Josiah Rides

On the Road Again

2009-09-27T05:49:00.001-07:00

Driving, not riding, but I'll write here anyway. The other night I walked up to a van I hadn't seen in a year and called inside "Scott.. Scott?"
"Huh?"
"Josiah here."
"Josiah?"
"Yeah"
"Hey! Where have you been, traveling the wasteland?"
Pretty much. So I laughed deep from my belly, and then we caught up. I've been driving much of September, working in places, visiting family and friends in others.

Here's a rough map. It ended up being 5555 miles from Sept 4 to Oct 2.

I guess I'm a travel writer. It's only on the road that I journal, and that's pretty much the extent of my writing. I've been a bit written-out over the last year, and my travels have mostly been for work. September could have been more of the same, with a tradeshow in Atlanta and training up in NJ. But with Elise and family on Long Island, and the folks near Chattanooga, I figured I should at least visit a little while nearby. I decided to drive, give myself some flexibility, and not abandon Muki for my travels. Boston - so near NY - has my favorite uncle as well as close friends from school, so I planned to spend time there as well. I got to see all my close family, spend some time, several times catching up and playing cribbage. My nephew and niece grow up fast, both sweet and bright and differently mischievious. It was also good too to see fellow Obies, all of us growing still.

I'm planning on backpacking for a week out at the Grand Canyon, two weeks from now. I decided to take my backpack and camping gear on my road trip. I walked around with water and gear in my pack on a number of occasions, getting my legs and brain ready for the canyon. This afforded me the ability to camp easily on my trip, which I only ended up doing on the drive back. I gave a shout out to some river guide friends who I suspected would be running the Gauley River about now.

Last weekend, I drove all day Saturday from Long Island to the (self-proclaimed) coolest small town in the USA: Fayetteville, WV. I landed at the back parking lot of one rafting company, where at least a hundred people were camped out on maybe three acres. I found Scott, and we went out to hear some bluegrass. The highlight of the Wild Rumpus show was their cover of the theme song from The Jefferson's, bluegrass style. Movin on up...

I spent Sunday hiking around with Muki. We did an easy 5 miles along the rim of the gorge, past Diamond Point two ways on the Endless Wall trail. I checked out climbing routes and river rapids. Rhodie's in the hollows and near the creeks. Pine, fir on the hillsides. Oak and maple beneath the rim, headed down to the river a multitude of species. Diamond Point is a good spot for thinking, overlooking one of the oldest rivers on Earth.

Later, I drove around the area, making a circuit around the Gauley. I stopped at Carnifax Ferry Battlefield to check out Pillow Rock rapids on the Gauley. I see the sign for the overlook, .2 miles left, and decide to just grab binocs and dog. At .2 miles there's a sign in the woods that says something like "This is not a trail. We recommend you do not go this way. Etc." It looked like a trail down to the rapids, matching something of Scott's description. I hiked down, often 50% grade on slick mud and roots, about 5-600' down. Treacherous, in a word.

Muki and I spent an hour watching jumpers, kayakers, and rafters at Pillow Rock. Rafts that went too much left flipped, high side up the rock and then over into the channel. After a while, we were approached by two kayakers carrying their boats, looking for the trail out. Two ladies, one late 20s, the other a teenager. I told them the way, and watched them head out. The teenager was having trouble with her boat on the flats. So I left and carried her boat out. They were a teacher/student pair, and had broken too many paddles to continue down the river.

As we started up the hill, we heard whistles downstream from the rapid. Soon EMT and park workers started coming down the trail, the first with an AED. We paused for each group of rescuers, as we hauled 50 pound boats up 50 stories of muddy stairs. It won't be as hard as hiking out of the Grand.

I had dinner that night with twins I worked with on the Rio Grande, now running treetop zipline tours - part of the monies go to preserving hemlock in the area. Erica had to work the next day, but Erin and her boy Justin offered to take me down lower Gauley the next day. After taking Muki on a hike, after breakfast, we met up where Justin works and waited. Rain drove us into the boathouse. We waited for the trip leader to gather all the customers for the trip. Quiet, introspective, chain-smoking water people. A long bus ride on mountain backroads. Then as we put in, the sun came out.

The lower Gauley is more class IV-V rapids, whereas the upper is V-VI. Most of the danger is from undercut rocks. If you go swimming, in many places you'll be tumbled along the underside of a roughly worn limestone boulder - sized car to house. If you take a good line, you can hit some 6' waves and raft surfing holes. Justin put the boat where he wanted, and Erin and I powered it along. Koontz's Flume, upper and lower Staircase and the Mash rapids were my favorites, as they were each pretty long series of drops. It was also a beautiful sunny day, sometimes a hard breeze, but never cold. The lower section of the river passes several campsites, but it is undeveloped and winds through a lovely gorge. Eye candy between the brain/body candy of the rapids. Yeah, I've got a sweet tooth.

And in the last week, I've been motoring back. I saw my folks again, and my bro Jeremy and his family. I made it back in time for karate yesterday morning, and sensei rewarded me (not that I'm special, he distributes the love evenly) with many pushups, squats, situps in between kata. It's good to be back. I may feel like I work and live in Babylon, but it's not a necessary condition. I have freedom to get away and balance things out in my life, and I love it.

Back and Forth and Back

2008-08-18T06:13:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been a while since I've put pen to paper, or finger to keyboard. I don't know about you, but I get a little less excited about reading about these things so removed from the present. Nonetheless, some of you want me to keep up this chronicle, and for my own later reflections I guess I do too. Why do I write? Well, that's a good question. Perhaps better would be "Why don't I write more?"

So, I stopped cycle touring and have gone back and forth across the country by car, something over 7000 miles in a month and a half-ish. I did manage to stop and smell the flowers here and there, see a number of friends, and spend good time with family.

In late June I went out to the Grand Canyon, leaving my puppy behind in Austin. I went out to take a Wilderness First Responder class, run by WMI - part of NOLS. The 11 day class was intense, and the first formal education I've had in years. We spent more time doing role-playing than sitting in lecture. Some lessons began with role-playing, and dealing with symptoms pointing to something we didn't know how to deal with. This hooked me good; I'd pay attention, take notes, and remain engaged in what was going on.

Of the 30 students, maybe 18 of us camped out together at Mather Campground, which made for an outside dorm-like atmosphere. Students had varied backgrounds, part of the reason I took this class and not one offered at a college, which led to both some natural cliquing and a lot of cross-cultural interchange. Not all were experienced campers, which became quite evident in the first day of class. The ravens had a wonderful feast at the camp, tearing into all sorts of goodies left about. My bivvy was left decorated, but undamaged.

Over the week and a half we became more of a coherent camp, cooking for each other and dining together. Meals bring folks together. Playing injured and rescuers again and again and again again also brought us close. We were all helping each other learn, all of us trying to master the material. It's one of the best intensive learning experiences I've had.

At the end of it, Andrea came out to meet me for some backpackings. She had designs on some marathon adventures (ok, so did I), but I was exhausted. Nonetheless, the day after class ended we set out for a rim to rim hike of the Grand Canyon.

I have a special relationship with the canyon; it grabbed me hard the first time I saw it, maybe age 11. During the WFR class, I avoided seeing it until I could go at night. I wanted it free of so many tourists. After a couple of night adventures, I could deal with it surrounded by tens of thousands of people - daily lunch picnics at the rim are a good thing.

So, knowing about tourist patterns, and more importantly forecasts for 120 degrees at the bottom, Andrea and I set out in the evening for an overnight 22 mile hike. I was so worn from marathon class sessions and such, that I was dragging by the time we were at the bottom. Instead of hiking straight through, we stopped at mile 7 for a nap for me, and again at mile 14 for some sleep. Still, we made it through and out in less than a day, down 5500' and up about 6500'.

The canyon is like nothing else. It's hard to fathom; hard to digest. It's best at dusk and dawn, when changing shadows show the shape of features. While there was less to see at night, there were still treats for the senses. The honey mesquite was indeed meliferous. Scorpions skedaddled from our steps. A ringtail nearly walked up to us, curious what was about. The moon rose bright and we crossed raging streams, walls high around us.

And then we went down the road, driving along the Mogollon Rim. We day hiked and swam by Lake Roosevelt, in the Sonoran desert again. We walked through a forest of saguaro, across steep hills dropping to the lake. We dropped in on Catfish and caught up a while. On the road again, we day hiked into the Catalinas, going for a swim in a deep cool creek hole, stained red with tannins. Froglets lined the sides. Again through saguaro, agave sometimes in full bloom, sun high and hot. And then on the road down to the Chiricahuas.

We hiked through most of the amazing rhyolite hoodoos of the park. There's nothing like this place. It's a great natural ruin, columns and partitions and hallways lacking only a roof. The terrain is intricate; wonders abound.

We breezed through Portal, it was on fire near to the South and the town was hopping, organizing. We were back on my bike route, and indeed camped at Pancho Villa State Park in NM, and dined the next morning at the Pancho Villa Cafe. We drove on to Terlingua; it'd been calling me back.

We picked up Sheilita in Alpine and drove through small monsoon onto Terlingua. Over frito pie at the Boathouse we waited through a torrential downpour. It rains in the desert like nowhere else, sideways at first, thick drops smacking into buildings, bending trees over. I've been in calmer hurricanes. Soon the rains pass though, and the creosote-clean smell fills the air. We went out to La Kiva that night, for an awesome open-mic night. With few tourists in town, this was a mostly locals event. Great music, great people, and cheap beer - good times.

