I woke with the strangest sensation that I was, I don’t know… young? Nothing hurt or ached, no congested sinuses or dry eyes, no muscle fatigue. It had been forever since I just woke up and jumped out of bed without having to stretch or let my eyes adjust or any of the other myriad checklist items that come with being in my forties.

Part of it was age; Most of it was my fault. Motocross is a young man’s game, and I was about a decade-and-a-half past when I should have retired. The tautological quandary was that it was my overall excellent fitness that kept me able to do the very activity that seemed to have such a negative impact on my overall fitness. It also paid well, and I have no real grownup job skills. The X-Games was my retirement plan. I was going to be the first to land a double-backflip-twist, name it after myself, then ride the endorsement deals into bankrolling something I could do as my “second act.” Clothing line, maybe? Start a gear company? Something rad.

But here I was, getting out of bed and feeling amazing when I started wondering where the bed came from and why I had been in it. It looked like a normal bed, but everything was sort of dyed—no, that’s not it, maybe “washed”—in gray. The small room I was in, the linens, even the light coming through the window: all gray. Even my clothing—clothing I did not own and would not normally wear—was like a gray set of those pajamas that doctors and nurses wear.

Gray isn’t even the right word. It was like everything was monochromatically the same, but not the same. Like it retained it’s distinctness while being devoid of anything distinct.

I wish I was better at wording things like I want to. But, hopefully, it makes sense.

I went to the door to see if I could figure out where I was—assuming it must have been a rager if I didn’t even remember partying… but then, I’d feel horrible, not amazing. A wave of fear went through me. Wait, did I join one of those cults? Or worse, did I buy into one of those MLMs? Am I experiencing the true power of BCAAs or Alkaline Water or Copper Bracelet Technology. Oh no! Essential oils!

Okay, the fear was replaced by jokes, but that’s always been my go-to. It can be pretty intimidating and terrifying to be looking down the barrel of a three-story-high ramp or standing at the edge of a plane door thousands of feet high waiting to jump or racing a modified through the Sonoran desert. I do a lot of dumb shit. So, humor became a way for me to cope; To put myself at ease in the moment.

What I found on the other side of the door was anything but evidence of a killer party or a multi-level scheme.

It was just more gray.

The room was a stand-alone thing: Four walls; Window; Door; Bed. Outside was like a forest, but not. Like, have you ever been to someone’s house who lives way the hell out in the boonies and it’s sort of a mix of like trees and rocks and nature but also like manicured bushes and a grass lawn and those creepy-ass fountains where naked kids piss on stuff?

It was kind of like that. But not really.

This is so frustrating. I wish I could have taken a pic or something, but I didn’t have my phone. It was more than just how it looked, though. It smelled gray, if that makes sense. It felt and sounded gray. I’m sure it would have even tasted gray if I tried to eat a rock or a tree or something.

“You lost?”

I turned to see a man or woman, or, I’m not really sure, standing near a gate. He—I’ll call him he because, to me at least, he “felt” like a masculine presence—was about my height and build, wearing the same gray pajamas—Scrubs! That’s what they call them, like the show! Anyway, he smiled at me and I felt like I should introduce myself, so I approached.

He wasn’t attractive or unattractive. He just was. Same with his voice. It wasn’t loud or quiet, it just was.

“Yeah. I guess I am. I’m Robbie Riggles,” I said, with the customary two second pause to see if my name registered with them at all. “I gotta be honest, I don’t even remember being here, much less where here is.”

He smiled. “Here is everywhere, and nowhere.”

Shit. A Yoda wannabe.

“So, is it everywhere enough that I can call an Uber. I got stuff I need to do.”

He motioned toward the gate. “All you need is through here.”

“Sweet. Thanks, man. What’s your name, anyway?”

“You can call me Dux.”

“Ducks?”

“Dux.”

“…Ducks?”

“Close enough. Please.” And with this, he waved me through the gate.

Instantly, the entire world around me came alive with colors and smells and sounds that were so overwhelming that Duck had to keep me from collapsing under the psychological weight of it all. That, and I stumbled over a tree root.

