Medford, a city where we had a brief encounter lasting less than 48 hours, was the setting for a series of unfortunate events. Balin and I were eagerly anticipating a day filled with pinochle with his parents, followed by a Super Bowl viewing with nachos and salsa. However, our plans were abruptly disrupted by a larger experience.
Susie and I decided to catch an Angel Studios production called “Solo Mio,” a charming movie about a man who was stood up at the altar in Rome, Italy, and his subsequent journey through Italy. The movie was well-acted, clean, and the perfect way to spend a dark, cold, and rainy day in Medford, Oregon. Balin had gone above and beyond, gathering all the necessary materials for nachos, including beer, so he and his dad and brother, Obie, could enjoy the Super Bowl.
As we were engrossed in the movie, two men approached our truck and decided that our bikes were more valuable to them than to us. They pulled out a pair of cable cutters, cut the locks on our bikes, and rode off into the sunset. When we left the movie theater, Susie exclaimed, “Where are your bikes?” It was a shocking revelation that our bikes had been stolen just two hours after we had left. It was a terrible turn of events, and I couldn’t help but interrupt Balin’s enjoyment of the game and share the distressing news with him. He suggested that I call 911, which was my second call.
To our relief, the Medford Police Department responded quickly. Before we left the scene of the crime, the police were already in the area, searching for the suspects. It turned out that reporting bikes stolen worth over $15,000 combined makes it a felony. I filed a report, and Susie and I headed home to watch the Super Bowl.
Meanwhile, Balin was diligently working on his nacho perfection when he accidentally sliced open his finger while cutting onions. He looked at the injury and started turning pale. Susie and I quickly put a bandage on it, but he continued to struggle. It turned out that Balin has a condition called Vasovagal syncope, where he experiences fainting at the sight of blood. This time, the fainting was more severe, and he was out for at least a minute. After he regained consciousness, it took him an hour to recover from feeling lightheaded and out of it.
We concluded the night with a humiliating defeat at Balin’s parents’ hands in Pinochle, which prompted us to end the day on a low note.
The following day, we awoke early after a poor night’s sleep and set off to collect the trailer near Sacramento. The pickup process was smooth, and all our belongings were accounted for. We decided to stop at a state park outside Bakersfield, which turned out to be an excellent halfway point. By 7 p.m., we took sleeping pills, crawled into our bed, and slept until 8 a.m. the next morning. It was a much-needed rest.
On the 10th, we drove all day and arrived at Red Rocks Campground outside of Las Vegas. Since Las Vegas isn’t my favorite place, I’m glad to report that we can’t see anything from our campsite except for red rocks and the nearby mountains. Unfortunately, we lack water and electricity because this is a dry campsite primarily used by rock climbers, so we’re being cautious with our resources. I warned Balin not to overexert himself with his workouts since there’s no shower, and our quarters are cramped.
I’m looking forward to the next few nights to use as a time to shift our mindset towards abundance of time and energy. It’s been a hectic couple of months.
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| Evidence of the crime - no bikes with cables cut. |
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| Red Rocks Campground - promising hiking to be done tomorrow. |
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