Andrea and I spent the next several days hiking up in the Chisos. Rain showers in the mountain Basin had clouds pouring over the saddles between peaks, and then provided us with a fine double rainbow in front of Casa Grande. This is indeed the place where rainbows wait for rain, and mountains float in the sky. Hiking the next day, I saw my first mountain lion in the wild as we approached the South Rim. Andrea chased after it, having missed my sighting, she wanted to see it. It's hard to find a cat that wants to hide. The South Rim was still nothing less than spectacular, with huge views in so many directions, over desert, mountains, down to the river, into Mexico, and out to the ridges in the distance. Redtails played in the air, probably some mating display, wrestling in the sky. Peregrines tore past, ripping through the air, driving away vultures. Nearly stepping on my first rattlesnake of the year, we hiked up Emory peak in growing clouds. Then down in a hail storm. It wasn't cold if we kept moving, through and out of the mixed oak juniper pinyon madrone forest back to the Basin. Back to Terlingua, I got to reconnect with a handful of folks, and then it was on the road again to Austin. There Andrea's tour through the SW ended.

I spent most of July in Austin, practicing karate again at the dojo, mountain biking with friends, and catching up with Christine. It was odd to spend so much time with one ex and then another, and gave me a bit of perspective on where I've been and how I value my friendships. I got to get back to my puppy again, guilty of leaving her for travels for a month. I made quality time for the dog on a daily basis, tugging her around with sockey games, trail running in a number of Austin parks, hiking and swimming in state parks in the Hill Country, and throwing the frisbee for her many days. Muki especially liked spending time with sensei's dog, so she'd come with me to karate, and recognized my preparations for such. Christine's geriatric ward, three thirteen year old bitches, was a bit oppressive for her, and she liked time with other playful younguns.

I got all of my things sorted out in Austin, having shipped it all ahead about 9 months before. I got rid of much, but still feel burdened by what I put in storage. I took care of some administrivia after so much time traveling, but still feel burdened by what I left undone. Such is life. I don't sweat it much, and soon it was time to move on.

I'm writing now from my sister's house. I've been here the last several weeks, spending time with Elise and Kevin, and Rhys and Sylvie. My folks were here a week with my as well, though we didn't seem to have much time together. Assisting in nannying is demanding of time and attention, but more than that it's mentally taxing insofar as there's a lot to do and little to think about. Still, I wouldn't trade this time for anything, as Rhys and Sylvie will only be this old once. They're both precious - Sylvie full of smiles and Rhys full of imagination. Muki likes the dogs here too, she can chew on Zoe and even play with Milo sometimes.

And now I somewhat like I'm marking time. I'm ready to get back to Texas and stop traveling far and wide and sink in a bit. I feel ready to for more bike tourings, with a dog in tow. So that's what I'll go and do.

Late Spring in Tenessee

2008-05-27T12:27:00.000-07:00

I got to Austin with a day to take care of things - vet, mail, packing - and then flew on to Chattanooga after a long night of drinking with John and Jon and Stefan, passed out on the front porch at 3am when the cab arrived. But I made it out with all I needed and then some. It was the first time I enjoyed airports, because I wasn't at all stressed or concerned and could just walk and walk and take in the sights.

05/18
Pa and I took his explorer up the Tennesee line, into the Tri-Cities area, by the Virginia and North Carolina borders. We explored golf courses for his later in the week fun, and then went to the cabins he'd rented. Rod was there, geared up for fishing. So we put our waders on, grabbed a couple of cigars, and waded in.

The Watauga is a beautiful river, flowing through limestone, clean. Green trees line the river: white oak, other oak, poplar, elm and locust. It smells green, and tastes good. I slipped in the river, loading my leg waders with 55 degree water - a real shrinker. So I sat out on the bank and watched the fish jump, and nipped at the flask Ron sent for my birthday. O'Dhaniel showed up eventually. Rod's friend Mike showed up with his 4 year old son. We were packed into the cabin and serenaded by the Savage snoring sawmill.

05/19
We took a guided float down the Watauga, OD and I in a boat with Evan. OD caught his first fish on his first trout hunt within an hour. He repeated this feat again and again, catching a grand slam - rainbow, brown and brook - before lunch. I had strikes and ripped the hook free a number of times. These were fiesty fish, fighters, and they didn't like my technique at all.

So I began drinking PBR's. O'Dhaniel caught more fish, and began apologizing each time: "Sorry Jo." I drank more beers and caught more trees and rocks. I was having a good time just being out on the river, but OD was clearly concerned and our guide Evan was getting frustrated. It was a beautiful day on a lovely river; we had cold beer. How could I be upset? I drank more beers and caught a fish. Then three. The more beer I drank, the more fish I caught. I found something approaching technique - I relaxed and the fish took what I had to offer.

05/20
Rainy gray day, and Pa and Rod went out for golf. OD and I stayed around the cabin, and tried wading in the Watauga for trout. We saw no fish, and had no action. We packed it in after a couple of hours, and sat down for marathon Carcasonne. We had a lazy intellectual day, and figured out the game. Others returned, and OD, Mike and I played Carcasonne late into the night.

05/21
We took another guided float, again with Evan. Rod and Pa were with Jason again. OD started on the beers early, and encouraged me to do so. I started catching trout right away, over 8 in (and out) of the boat before lunch. It was another gorgeous day, past 50' cliffs, over small rapids and deep holes. Fishing from the front of the boat was much easier. I only caught O'Dhaniel once, as opposed to the 5 times I hooked him on Monday. Pa and Rod were reelin them in by the dozen. A good time was had by all.

05/22
O'Dhaniel and I took a side trip, as more golf was on the elders' agenda. We went to visit a friend from Oberlin, Darrah, living on the other side of Roan Mountain from Elizabethton. We'd reconnected a year ago at Jordan's wedding, and had a chance to hang out with Zack, Darrah's new hubby. We took the scenic route out, up and over the highest peak in Tennessee. We saw dogwood and chestnut in bloom as we got higher on the mountain. Then, past the fir line, the trees were barely in bloom, the rhoddies barely budded out.

We met up with Darrah and Zack and Zack's friend and fellow blacksmith, Drew. After some North Carolina style pulled pork bbq - delicious - Darrah, OD and I went to check out the school. Darrah'd met Zack at Penland School of Crafts. He's a blacksmith; she's a glass blower etc. Penlandia is on the side of a mountain, looking across the temperate rain forest valley. It's easy to see why artists and artisans (what's the difference) would be attracted to the spot. We toured the different buildings, each devoted to a different craft. Again, I found myself amidst expert tool users in a highly artistic culture. I dig it.

After walking around a bit, we went back to Darrah's, a modest house with a big new barn Darrah just put together, sitting on the bottom of a bit of acreage. After catching up a bit inside, Darrah, OD and I went on a hike, mostly uphill. We had a great time wandering around, taking in the greenyellow lime yellowgreen trees.

Afterwards, we went back in to the school to watch or help Zack and Drew harden a die for the forge in their shop. I sat on the rocking bull, and mostly stayed out of the way. A nordic blacksmith, Tessa, provided me with tasty rollies. OD got to man the water nozzle on the hot metal. Iron got hot, then cold. We made steam, and maybe the die got a little harder. I could stand to do this sort of thing more often.

05/23
O'Dhaniel and I took off early to make a rafting appointment in Erwin, TN. I'd planned to check out the Nolichucky, home river of a guide friend I'd made in Terlingua, Scott. Scott took care of us - put us in the front of an R6, himself steering in back, and only lunch (for 30) and water in between. We'd been warmed up on the ride over the mountain by senior guide Jed, playing the banjo to feel out the crowd, and offering such witticisms as: "A rafting trip is a lot like a Grateful Dead show; the bus might just make it there."

The Nolichucky is like the Watauga, only moreso. It's more remote, with park land and railroad land on each side. It's also a limestone river, but with many more hazards and much more drop. It's technical whitewater, with a nice full 1/4 mile stretch of class 4, even at the low 650cfs we ran on. The river is free flowing, so if Mt Mitchell (highest in the Appalachains) gets rain, the Noli rises.

We had a most excellent time on the river, often pulling ahead to be a safety net for duckeys or other rafts. There was very little in the way of flippage, so rescue was not required. We spent some time in a hole surfing, and I got to drive a while. OD tried to flip us, but I managed to keep us all aboard. Maybe next time...

After we got back, we spent some time at the compound drinking beers and bourbon and throwin shoes. I met the other guides, and folks took both OD and me for guides. We fit right in, easy outdoors with a beer in one hand and a horseshoe in the other. Scott gave us a great day, and so we took him out for Chinese, eating heroic quantities of fried saucey meat. Yum.

05/24 - 05/27
My dad and I headed back early Saturday, having had good times together and apart. O'Dhaniel had a much needed vacation, and I was happy to share in it. We got back to Ootlewah in the afternoon and rested.

Elise arrived the next day, with my nephew and niece in tow. I got to meet Sylvie, bright eyed and smiley. Rhys has more words, more understanding, and is more fun. We've spent the last several days eating meals together, going on walks around the hilly neighboorhood together ("Can you say 'suburban wasteland' Rhys?" Elise asks).

I'm happy I made it out for family time; it's been a while. My one regret on my recent tour was that I wasn't around for the holidays - 30 in a row was pretty good track record, but I wanted to be around for the arrival or newness of Sylvie. I'm over it now, having had some time to hang with dad, mom, and sister. My nephew and niece know me, and to me that means much.

Tomorrow I'm on the road again, headed to the Grand Canyon by way of Austin and Denver. I've got a Wilderness First Responder course to take, so that I can do this guiding thing professionally. Then it's backpacking, rafting, and more travel. I'll keep it posted.

