Nate's Fiction Story

Most everyone has those ‘good ol’ days.’ Sometimes you like to sit back and reminisce with friends about a time when you were truly happy, a time that still strikes you as one of the best times of your life when it seemed nothing could go wrong. You were living the life you always dreamed of. This time for me was just last year. I was living and going to school in Hawaii, an exciting and somewhat exotic place for someone who was born and raised as I was. You see, I grew up in a tiny town in Alaska.

I grew up near the ocean, where nearly all summer work had something to do with fishing. Whether it was sport fishing guide businesses or commercial fishing in the Inlet, everyone I knew had some sort of fishing way of life, fishing was life. I lived within a few miles of the ocean, not one in which one would go swimming or surfing mind you, no, I lived near the frigid waters of the Cook Inlet. A place where, even in the middle of summer, one is only given several minutes of life if caste into the water. But this is not where my ideal time and place lies. Hawaii, a place of tropical beauty, the place where honeymooners honeymoon and vacationers vacation, the place that all good Americans go to vacation at least once, along with Disneyworld and Six Flags.

This place means much to me, but in a different way than most people see those small, tropical vacation islands in the middle of the vast Pacific. I enjoyed that place because of the friends that I had there. Granted it was the same person with whom I had grown up with in Alaska, but when we were together in Hawaii, attending the University, it was in a sense, us against the world. Our school of choice was the University of Hawaii, Hilo. The most important part of this school and our view of us against the world was this schools location. The poor side of the Big Island is a location that most tourists don’t care to visit, and for good reason. Several things about this place makes it inhospitable to tourists. First, it rains—a lot. Second, the town itself does not have much to offer except a Wal-Mart and a mall. Third, there are the locals.

The local inhabitants of this particular side of the island prefer to be left alone. They are unhappy about the fact that there is a university so nearby that brings hundreds of white kids from all over the United States, to cause problems and question their way of life. I was one of these white kids, but I believe that I had a different sort of respect for the natives than did most. I remember meeting one local woman who remarked that one of the reasons why they don’t like outsiders is because all the local girls go after the white guys. Another woman, who had overheard, observed that if there were any good local guys it wouldn’t happen.

But what makes this place good, you might ask. It is a little bit difficult to explain, unless you learn more about my philosophy of life. Now most people shy away when I tell them that I have a philosophy about life. They may scrutinize the idea that I could dedicate myself to one particular idea without being a hypocrite in some way or another. I do not claim to never fall short of my philosophy but it would, as far as the definition goes, be more of a way of life.

Consider that people spend much of their extra money, that is, money in excess of what you need to survive, on their modes of transportation. I fall into this category myself, though I do not own a car. When I was in Hawaii, my friend introduced me to this way of life. Now we are not hippies and we don’t consider ourselves green, in fact my father works for Chevron and I am very proud of my father and his work and his work ethic. Yet our only mode of transport for the past 5 years has been by bicycle. My wife and I own four bikes of different sorts and no cars. Someone asked me the other day if I wanted to help get rid of global warming. I replied that I had already done my part, and asked if she was willing to sell her car and get a bike. People don’t ever seem to reply to that. So now you see that bike is my philosophy. It is my way of life.

In Hilo, the people who live there seem to have a little bit less respect for bikes than they do poisonous spiders and centipedes. This is what made Hawaii so memorable to my best friend and I. In a way this sort of attitude for something that I hold very dear only served to bolster my resolve to continue this highly idealized way of life.

I loved every minute of cycling in Hawaii. Every day, I couldn’t wait to get out of class and ride the local trails, even in pouring rain. I helped extend trails and build stunts on the university trail, often being required to destroy them after it was determined by the school officials that they were too dangerous. Nevertheless, I would just go deeper into the jungle to build something where no one was sure to find it, and ride as if I wasn’t going to be alive tomorrow. Then, tired and hungry, I ride home to eat my everyday meal, chicken and rice with chili paste and garlic. Day after day it was the same. I never tired of this worthy existence, living off my meager salary as a stock clerk at the local KTA, a small grocery store.

I am here now, which means I am not there, but soon, I will be there instead of here, and I will be happy.

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