It was sublime. No, that’s not enough word. It was past anything I can describe. It was like Willy Wonka and Salvador Dali had a baby and it was raised by Walt Disney. Everything was beyond: The sky was beyond blue; The grass beyond green; The smell of pine in the air was beyond pine. It was all-encompassing, total.

I looked at Duck, as if to say, “you seein’ this?” but even he was different. The gray scrubs were gone, replaced by flowing robes that seemed to alternate colors as they flowed. There was no breeze; His robes flowed on their own!

I looked down at my own clothing and… still gray.

Before I could ask, “You have not changed yet. You cannot change yet. You must choose to be here before you can be here completely.”

“Damn, bro. How do I even do that? Sounds amazing! Can I do it now? I’ll totally move here.”

He walked toward what I can only describe as the town square. I followed. As we approached, I started to see other people doing people things. Some were eating, some painting, some playing sports in a field. The “town” was full of people doing all the the kinds of things people do during the “side effects” part of a pharma commercial: riding horses; singing in a jazz band; playing fetch with a dog; riding bikes. It looked like paradise.

“I totally want to live here! This looks amazing. What are real estate prices like?”

“To live here costs nothing, and everything.”

“Ok, Kung Fu, I get it. You don’t have to be all mystical, bro. Is there an agent I can work with, or…”

He kept walking, until we came upon a food cart. Self-serve cotton candy! I was starving—I think—so I went crazy. I made the Bob Ross of spun sugar. So much cotton candy that I thought it might collapse under its own weight. “You want some?”

Duckster shook his head.

“Your loss,” I said, taking an enormous first bite.

And let me tell you, it was… empty.

Devoid of everything. No smell, no flavor, no anything.

I took another bite, assuming I was still coming out of my post-blackout period.

Nothing.

“Dude, what’s up with this—?”

The Duck was was walking again. So, I followed, dropping the candy in a trashcan along the way. As we walked, I spotted the most attractive woman I’d ever seen, and I live in LA. She was amazing. Every thing you could rank she got perfect scores. I was immediately smitten and decided, what the hell? I walked up and introduced myself. (Don’t tell my girlfriend about this, though.)

Nothing.

I waited a second. Sometimes that happens, woman know they know me from somewhere, and they sort of freeze. (It’s usually the modeling thing I did with Lebron and Bodie that they’re thinking of.)

Still, nothing.

“Hey, I’m sure you get hit on and stuff all the time. I was just trying to—“

“It’s no use.”

“What?”

“She won’t hear you?”

“Won’t? You mean ‘can’t?’”

“No, I mean won’t.”

I wanted to ask more questions—and I certainly didn’t want to leave such a hottie behind—but my buddy was strolling again, so I followed.

As we walked, I saw things differently. From a distance, everyone looked like they were beautiful, happy people doing beautiful, happy people things. But when we got closer it became clear that none of it was registering on their faces at all. There was nothing there. No joy, no sorrow, no… anything.

I wanted to ask more questions, but Sir Duckington was on the move again. So, I followed.

As we walked along we came to another gate. “Do you wish to enter?”

“Enter what? What’s back here?” This gate looked terrible. It was sort small and broken, with one hinge missing so that it dragged along the ground, furrowing an arch through the grass.

“The other side.”

“Other side of what.”

Duck just looked at me.

“Fine. YOLO. Let’s do it.”

We had to crouch down, almost crawling to get through. When I stood, everything was back to normal. Well, not normal. But, like, well, okay, yeah… normal. Like, the air smelled normal, the colors were normal, and I noticed that even my normal aches and pains had come back. “What is this place?”

Of course: He walked; I followed.

As we came to what, again, I’ll call the town square, I saw none of the fun play-time stuff I’d seen in the other town. Here, everything felt like fatigue. People were tired, slumped, gaunt. There was a bad smell in the air, putrid almost. I felt it in the back of my throat. It smelled of suffering.

“Why are we here? Can we leave? This place looks terrible.”

“You must choose to be here.”