Looking Back III: Texafied

2008-05-26T14:34:00.000-07:00

After work settled down, I settled in. I got a pickup, a shotgun and a dog. I got a woman, but she won't stay true. Cue the music...

From my first day there, Terlingua smelled like home. I expected to be there a while over the time to come, just not so much so soon. After guiding work dried up at the end of spring break, I found myself with little incentive to move on. The heat drove many away to northern climes, but for me it was deeply satisfying.

I found a truck for sale in town approximating what I'd planned to build up, only much further along. So I bought it, and started fixing it up. These plans stalled due to lack of tools, planning and knowhow. But getting things done isn't really living Terlingua style.

I met a woman, Fanny, whom I became interested in, and vice versa. Of course, this came with some entanglements, as she was the ex of one of my coworkers, Tex. Well, I talked with Tex about it, and he said it was done and over and to do what I would - go ahead. Of course, I did. And Fanny needed more closure with Tex and so on. So I stepped in a mess, as I'm wont to do. No one was hurt, and the road goes on.

I became good friends with some of the locals and a few of my fellow guides. Dan came by bored one day when we hadn't worked in a couple of days, and spotted Tinky Winky - a doll someone had left at the house I was staying. "Tinky Wink must die," he proclaimed. And so we took the doll out for target practice. We shot guns, played chess, and camped around the desert. Dan turned me on to new music and books, and I him. I got a shotgun and we finished off Tinky Winky, in a way that a 22 or 45 just can't do. The shotgun was my planned gift for myself at the end of my ride. I was planning to get it in Austin, but it seemed right in Terlingua. Besides, was I really going to ride to Austin at this point?

Over the first few days in Terlingua, I found myself in the best dog culture I'd encountered. Riding around for supplies, I had a pack of 3 dogs start chasing me. I dismounted, put the bike between us, and then saw the big dog smiles on all their faces. Instead of telling them to go, I yelled at them to get out of the road, and then let them all meet me. Going to the bar later, I found a place where people arrive with unleashed dogs. Silent glances cut across the room as dogs or owners share information. It was like an extra layer of intelligence and communication not found elsewhere.

There are dogs in Terlingua without owners - Brown Dog the quintessential example. He'll lead you through off trail desert paths, once he figures out the direction you're headed. He'll wait in people's cars as they're ready to leave the bar, hitching a ride to whereever he thinks food and rest will be best. Everyone in town knows Brown Dog, and respects him as a survivor. He showed me a thing or two, and linked me up to other groups of people walking out in the desert.

I'd long been thinking of getting a dog, a blue heeler especially. I want a friend that can keep up with my biking, something smart and not too crazy. A friend brought his bitch's litter to the bar - blue heeler australian shepherd mix. It would never be a good time to adopt, so there's no time like the present. So, I got Muki, born 02/05, an auspicious date. Muki got to spend some time with her mother and the runt of the litter, and much time with uncle Brown Dog. And now I won't be as alone on future travels.

I had to get down the road to meet my dad in Tennessee for fly fishing. This had been the plan since January, and I was loathe to miss it. So I got my truck as fixed up as I could, packed my shotgun and loaded Ziggy and Muki and drove out of Terlingua. How do I feel about driving at the end of my bike trip? Didn't I cheat? Wasn't the plan to ride my bike from Seattle to Austin?

Well, I didn't ride the whole way, now did I? I'd hitched rides and rented cars when I wanted along the way. I'm not a fundementalist, and accept changing situations with a smile on my face. I'm still travelling, now in Tennesee, tomorrow in Arkansas and so on. So I feel great, really, about getting here in time to spend a week with my dad on the river.

I did leave Muki behind with a friend in Texas, as weekdays alone in a garage seemed less puppy friendly than a couple of weeks with other dogs. I've got to socialize my baby even when I'm around. I've added a responsibility to my life, and Muki is really the only thing that generates stress for me. On the other hand, spending time with a puppy does so much to make me a child again - how much fun is that?

Looking Back II: Learning to Guide

2008-05-26T13:50:00.000-07:00

I got a new hat for my trip on the river. Weeks later, at the Rocket Fuel party, someone was pointing someone else out to me. I simply asked: "What hat is he wearing?" "A good question," was the response. A new hat indeed...

I sat shotgun on the way from the office to the put in. I talked easily with my guide, John. He pointed out features and flora to the two couples in the back of the van. I pointed out things to him, and he noted that this was not my first rodeo. Of course, I love the Big Bend, and was excited to see it from a new perspective.

The river trip was awesome - thousand foot cliffs shoot up from the river. After call upon call of canyon wrens, we chanced upon a mated peregrine pair. The parade of birds continued, but I soon ran out of names. After paddling upstream half the day, we lunched and hiked a side canyon in Mexico, and then eased our way back down the Rio.

John began working on me to stay and help guide or shuttle during the spring break rush. I became convinced that this was a good idea, and - after all - why not? I'd been told before by a guide I'd met on my tour that Jan Forte was great to work for. On John's recommendation, she took me without any experience. I asked her to make me a trainee and to put me on the river as much as possible. She didn't let me down.

I started the next day, on an overnight trip down Santa Elena Canyon - covering the upper as yet unseen by me half of the canyon, and the several miles above that. I received instruction from Carmen, hard and fair and an excellent cook. "You're going to feel like you're going from rock to rock, always falling behind. We all go through that." True.

I was blown away by the experience immediately. So long had I been living in relative privation, expedition style gourmet canoe camping was quite a shock. Campfires and propane and dutch ovens and gallons and gallons of water. I'd graduated to camping in style.

I stopped writing and taking pictures. There was too much new to do. Reflection took a way back seat to action. I came back and really met my coworkers. I was clearly the least experienced and most out of place. Travelling alone so long, I'd forgotten how to be in groups my age. I required resocialization.

That'll only really go so far though, coming from where I'd been. Few have travelled alone as I, and few understand the complete rearrangement of my life facts while keeping my essential identity the same. I feel like I'd become who I am, not who I told myself I am. Guiding seemed a natural selection along these lines - teaching and learning and being outdoors and active all the time. Professional camping was easy, but managing interactions took some time.

Most guides percieve a gulf between themselves and tourists. Some even set themselves aside from the locals. I felt one in the same all of these. I feel at home in Terlingua. I can show and tell with the best of 'em. And yet I know myself a traveller, new to so much so much of the time.

Nonetheless, I found myself deeply attached to this new group of people. I treated them like family, maybe with more familiarity than some were comfortable, but certainly closer than coworkers or even new-found friends. This in part came from the openness and trust within the culture. It too came from finding a richer collection of varied experts than I'd ever encountered. Polymaths and panelementalists abound. Tool users and vehicle drivers at exceptional levels, these are also considerate communicators, artists, and seekers. Again, I felt at home.

The next three weeks I had a day or two off. I was on the river all the time. I ate little. I slept little. I socialized much. I balanced as best I could, training hard in my Uechi managing any inner conflict - sanchin with a canoe on my head. I opened my mind to new experiences and drank in the river. Jan put me on each of the three upper canyons, giving me quite a tour of the river. My fellow guides taught me patience, technique, and so on. It was easy, natural. Then I was worn out and business died down and I was on the river less and less.

I've found something that will allow me to continue this nomadic lifestyle with something that looks like purpose. I've got waters to learn, and places to be. I'll even get paid for the pleasure, which seems alright with me. I've made friendships that will last, with people who share my values, pursuing mine own interests. Where else can I find rock climbing mountain biking hanggliding whitewater guiding wisewomen listening to dub music? I'm hooked.

Looking Back I: Road to Terlingua

2008-04-16T13:57:00.000-07:00

Looking back, it's been a while since I've written. Much of the time between then and now, I've been focused on doing. I stowed my journal and camera. Much I've done and learned in the last two months. I'll just back up, pick up where I left off.

2/17
I left Portal and Rodeo many adventures ago. A-bike and light-hearted I hit the open road, on to NM 9 after a mile or so. I left the San Simon Valley, climbing up through Animas Pass, leaving the high desert grasslands behind. Crumbly weathered Peloncillos soon were behind me. So too was the small town of Animas. Across the Animas Valley, creosote and yuccas replaced grasses. I was returning to the desert.

By the time I reached Columbus, NM and Pancho Villa State Park I was certainly in a Chihuahuan way. I'd ridden longer than any previous day, about 85 miles with a chilly dry tailwind at a faster rate than any other day's ride. I met yet another Lonny - this one I call to myself "biker Lonny" - as he stopped twice to tell me what was closed and open in town. We sat down to some tacos together at the deli. Mexican food keeps getting better.

The state park is an RV park with a nice landscaped hill. Apparently Pancho Villa's troops attacked the town of Columbus and so we sent the army to go camp out in the desert and try out all their new mechanized equipment. Grease skids - among the first built - and an old airstrip remain from 100 years ago. The hill around which ole Pancho's band snuck up on the sleepy little town is filled with cactus, placed by loving hands. The tent camping area is a little patch of grass, cottontail munch turf. As I faded to sleep the bunnies congregated around my tent, slowly forming a ring around me. As they'd edge closer I'd shrug or grunt or fart and scare them off. Then dumb little bunnies would gather again, have a little rabbit talk, and then spread out again round me. This game continued until I fell asleep.

2/18
After a hot shower in the early twilight, I sought Mexican food in town, stopping at the Pancho Villa Cafe. Biker Lonny was there already, and so I sat down with him to breakfast. We talked widely about travelling, Arizona and Washington, and then at length about his out of body experience. Do I tell someone that I generally don't buy what they believe? No, now I listen, and the more I listen the more I wonder. And so we parted ways, Lonny insisting on my tab.

