of the greatest things of life. If we fail to do so, we will be left with little to embrace in the future. I finally moved back to camp around 9 p.m. after another stop at Spuds. The place was great, but I was in need of some home-cooking. I promised myself to make something in Menominee. I promised myself to thank my mom for the amazing meal that I imagine awaits me when I come home.
My night concluded or began at around 10 p.m. when I poured a beer my friend Bob Benenson gave me for graduation and joined Kelly and Ric(sp?). Kelly and Ric were enlightening to say the least. As we sat there and talked, Ric's son blowed up huge firecrackers in the distance, which barely overpowered and the ambiance of classic rock. It was then when I was reminded again what it means to be happy. With Kelly and Ric, you can't help but think you're in the midst of a love story that only time was a hurdle. They'd met years before, had separate true loves, and time brought them back together again, or as Kelly puts it "after our divorces we finally owed up to the truth." Sitting there, Ric told me of the city's rich past.(Here we are home of Izzo and Mooch, but before them was the Ford Model T and Kingsford Charcoal, both icons for all of us, whether we use them or not.) Meanwhile, Kelly and I discussed classic rock, playing "name that tune" of many bands I told her I saw as a teen in Cadot. (What were my parents thinking? Perhaps that trip was the beginning of my adventures. Perhaps it was the beginning of their trust.) Nevertheless, this conversation made this night feel like Iron Mountain was more than a destination, but a home much like the one I love to call my own.
I went back to studying, but this wasn't met without an interruption. I thought I saw something moving in the air and decided it was time to drive back up the big hill. Just when I thought I hadn't taken advantage of Iron Mountain because of long, drawn-out study sessions, I was met with the Northern Lights. I wish I had a picture, but instead, I only have a conversation I had with a fellow dweller of the skies. This sky-seeker was a local man, the same age as me, who had seen a good part of Europe and the world. We had lots in common, especially talking about Romania. I felt a bit apologetic though: he was there as a member of our military; I was there as a tourist and employee of a law firm. If the northern lights didn't put things into perspective; talking to him did.
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