I was about to say that I absolutely chose not to be in that broken town when I realized Duck’s wardrobe had changed again. It was covered in filth and blood and stains from things I don’t want to imagine. And he smelled like ass. Hate to say it, but for real though. Part of me really wanted to go back to the other town, to play with a dog, to hit on that girl again.

But another part of me felt compelled to learn more.

I looked for Duck—to repeat the lead/follow thing—but he was behind me, totally still. I tried a subtle “so, we doing this?” head nod, but he only looked straight on, into the heart of the town.

So I walked alone.

As I approached, I started to see the realness of what I was looking at—feeling it more than seeing it. As though all of my senses were working together to bring it into full realization, this wretched vista. An old woman was in front of me, she had fallen out of a nearby wheel chair. I approached her without thinking. “Hey, sweetie, let’s get you back into your chair.” She smelled of death and old tabacco, but smiled up at me as I lifted her nearly-weightless frame back to her chair. “There you go.”

Before she could respond I had already moved on to a man bleeding in the gutter. He’d been cut or hit by something. Blood was pouring from a wound on his head. Just as I thought that I needed my trusty first aid kit, I looked at my hand and—you won’t believe this—there it was. I gloved up, opened the nylon bag, and found some compression gauze. “Here, hold this, lots of pressure. Believe it or not, I’ve had to do a lot of self-treatment in my line of work,” I said with a wink. I finished up the work and was about to ask him what happened when I noticed an elderly man trying to push a massive cart full of goods up a slight incline. I told the bleeder to keep the pressure on and see a doctor before running toward the man with the cart.

“Let me help you with that.”

He smiled, and together we pushed the cart for a good quarter mile.

After what felt like hours I was exhausted, sweaty, and smelled of all things foul. I sat back against a leafless tree and wished I had something to drink. It was then that my buddy Duck, suddenly standing at my side, handed me a cool glass of water. “What is this place? Everyone seems so downtrodden. It’s like everywhere I look, someone needs help.”

Duck sat next to me. “It does seem that way. Yes.”

“What about the people in the next town? Why can’t they help these people?”

“They can.”

“Why don’t they?”

“Choice.”

“They choose to ignore it? To ignore this?” I said, waving my hand across our shared view of the anguished.

Nothing. Duck just looked at the people shuffling along. There was so much more to do. I took a long drink. It was the best water I’d ever had. I didn’t know if it was the water that was righteous, or my thirst for it. I wanted to sleep. I also wanted to get back to work. To help more people. I rested the back of my head against the tree and it came to me. The two towns, what it all meant.

I finished the rest of the water, got up, and started walking back toward the people in need.

Just as I approached the closest person—a young woman, eyes red from crying—my foot caught the curb and I tumbled.

Blackness.

Silence.

A beep.

Then another.

Another.

A steady, slow beep-beep-beep-beep.

A voice: “I think we got him back.”

I became aware of commotion, of quick movements, clinks and clangs of metal objects, the sanitary smells of an emergency room. I had been in so many.

“Hey, buddy. Hey, there. You still with us? I think he’s coming around. Keep that Normal Saline wide open, he lost a lot of fluid.”

My eyes started to flutter open, the light from the overhead lamp fighting my desire to see what was going on around me.

As my eyes adjusted, I saw that I was indeed in a hospital. A normal, everyday hospital. There were people all around me. They all wore scrubs, many with splashes of what I assume was my blood.

“Thought we lost you there partner. Good thing I’m a fan. I came to see you nail that double-spin. Maybe next time, huh?” The doctor smiled at me. He was still wearing his street clothes—and one of my branded t-shirts. His name tag read “Eric Dux, MD..”

It was a few hours later when Amiko finally got to come to my room. She was in a too-familiar state of relief and anger. She yelled at me that my time was up, no more X-Games, no more riding bikes, no more any of it. It was over or we were over.

“It’s okay. I think you’re right,” I said. She was stunned into silence. I had called her bluff so many other times.

“Really?” she asked, tears forming,

“Yeah. Really. I think I know what I want to do next.”