From Columbus to El Paso was one of the emptiest stretches of road I've seen. East of town the ground gradually rose to low hills made of sand. Large stands of grass vanished. After sand came slow rollers through lava rock in barren creosote-filled desert. No sign of man for miles, then a pile of rocks by the road, as if someone who stopped couldn't handle the emptiness - the lack of man. And for several miles then, rock jenga on one side of the road or the other. No traffic, only Border Patrol. And then more cars in the afternoon coming from Texas, and more and more Border Patrol.

And the Franklin Mountains came into view and the long road up through the pass. Soon enough I was dropping into NW El Paso, across the pitiful trickle that is the Rio Grande there, and into Texas. Into Texas at long last, after nearly 4 months of travel. And there off the highway, near my motel, was Rudy's BBQ. And it was good.

2/20
After a day of rest and groceries and even better Mexican food and lazing north of El Paso, I set off early the next morning climbing slowly up and over the Franklin Mountains. My cough from Portal returned, racking me silly on climb up. Not too demanding once I got up there, and a helluva descent, through near-vertical block faulting of old limestoney peaks. Down and down the trans-mountain highway and then huge sweeping beltway around NE El Paso. Highways with marked bicycle lanes are a welcome change. East on 180, through the junkyard heaven of western EP.

In the afternoon, civilization disappearing behind me, I got the second flat of my trip. It was up front, and was an echo of my blowout weeks before. The thin tube up front had worn against the sidewall patch, weakened, and flatted. After a quick swap, pump and snack, I rolled the last 15 miles into Hueco Tanks State Park. I watched the orientation video and dropped gear at my assigned campsite. Mountains, highway, rough roads, flats, dirt roads - none got in the way of a great day's ride.

I wandered over to a nearby campsite with younger campers coming and going. I thereby spent the evening of the lunar eclipse with a group of twentysomething climbers who'd been camped there most of the winter. It was a joy to spend time with folks who'd already figured it out: they were engaged in an activity they loved, respectful of the outdoors and its wonders, and learned along different lines. Conversations rambled into the night, until clouds swallowed the moon reemerged.

2/21
The red dawn let me know that the winds weren't dying, and that I should follow the front to and up the Guadalupes. I bid farewell to newfound friends, and hit the road earlyish. I was coughing the night before, hoping it was just a tickle and not a return to the funk I caught in Portal. I left in gray morning, buffeted by strong crosswinds. I turned onto the highway again, headed East up and over the Hueco Mountains. It wasn't easy, and the canyoney road shifted the winds to most directions but aft. I finally got the expected push as I climbed out of the arroyo and over the pass.

I stopped rarely on the long gradual descent to the foot of Guadalupes. Over 50 miles gradually downhill with a 20-35mph tailwind, I had little inclination to do so. I spent most of my time spinning in gear 14, flying loaded 22-29mph. My lower back hurt all day, and this and hunger inspired a couple of breaks. At the turnoff to Dell City, I stopped at the mini mart for birthday treats for the morrow, and BSed with the proprieter a bit. I dreaded what was to come, and so was adding sugar and caffeine and water and carbs to steel myself for it.

The Guadalupes are an awesome range, the southern end sticking into Texas, providing its tallest peak. The range is an uplifted reef, and hiking the mountains in the past has shown me hundreds and hundreds of fossils. The wind always howls there, providing some of the longest dustiest dawns and dusks I've had the pleasure to see. I was really excited to go camp up there, and lucky to time it for my birthday.

On the other hand, I'd just ridden over 80 miles with all my gear on a rough surface road. My lower back hurt. I was wracked by coughing fits a couple of times so hard I wanted to puke. But here I was, ready for my dragon. After 56 peeled away to the South, 180 started climbing in earnest. I stopped to sugarade-up before the 2000' I had over the last 10 miles.

I turned North and began switchbacks, up impressive grades. I turned the big beat playlist up and got low in the wind and low in gear and spun fast and steady. The wind gusted at me, bouncing off cut walls, pushing me back. I ground hard in gear 2, too proud to kick it down to 1. I turned East again and had a little surge, and managed to stand and dance from time to time in my pedals, in gears 6 and 8. I could feel the end near and the big dirty beats, house music, were carrying me uphill. I still had miles of climbing in the wind, and music again kept me focused, kept me breathing, kept me from breaking down.

When the road leveled off, about 2 miles from the end, I was yelling and screaming at the top of my lungs, crying with joy. I've never been so overcome with emotion at something I'd done. It was my Chariots of Fire moment. I put myself through the crucible and I came out a harder thing.

2/22,23,24
Of course, I broke myself. I was near delirious when the sun set and cold wind came. I managed to make hot gatorade and instant mashed potatoes and fell promptly asleep. I woke up through the night, sick, full of snot, coughing. I worked myself back to sick, and it was the middle of the night for a long time and I was being 31 and not at all disappointed.

I made myself coffee with evaporated milk - glass and canned goods a luxury I'll only carry for my birthday weekend. I lounged around drinking coffee, writing and reading. I visited the Visitor Center. I was wiped out and so I napped. The sun shone and the winds roared against my wee palace. I did some more reading, then went out to meet the local campers.

I met Debbie, out walking her dog. I learned that she was the one with the converted military Thomas/International bus. She works as a database designer and back end programmer, and was easy to talk to. Debbie lives on the road, working remotely as a consultant. Not only could think and talk likewise engineeringly, but also had been bitten sometime by similar desert wanderlust.

Later in the evening I met Clare, another RVer, who asked if I were the cycle tourist. She'd seen me and Ziggy and our camp. I learned that she and husband Bob had done a number of cycle tours together, and more recently many motor miles. We parted that afternoon expecting to see each other around camp in the coming days.

My birthday morning, I made myself coffee with evaporated milk. A rice crispy treat served as cake. I was pretty sick, full of snot, with a wracking cough. But dawn was beautiful, the sun was up, and the wind was moderate. I hung around camp, smoked the bday hooter I'd saved, lounged, read, napped. I spent most of the day not coughing, not moving enough to breathe deeply. It was wonderful, up in the desert mountains, sick or not, proud of how far I've come, looking over the vast dusty dusky desert.

I split cooking with Bob and Clare for my bday dinner. I made them my ziplocful of mac and cheese with vacuum sealed chicken and powdered milk, powdered cholula. They made black eyed peas and collards, both from cans, spices added. We showed off our bicycle camp cooking favorites and talked many hours. They wanted to know what had happened to my generation (and those younger). Why weren't we protesting all the BS currently going on in the world, the US, etc.? Well, having been at a liberal liberal arts college that promotes activism, I'd say that much whining does little good. We saw the hippies all turn into golf playing, SUV driving suburbanite consumers. Or something along those lines. And so we spent a while discussing values, ethics, politics, and history. Bob was very challenging, Clare inquisitive. They shared travel tales from their over 40K miles of cycle touring together. I had a wonderful engaging bday dinner with folks I grok, able to talk to them widely, longly.

I arranged with Debbie to get a lift down to Marfa, as winds were picking up from 30s to 50s mph. On the 24th we left in the early afternoon; Debbie drove down the mountain I'd ridden up, and we proceeded South towards Van Horn. Sad to be moving fast again, trying to take in the terrain at a hurry up. Glad to be out of the wind, able to breathe shallowly, and rest. We talked more in a hour than we had in the previous two days in the campground. We passed Blue Origin and realized our common spacial interests. We drove through the valley between the Sierra Diablo and the Delawares, a volcanic mesa starboard and limestone mountains to port. These petered out into the Apache Mountains and some small range and then Van Horn.

We stopped just South of I-10 at wendy's and had good gross food, at least a little. Frosty's were key, even though it wasn't too warm. I took over the driving, and the terrain changed from desert to high grasslands as we swept Southeast around the Davis Mountains (the Alps of Texas). Many shacks were run down rusted out and abandoned. The town of Valentine was mostly shut down and much deserted. We left the Davis Mountains behind and rolled over a hill into Marfa.

02/25-26

Marfa is growing, with many incoming Austinites. It's trendy and quaint. The best food were tamales from some random Mexican peddling red chile pork corn tastiness by the dozen. Sunsets were amazing, and cribbage with Debbie much fun. I was still sick though, and resenting it. The library allowed for some internetting. It'd been a while, and I missed it. I was still sick, and Debbie was inclined to check out The Big Bend at this point, so we motored on.

The drive from Marfa to Presidio is flat grasslands at first. Then the terrain drops. And rises. And shrubby desert plants appear again: creosote, then ocotillo and cacti. The Chinati Mountains loom large and show green of trees or juniper on top. The town of Shafter sits at a turn in Cibolo Creek, beautifully sculpted desert hills backdrop for the old mining town. And we pull into the motel in Presidio. Smog hangs above OJ in MX. And I rest, 'cause I'm sick.

02/27-28
I rode Ziggy out of Presidio, unloaded, but with snack and 1.5L water and toolbag for the 35 mile ride out to the Saucedo in Big Bend Ranch State Park. I rode the ten or so miles on the road, tired. I then turned onto the dirtroad to the park, and really had to work. Hacking convulsions returned. Suck. Try to find a good speed that's slow enough to breath but fast enough to post over washboard. I stopped at the shade shelter at the park welcome sign, and waited for Debbie.

We drove into the Bofecillos, offroad in a schoolbus. Lava rock loomed high, and lush desert surrounded us. There was an incredible variety of species: lechugilla - telling us we're here in the Chihuahua, creosote, strawberry cactus, pitaya, ocotillo, guayacan, barrel cacti, and more types of prickly pear than I could care about. In nooks and crannies grew bright green cottonwoods. Newly greening mesquite lined arroyos. This desert was very lush, impermiable lava rocks trapping water in hundreds of places across the hundreds of thousands of park acres.

We stayed two nights in the park, camping near the Sauceda and then nearer the entrance at Rancho Viejo. The first night, after dinner and cribbage in the bus, we had to scare two javelina away from my bivvy. I rode my bike during the day some each day, and it hurt my chest. We ate well, as Debbie had supplies but loathed cooking. I enjoy cooking, and was happy to have an audience again. At Rancho Viejo, the old windmill whined and whirred all night. I really wanted to ride the river road out, but knew I couldn't do it.

02/29
Along el Camino del Rio I drove the bus. This is a fantastic road, beautiful. By tall cornflower bluebonnets and yellow to green canebrake, up and down, winding into desert and down to the river. We got out of the bus near Colorado Canyon, and it smelled like home in some outdoor-is-familiar sort-of-way. Driving on, the view opened up at the top of BIG HILL and I saw the Chisos again, the river pointing the way -> green for miles. Soon we made it into Terlingua, and decamped at the Easter Egg.

There we met Mark and Christina, just arrived. A couple about my age, they were on their first camping vacation away from the kids. The four of Debbie, Mark, Christina and I went out to Rio Bravo for some Mexican. Mark BOOBeer, havin' thunk ahead. We talked about the world and people and places and values and life and enjoyed company all around. Guac' was good too.

03/01
I spent much of the day reading Texas I'd had to bail on going out to la Kiva for music, still tired from sick. The four of us had breakfast burrito's at Kathy's, best breakfast ambience in town. Mark and Christina left to go up into the mountains. Debbie worked some. I slept some. We went out for Mexican again, not branching out, kinda travelled out. As usual, talk was easy and good with Debbie. We've both got engineering minds, and so we like to focus on minutiae and fill the converstation stack up with new topics and tangents.

03/02
Debbie left in the morning, and it wasn't sad much, because we're both travellers, online, and believe we'll see each other down the road. Debbie aided me immensely in continuing my trip and allowing my convalesence. Camping and cribbage and computers and so on were good times. And we saw such beautiful country between there and here: deserts, river and mountains, plains and sunred skies.

Mark and Christina returned, fleeing cold weather. We went out to the Long Draw pizza house and had a Pancho Villa and a few pitchers of Shiner. It's good to be in Texas. These are folks I so easily relate with, genuine fun loving adults concerned about making the world better. They read and write and have kids and do healthcare and love this place like I do. We get along well.

Today I scheduled a river trip for tomorrow. I want to get down to Santa Elena and actually see the canyon where the water is, not just look from the edge at the mouth. I went to Big Bend River Tours, having met a guide along the way who worked for them. Now I go into the park in a whole new way.

Liminal Spaces

2008-03-31T08:58:00.000-07:00

Dawn to dusk: black purple pink orange blue all day orange pink purple black,
Edges of clouds provide contrast;
Firelit shadows fade to stars.
Current to eddy: water, wind, rock flow through canyons to floodplains.
Fluid dynamics describes the shapes.
Winter sleeps, then spring enervates.
Awake, dreaming, asleep, dreaming -
Working, playing, paddling, patonking...
Training, resting, learning, teaching;
I've come to Terlingua,
Where the desert meets the mountains, sky and river.

Three Ways to Paradise

2008-02-15T09:29:00.000-08:00

Portal sucked me in, in large part because of the community here. The people are varied and interesting, and all dig living here. In the past three and a half weeks I've done much. I've been living a full life.

I stayed with work on my mind. It was time to put some of my training to use in a meaningful way. I've learned how to use Quickbooks. I've done data entry of four years worth of checks. I've classified it all and generated views that show where money goes when. Moreso, I've gotten folks involved in their business in a way they've shied away from for years. I wasn't working too hard though.

I've caught up on my reading. In Oregon and Northern California, I read The Agony and The Ecstasy. In LA I picked up a small fantasy novel from a friend, and was done before I left Joshua Tree. Between there and here, it was several field guides. Since I've been in Portal, I've read a software manual, a philosophical essay, a mystical guidebook, an historical fiction, and a straight up history book. I've also seen a number movies, though only The World's Fastest Indian and Apocalypto stick with me. I bought 7.5 minute topos maps and a geological map from the USGS. I've studied hiking maps of the area. When I hit the road, I'll pick up Zarathustra. This might be a dangerous book, in terms of inspiration - like watching Dune on acid. I think I have too much of a sense of humor about myself, though, to have any messianic delusions.

Doing something makes one become a something doer. Identity is a bit trickier than that (or it isn't), and self-identity has been a theme of my trip. Saying and doing are a bit different, but I think labeling has its uses. This started in Seattle, with the self diagnosis personality test: Monkey-Robot, Ninja-Pirate. Personally, I'm a Ninja Monkey. So is Ziggy. Also bandied about there was the notion of spirit animal, again self-identified. I thought myself a bear, a mule, maybe a leopard. I never considered the flying animals that have been close to me thruoghout my life. A couple of folks helped me figure this out. Jason, in disclosing that after Kyl his spirit animal was probably a crow, made me realize how just right that was for his curious intelligence and own personal magic. John in Big Sur spoke so reverently of an experience with a loon, and I found myself telling him all sorts of raptor tales. I've thought so much of flying, spending time in the wind day to day to day, happy to be out with the sky again. I followed birds South, and have watched raptors flying. Here I flew. Golden eagle, red tail hawk, kestrel, osprey, elf owl - all are on my totem. So too are the tiger, dragon and crane. And the twin fish of my sign aparently inform my intuition. The Chinese say I'm a fire snake. Perhaps the more metaphors I use, the better I understand myself.

In Apocalypto, before the village is attacked the village elder tells the tale of the animals giving their gifts to man - such a pityful creature was he. The vulture gave him sight, the jaguar fierce strength, and the serpent the secrets of the earth. I nearly finished his tale for him, so engrossed have I been in my Uechi Ryu the last several weeks. I worked first and most on my crane technique, getting my wings back. Tiger and dragon I practiced too, finding them still inside, happy to be tapped again. I'm stronger, limberer, more confident and more alert than when I arrived.

Riding offroad on Ziggy has been a bit of fun, as I get my legs ready to roll again. Unlike time in the ultralight, I have no restraints on Ziggy - sometimes I really do fly. I've ridden a short technical singletrack segment a couple of times, at the limit of the tires' traction. Riding forest roads, I've been through sand, gravel, rocks, washboards, in mud, snow, dust, and water. Ziggy's treads have broken free more times than I can count, with no forced dismounts and only a couple of dab saves. Besides a dusty, bumpy trip down into the valley and back, I've done rides up around Silver Mountain and around the limestone uplift mountains. Going around Silver Mountain was my favoritest, and the most scenic. I like this way to Paradise, screamin down the forest road. The Portal to Paradise road is fun too, with some awesome views. Unless you're coming from San Simon, I'd avoid the washboarding on lower Turkey Creek, north of Paradise.

When this weather passes, I'll hit the road again. I'll camp out at the Sky Gypsy Complex, probably Saturday night. Then I'll zoom across the bootheel of NM into Texas, just North of El Paso. From there, it's about 4 more weeks to Austin. Talk to you down the road, whoever you are.

Words

2008-01-28T10:02:00.000-08:00

In summary, Southeastern Arizona has been a high point of my trip. Topographically, this became true at Onion Pass. The landscape though had been compelling since the first hour South of Tucson. Into the sky islands of SE AZ I rode, across the high desert grass and scrub. The Chiricahua Mountains have been the culmination of this segment. In Portal, AZ, I met a good and varied crowd. Cowboy Lonny warned me first thing about the possibility of getting sucked in to Portal. I found the rocks on this side of the mountain just as awe inspiring as those on the other side of the pass. Liminal spaces have long attracted me. The people made me more inclined to stay. I'll be here through the first week of February, give or take.

Along the way on this trip I've thought about much. Two things in particular keep coming to mind: What is my place in the world? What is valuable to me? There are many answers to those questions. In short though, I believe what I most have to offer others right now is teaching my computer literacy. I can do that anywhere. I've decided that building a healthy sustainable community is important to me. I want to see my friends and family succeed. I want humanity to grow and learn. So, I decided to live it.

I made friends with the folks at the Portal Lodge(and restaurant and general store). I really got a chance to meet them at a dinner party a local, Cliff, invited me to. There Mitch infected me with his enthusiasm about the community he is trying to build. I was excited by it, and after a wonderful home cooked meal, couldn't get to sleep because my wheels were spinning from the new people energy. Also, this place is magical; the mountains move me. I couldn't sleep. The next morning, I saw Loonie Loni, Mitch's wife, doing the books with a hand calculator. I knew that I had computer literacy that I could help out with, and here I am, helping them digitize the business.

It's not what I expected to find, nor what I expected to do along the way. Becoming a bicycle engine is becoming something inhuman. Generous folks have humanized me along the way, readers included. So now I'm practicing a little work/life balance while I do data entry, analysis and training. I ride my bike and learn the area on nice days. I practice karate every day. And I've gone flying, and hope to do more. Flying is something else.

Pictures

2008-01-24T02:19:00.000-08:00

Some folks saw me online and asked if I were done with my ride. Far from it! I'm still headed to Austin. I've just stopped in Portal AZ for a week, give or take. I haven't got stuck so much as sucked in. I've gone ahead and put up all of my pics from the trip on a different website. We can now view them many times and in larger resolution. Switching platforms sucked, but I have to prepare myself mentally for a bit of computer work. Looking at, titling, and uploading pictures isn't so bad.

http://picasaweb.google.com/josiah.hagen

I'll update the blog in the coming days. Southeastern Arizona has been a highlight of my trip, right up there with Big Sur. It culminated in the Chiricahuas, and here I am at the edge of the mountains. Words to follow...

Gila Bend into Tucson

2008-01-08T12:27:00.000-08:00

I spent the first few days of the new year fighting more wind in the sometimes lovely sometimes gross stretch across the northeast corner of the Sonoran Desert. See here.

12/1
A late start to recover from long empty headwindy stretches on I-8, I rolled out of the Space Age Lodge around noon. Winds were 10-15mph with occasional gusts, quartering me from the NE. I headed mostly East, into the Maricopa Mountains, and was soon in the Sonoran Desert National Monument. Winds increased. Saguaro became more and more prevalent on the slow grade to the pass. I'm back on Anza's route again, along the same rail line. Just after the pass I turn onto a dirt road and ride down a couple of miles, past an old lava butte, to make my camp. This winds hadn't bothered me much; I'd planned a short ride into beautiful country.

Neighbors arrived shortly before dark; I was a little miffed, excited to have the desert to myself. I went over to introduce myself to this pack of 4 men and two teenagers, one camper, several dual sport motorcycles, and a couple of jeeps. Keith offered me their fire, which was going to be much nicer than the one of dry rotten palo verde that I never made. I joined them after mac & cheese and tuna, and met the group. A number of them had met at work, and were out for the post new year eve's camping eat and drink the leftovers trip. Keith and Gary were the experienced offroaders. Gary, like me, has a penchant for endoing. Yeay superman! Keith gave me Leffe to drink, and we all settled into converstation around the fire.

Tony brought the kids, Danielle and Ben, and the three of them had a lot of questions about the trip. It's both fun and wearisome to talk about it. Ken too was inquisitive. Gary helped me out, telling stories of my own, and giving me some time to chill (warm) and drink yummy ale. Ed was mostly quiet.

I engaged these folks about offroading in the park, having seen a number of "No Offroading" signs, and many tire ruts in the desert. I got two answers. The first was the reactionary: "What are people, who've never been and will never been here, trying to tell us to do...". This was quickly moderated by Keith, experienced 'froader, who advocated staying on the designated roads trails. He understood the fragility of the desert. Everyone out there cherished it, and we were doing what we could to enjoy it and preserve it.

1/2
The wind picked up during the night. I hung out with 'froaders a little, and then got going around 930. The wind was fierce. I geared down, and road by new rail construction, kicking up red dirt. Dirt coming at me 30mph or so, pinpricky. Visibility 1/4 to 1 mile. This is not fun. It got worse after I passed the dump. There were more trucks coming and going. The shoulder disappeared. Trash would blow out of the beds of semis' trailers, several articles per truck every several hundreds or thousands of yards. After averaging about 5mph for more than 20 miles, I reached Maricopa.

I was hoping to find a place there, and just stop for the day. There were no places in this strip mall suburb in the desert. From blowing trash to plastic city, blech. So I rode on, knowing I'd be racing darkness against the wind into Casa Grande. Luckily, the wind let up a bit, though the scenery changed for the worse. Replacing the pristine then trashed desert was farmland and feed lots. I had a mediocre dinner burger in Casa Grande - probably locally raised, right? Then, exhausted, averaging 6mph over 50 or so miles, I conked out.

1/3
I planned a short day, and the wind had somewhat abated. I rode out of the farmland past Eloy to the edge of the North Picacho mountains. I got onto minor roads, making my way past orange groves, cotton, and maybe soybeans on my way to Picacho Peak. It's an incredible landmark - visible for many miles in all directions - like a well decayed molar sticking out of the dirt.

I stopped at the Arizona Nut House for some ice cream (never too cold for a cone) on the way into the park. The campground is in the bajada coming down from the west end of the peak, filled with foothills palo verde and saguaro along the washes, and various cholla and scrub everywhere else. The ground is littered with red lava rock, with a small 80' butte right by my campsite. I made camp and got the rangers to deliver me firewood, and set about fixing my stove. Apart, clean, together, light, off, repeat. I couldn't get a steady stream.

Gary Adler showed up, and then took me out to a truckstop for dinner. We spent 2 or so hours trying to catch up 15 or so years. It was great to see him, and clear to me why he was such a good friend to me then - he's bright and wise and very compassionate. Gary is in a doctoral program in sociology at Arizona, and my first example of what that can mean. We talked about our experiences and what our families were up to, and the time flew by far too quickly. He had a long trip planned, leaving the next day. It was nice that he drove out to meet me at my campsite before he left.

1/4
I used my firewood to boil my water, having broken my stove trying to fix it. Got a known problem as well as an unknown one, but it was only one more night until I roll in Tucson, so not worth sweating. After riding the frontage road for a couple of miles, I turned onto Park Link Rd, which quickly turned to a dirt road. I thought of turning back, not knowing what to expect - perhaps dirt road for 18 miles until the next turn. I'm glad I didn't heed these inner voices.

Park Link Rd was quite a lift after the previous days' rides. It cuts NE, up over a low pass and then onto 79. It is pure Arizona Upland terrain of the Sonoran Desert. It's marvelous saguaros and dense dense brush with honey mesquite, palo verde, barrel cactus, teddy bear cholla, pencil cholla, some creosote, and all sorts of other attractions. The road was a gentle grade up about 1% for 18 miles. The sun was out and bright and hot and the wind was low. After maybe 3 miles of dirt road the pavement appeared again, and the whole stretch slowly changed the flora as I climbed higher in the upland.

At the pass, the terrain changed, on the other side were valleys leading up to the Santa Catalinas, enormous and brushed with snow at the top. The saguaros disappeared, and there was much grass and occasional mesquite. I turned South, with occasional rollers ahead, and knowing I'd get to drop all the elevation I'd just picked up. A good days ride indeed!

Soon after I turned onto 79, I was passed by a roadie, Ryan. I sprinted, much as I can loaded, to catch up with him and asked to grab his wheel. He obliged, dropped me, then slowed down to pull me, understanding how slow I am after riding loaded 30 or so miles. Ryan pulled me all the way to Oro Valley. We shot the shit as we rode, and it was a great diversion. He pushed me really hard at first, over the rollers. Then it was slightly downhill, and I could hide behind him more effectively, often keeping him on one quarter or the other. The winds get swirly near the mountains, but we were going fast enough that much of the wind was ahead. Ryan sped me up to the point that I decided to call Scott about coming in the last 20 miles that night.

I rode into town from the northwest entrance. Tucson is surrounded by mountains, with roads radiating out through passes between ranges. I could see across town from my spot in foothills along Ina Rd over to the University of Arizona and knew I had eight or so miles left. I got the early impression that Tucson is a good cycling town, with clear and frequent signage as well as marked route. Having someone ride me into town and seeing all of the other folks out riding supported this.

I met up with Scott Savage, more a family friend than someone I knew well. We'd each spent much more time in the company of each other's fathers - out hiking or fly fishing - than we had with each other. It was good to meet him and spend some time swapping family stories or insight. Yeah, we talked about you. Hope you're all doing well.

1/5 - 1/10

Ultimately I couldn't spend too much time with Scott, because he is working like mad on grad school, in the same sociology program as Gary. I was lucky to have Scott introduce me to friends of his in the program, and found a good group of folks. It reminded me of the dojo, everyone working on self-improvement, helping those around them, and all sharing in each other's accomplishment. Good stuff. As Scott's roommate returned, and his place was small, I needed somewhere to stay if I was going to stay in Tucson longer.

Seth, one of Scott's friends and mentors in the department offered to put me up. This gave me a chance to relax my way through my to do list. It's been great preparation for what's to come. Seth has given me a ton to think about, which may happen in some middles of the night in the mountains to come. It's been a great time meeting a small circle within the sociology department, going out with Scott and Seth and Jeff. It's the first time this trip I've been with new folks my age, with whom I share many values and goals, for any number of days. I feel like I've grown by lingering here.

Tucson is indeed a good cycling town. There are routes all over, with frequent signs indicating routes - a good reminder for motorists. Roads are comparable to Seattle's, before their recent repairs initiative. BICAS, the local cycling coop, is the best I've been to. It has a huge space, a ton of used parts, and many friendly advisors helping wrench at the stands. They have a work for your parts plan, and are focused on teaching repair and building community. It was a great place to work on Ziggy, patching my sidewall puncture, cleaning, lubing, and tuning. There have been riders of all sorts out, which is good to see.

1/11

Today I rode out around town unloaded, to have some fun getting Ziggy rolling again. I went out to ride by the boneyards on the air force base, and then the ones at Pima County Air Museum. The bike trail leading out was a great break from trafficked riding. The aircraft looked tired, all lined up for disuse. I rode on, making a big sweep south to the Mission, and then back north into town to the UofA. It was a great day for it, and I really enjoyed hammering on the gentle grades.

I'm planning on heading out of town this weekend. I'm not much past my halfway point, but I've got no other planned stops. I've planned a number of options for my route. I'm hoping that I've learned a few things by now, and will be able to enjoy this push. It's going to be a lonely road, but time and again I've been friendly people possessed of a good spirit. It'll be nice to get in range of folks in Austin; maybe they'll join me for some campings along the way.

Primary planned route
or
Scorch across NM
or (
To the Guadalupe Mountains
and (
Through the Davis Mountains
or
Bail to Van Horn
))

Joshua Tree to Gila Bend

2008-01-01T06:39:00.000-08:00

I've been out of LA for about two weeks, now in Gila Bend, AZ. I stayed at the Space Age Lodge, which fittingly, has a computer available for my use. The last couple of weeks have proceeded by fits and starts; I seem to have trouble with momentum right now. Luckily, there have been some friendly and generous folks along the way to share my stoppages. My camera was out of juice, so I have no pictures between Joshua Tree and Yuma. Hopefully Karen and Briana will send me some. Here's pics I do have.

12/15 - 12/18
Joshua Tree to the Salton Sea

Joshua Tree (I keep typing "Josiah Tree") is much like my favorite camping spot outside of Austin, Enchanted Rock. Granite has been exposed as softer rocks have weathered away around it. The granite too is eroded and split and rounded and totally funky. I love it. I spent three days in Joshua Tree, the first two with camping with Nathan. Kali was out there too during the day, and we all wandered around the desert, checking out the crazy terrain. Kali made a run out to town and picked up wood and steaks and sausages and we had a great time bbqing. It was like being back in Austin, hanging outdoors in wild country eating meat over fire.

Actually, I need to back up a bit. Alex drove out too, to drop me off in the desert. He joined us at the Integratron, something Kali recommended we do. It has some wild acoustics, and we listened to some pure crystal tones for a while. This helped remove some of LA from the mind, and prepare us for the desert.

After Nathan and Kali took off, I camped again in the same spot, this time alone. I ate too much, my body not used to its road ration after lazing around LA. Feeling ill most of the night and morning, I rode out from Jumbo Rocks without eating. It was good to learn that a days ride without food is much easier than a day without water.

The Joshua Tree portion of Mojave Desert was full of yuccas, including the eponymous joshua tree. I rode out of the southern sliver of this desert, into the Colorado Desert portion of the Sonoran desert. The yuccas gave way to creosote. In one transition zone, the landscape was full of chollas. Shortly thereafter, full of ocotillos. I'd see a lot of these over the next two weeks. The granite went away from time to time, showing only the mountains of gneiss, disolving into alluvial flats full of creosote.

Out of Joshua Tree, I rode on Box Canyon Road. Both this and the park road were excellent for cycling, largely devoid of cagers. Box Canyon Road wasn't a box canyon itself, but presented hundreds of such along its sides. These were carved of dirt, it seemed, rippled walls 20-200' high, wending their way away from the road. It too was crazy stuff, but of a wholly different character to that of the park. Too soon, I turned a corner and was at the northern reaches of the Salton Sea, amidst grapefruit and red peppers.

The Salton Sea stinks. The ground around it is encrusted in sulphuric salts, white and yellow covering brown dirt. I moteled a night at Desert Shores, the low point of my trip at 180' below sea level. I had to decide whether to press on South, or head West (West, why would I head West to Austin?!) into the mountains.

12/19 - 12/26
Anza-Borrego

I went West into Anza Borrego Desert State Park. The northeastern portion of the park is carved dirt badlands, not unlike those North of the Salton Sea. It was a hot day, uphill, and I found all sorts of excuses to stop and look at the terrain. By late afternoon, I made it to Borrego Springs, nestled between the mountains. Here I spent several days, drinking beer by the pool and reading The Bear and The Dragon. I guess I needed some vacation time from my trip.

I rode on to Tamarisk Grove on 12/23, and there met one of the other two camping groups. This was Rebecca and Robin's Christmas camping trip, with their families and friends. They took me in and gave me fire and friendship. Larry showed me where to find the potable water. Randy really took me into the group and made me feel welcome; others followed suit. The family invited me to stay for Xmas dinner the 24th, and so I had turkey and ham and all the fixings. Zack and Parker took me offroading in Randy's truck, my first recreational use of a motor vehicle in some years. I got to play some backgammon with Robin, playing to 2-2, though with no cube involved. Ray, the Tampa Cowboy, was a trip, putting Nathan's Sling Blade imitation to shame by mixing it up singing Wild Thing. Briana and Big Zack hosted a trivia game, which all played. For my first Xmas away from my own family, I was with family nonetheless. They sent me away with a card all signed, again more than I'd expected to find for the holiday. I'm glad I found the loud crowd at the campsite, as we had a great time building a monster fire and drinking rum into the wee hours.

I rode on, on Xmas day, fighting wind all the way to Agua Caliente. The road I took was the Southern Overland Route of 1849. The mountain terrain was amazing, again with old granite mountains weathered into flats of creosote, cholla and ocotillo. I took in some spa action, and then had an early night. Again in the morning, I hit the hot pool, and spent a bit of time talking with Laurie and Jeff. They're cycle tourists who'd been van camping down in Mexico. We told tales of rides past, and it was good to connect with folks who knew what I was up to. They also knew Oberlin, with a groan, which was a rare treat. After a slow chatty morning, I didn't get rolling for a while. I figured I'd motel it in Ocotillo, but there was no inn at the inn. So at 3pm I started pushing hard to Calexico, racing the sunset. I got in about 30min after dark, the worst planning I've done so far. Again, the desert helped me go on, presenting a blanket of purple flowers hidden among the creosote. The mountains petered out, with only Signal Mountain to ride around. I made it, and decided not to ride in the dark again. No shoulder on farm roads with weaving drivers is not so much fun.

12/27 - 12/29
Dunering on to Yuma

These were days of most varied riding: "City" riding in Calexico. No shoulder then large shoulder on 98. Headwinds, crosswinds, tailwinds. A frontage road along I-8 that was akin to speed bumps every 3-5'. Onto the highway through the dunes, sand blowing hard into my eyes and mouth. Then onto a country road into a fierce wind, RVs passing thick in both directions. A dirt road then sand road out to the dunes. With my 4L water front panniered, this last bit was like handling a snow mobile.

Near the edge of the dunes, but before the official campground, I ran into a group of a dozen or so RVs. Around a fire stood a group of men, and one beckoned me over. Keith and I introduced ourselves, and he welcomed me to their fire. I set up camp 50 yards from their circled wagons, and then wandered around a bit. The area between the Algodones Dunes and the Chocolate Mountains is a large alluvial plain. Nearer the dunes, where we were camped, is a mile wide wash, little watered. Camped there, in one of the higher spots, there was the usual creosote and ocotillo. Also dotting the wash were palo verde and honey mesquite trees. I made my mashed potato dinner to a wild sunset, and then joined the fire of the RVers.

These folks were like a small town, camped out to enjoy offroad fun in the dunes. This was an outskirts camp, about 10 RVs among a couple dozen. A mile away, closer to the dunes were several hundred RVs. And yet, this was still remote, as on the east side of the dunes were tens of thousands of RVs, with over 100,000 people out for the holiday weekend.

In this small town, we had a wonderful set of characters. Bob was the elder statesman, coming out to the dunes for the last 27 years, full of wisdom and intelligence. John was like the sheriff, managing relations with other camps and their strays, gruff and friendly and reasonable. Keith, aka "the Mayor", aka "Woody", was friendly and funny and something of a wheeler dealer. The ladies, Karen, Laura, and Cindy, all provided balance - schoolteachers and trail blazer - moderating conversation and providing all sorts of tasty food.

I decided to stay a day, and Bob took me out in his buggy. We were a group of 5 buggies, and I managed to get in the one with a Hayabusa engine. I wouldn't have gotten out into the dunes without 'em, and it was one helluva ride. My first pucker moment was going up Patton Hill. We shot straight up the side of this 200' dune avalanche. At the apex of the parabola, the weightless feeling and floating turn to face down - straight down - gave me quite a rush. We noodled around other dunes, watching out for folks on collision course. The dunes are an incredible creation, sometimes rolling, sometimes pushed up in a heap with a vertical face. It was a large sandbox playground, which we enjoyed until John's buggy busted a shock. Heading back, Bob picked a flat stretch to gun the engine. This was the only time I grabbed the oh-shit handle, as I was pressed deep into the back of the seat. Maybe I've had more straight line acceleration once, in a 'vette. We made it back to camp, and there I spent the afternoon. I hit it off with Cindy, in large part because we were the outsiders there, preferring non-motorized forms of entertainment. Still, these were good folks, and they gave me a novel experience and warm company, both of which I cherish.

12/30-12/31
Highway doldrums

I've been on the highway now for about 130 miles over the last two and a half days. It sucks to be riding my so many cars and trucks, whiz whir grrring by. Coming through the Gila Mountains east of Yuma, I got my first flat. This was a dangerous stretch of road, 6% down grade and bendy. It was a doozy to repair, as the nail went half in the tire and then bent in half. I used a wrench to lever it apart after much frustration. I've motelled it three nights in a row now, and I'm tired of that too. Yesterday I was ready to hang it up, and quit the trip. Writing about the good times here helps some. So too do thoughts of desert to come. Tonight, I'm camping out in the Sonoran Desert National Monument. I'm ready again for back roads, fresh air, and stars above.

Recap

2007-12-15T11:18:00.000-08:00

Big Sur created quite an impact on me. There are two days in particular that stand out. On the first, I was cranky in the morning and got a late start out of Carmel. Headwinds were annoying and then frustrating. It got a little foggy and then sometimes rained lightly. My will was flagging and I stopped at a pullout. I met M&A and was told that I had arrived at Big Sur and that I was headed into the storm. We shared stories and both left ready to tackle the world. The rain then came in sheets, gusts of wind from my front right 30mph on a 10% grade. Cliffs to the ocean on one side and cars on the other, this was my toughest riding. I was in a groove. I was flying efficiently in the wind, all rain geared up, using the trance music to push me uphill. I was laughing at the gusts, the way they tried to foil me. The bigness of it all, the wind the ocean the cliffs, made me laugh at myself and my self important bitterness earlier in the day. How could I not love a day such as this.

The next night, I stayed in a campground by the ocean, on a little table of land maybe 50' up from the water. A breeze down the mountain cleared out the sky at night, and the Milky Way was visible before twilight. No moon for much of the evening, it was possible to get around by starlight. The campground maintained no lights; I camped away from the other campers. That night, swells from a northern storm began to come in, pounding the cliffs like thunder and rifles. The stars and shooting stars were incredible. I camped on the edge of a eucalyptus grove and left my tent open. I had the best ambient music that night: the occasional crash and hiss from the ocean against the eucalyptus leaf chimes and cricket song from the grove. I fought sleep, staring out at the stars and listening to the earth, but with such relaxification I was soon out.

Needless to say, there are many other tales from the stretch from Spreckels down to Oceano. I'm just not interested right now in writing them here. At least the highlights are down. Pictures are up too.

I'm headed out again today, by this route.

So far I've ridden:
Seattle to Simcoe Mountains
Bend, OR to San Francisco
San Francisco to Oceano

Happy holidays to all.

Deserts planned

2007-12-13T16:25:00.000-08:00

I'll spend a couple of days noodling around the southwestern edge of the Mojave Desert, in Joshua Tree National Park. It's not much of a sample of the place, but the Mojave is small anyway and so a small sample will have to do.

South out of the Little San Bernadino Mountains, I'll enter the Sonoran Desert north of the Salton Sea. These next few days will cover much of the Colorado Desert. I'll start with the mountains on its western edge, the Santa Rosas. I'll ride southwest into Anza-Borrego Desert State Park, and then pick up the old Butterfield Stage Route. Near sea level at Calexico, I'll head into the Algodones Dunes, one of few ergs within the United States.

Crossing the Colorado River puts me in the Yuma Desert. Saguaro will appear. Maybe I'll happen upon lechuguilla here as well. I'll ride up the Gila River valley on old US 80 and then down south to Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. I'll explore the park thoroughly this time. Back up through Gila Bend to the Sonoran Desert National Monument, covering the second range southwest of Phoenix. Then across to Tucson, probably along that old stage route again, now I-8. Picacho beckons along the way.

From Tucson, I'll head southeast, down to Tombstone and across to the Chiricahua National Monument. This is the eastern edge of the Sonoran Desert. I'll ride through the mountains and into southwest New Mexico. This will put me in the Chihuahuan Desert, the last of my trip.

Across its northwestern corner, I'll head towards Las Cruces. There are hot springs near there too. Perhaps the Rio Grande still has water in New Mexico. South of the Franklin Mountains, into Texas and onto bouldering at Hueco Tanks. Then I'll approach the Guadalupe Mountains across the salt flats by way of Dell City. I'll head south again, along the edge of the Delaware Basin. From Van Horn, I'll swing around the southwestern side of the Davis Mountains and check out the lights in Marfa. I'll turn south again there, and head to the border and ride along the river a ways. Two parks will occupy a couple of weeks of time. Then it's out of the Big Bend region, through Marathon and then on to Sanderson. I figure Lake Amistad for the edge of the desert, and beginning of Central Texas Hill Country and South Texas chaparral.

Arrived in LA

2007-12-06T16:18:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I biked in to Pismo from San Simeon. I didn't like where I ended up, so got a motel room. Rented a truck in the morning and drove the backroads sections of my planned route to LA today. I arrived around noon. I had an amazing time through Big Sur, and will have to think a bit before recording it. I'm glad to have bailed, as time was getting short to the first annual Dalton's Game, Saturday morning. It'll be good to get a day's rest before running around like hooligans for several hours.

12/06/07
Lessons in Driving, Los Angeles

Part I: Car on Car
I entered Los Angeles county driving a Dodge 1500, on US 101 just past Thousand Oaks. From there to here, I learned a bit about driving. ,I miss the internet, Driving with the locals involves a bit of attention. 101 to 405 was 40-90mph, never a dull moment. Pay attention. People drive close, and vary a bit in goals - stay on target vs dart here to there - and in courtesy. It takes all kinds. Nonetheless, people seem comfortable driving close and used to making quick decisions. I heard my first accident around 3pm, a block away from here on Santa Monica Blvd. Lots of body damage, nothing and nobody totaled.

Part II: Bike on Car
Shortly after I arrived, Nathan had to leave for a noon meeting. I biked over to Kali's, mostly East on Colorado Ave. I was mostly obedient, learning the stop signage and gauging drivers' attitudes and awareness. I missed riding Ziggy unloaded, and started to pick it up. I caught up with Kali until he had to leave for a meeting at work, and biked down to the ocean on minor arterials in moderate traffic. Going back from the beach I led a Mexican rider I couldn't understand straight through along Colorado until it became Idaho. Riding in the city again, unencumbered, was fun. Drivers gave me space, not much, but always got back when I pointed where I was going.

Part III: Bike on Ped
I started riding North on the bike path. Starting to push the pace, I relished handling with an unloaded bike. Car free, with a sometimes windy or downright curvy trail, light sprinkling of sand, here was a good place to go fast and dodge walkers. Again, the full spectrum of behavior was represented, though traffic was quite light. I was flying, from the Santa Monica Pier to the end of Venice Beach. Leaning so I could keep my 175mm cranks and 300mm bottom bracket drop from striking pedals, I spun through the turns. I was disappointed in myself for not going faster; I never slid my front wheel, and only briefly skidded my rear. Ask and you shall receive...

Part IV: Bike on Bird
I wasn't expecting this part. Perhaps I was asking for it, passing in front of this pigeon instead of behind, as I'd done with several seagulls. Then again too, pigeons are stupid. I pity the fool with a pigeon spirit animal. Sharp 15mph turn and I see it, 20 ft away. In that second, I decided to go around it right. It decided to start flying. Hit it or handle? Aha! Time for emergency handling! Imagining bird in front spokes, rotor, cranks. Jump it - no! - brake. Skidded the rear, slide pump slide front wheel turning. Pigeon wheeling, taking off but still into my front wheel. Grab more brake, dismount over bars, two feet right two fingers touch the ground. Ziggy hangs upright on the front wheel, tumbles sideways to the ground. Pigeon completed the turn and flew away. Ziggy sustained minor injuries, but was already due for another clicky clunky BB overhaul. So I fixed the rear brake to where it wouldn't rub and rode home chastened, but fast. Arrived 3pm.

SF to Spreckels

2007-12-01T08:08:00.000-08:00

Rounding out the November portion of my trip, I started heading down the coast. Getting out of San Francisco was neither easy nor scenic, filled with hilly suburbs. Past Pacifica the world opened up, and I had the ocean. I've been riding along the Pacific for the last three days, and I absolutely love it. I camped 11/28 at Half Moon Bay, just over the dunes from the water. Sunset was good, but the play of light on the clouds after the sun went down was phenomenal. I met my first cycle tourist there, Bart the Belgian. "If you can find your way on a bicycle, you can find your way through life," he said. I dig it. On the 29th, I rode down to Santa Cruz. I felt like I was a monster possessed, spinning up hills in a large gear. A wicked tailwind certainly helps. I saw my first bobcat in the "wild", crossing highway 1 where Big Basin Redwoods empties to the sea. Soon, the ravenous hunger returned. Thinking I'd have to hold out until Santa Cruz, I was delighted to find the Swanton Berry Farm along the way. Jammed up and ready to go, I made it to Santa Cruz in the early afternoon. On the outskirts, the rich sulphury smell of brussel sprouts got me hungry all over again. The minty breeze of eucalyptus did nothing to abate this. In Santa Cruz I passed the amusement park, but saw no vampires (probably because the sun was still out). I went to the Santa Cruz Bicycles factory, and met again the roadie I talked to in Napa. He gave me a tour of the place - oh so many objects of desire there. I camped that night east of town, on a bluff over the beach. Friday, I rode through much farmland on backroads. They grow artichokes, strawberries, and celery, and artichokes and strawberries, and artichokes. I rode inland to Spreckels to stay with Natalie, a friend of a friend. We went out for dinner in Monterrey with a friend of hers and talked at length about their dissertation work on digital literacy and educational software. Natalie has been a gracious host. Moreso, her inquistive nature has led to all sorts of pickings apart of Josiah, which has been more fulfilling than the sort of "who is Josiah?" that typically results from new interactions. I've learned a bit too about a singular person, and have a richer life on account of it.

Today I'm headed down to Big Sur, and then down and down the coast to LA. I'll be away from computers until then. Instead, I'll be with the sky and surf and sunsets, and maybe some artichokes.

Sacramento to SF

2007-11-27T23:55:00.000-08:00

For the last week, I've been in the bay area. I rode from Sacramento out to Lake Berryessa and camped. Then a day in the sunshine through Napa valley, and the ferry across from Vallejo to SF at dusk, Wed 11/22. Then it was time for catch up with college friends: Dave Warner and Ron Butler first. Thanksgiving I went with Ron over to David Todd and Kelley Rosborough's place in Berkeley, where I stayed a couple of days. David and I caught up, listened to music, and wrenched bikes. We three went to see No Country for Old Men, which made me miss West Texas. A fine film, that one. Monday and Tuesday I spent in SF, first exploring with Ron and visiting the MOMA. Today I rode around on my own, getting my best view of this beautiful city. I'm tired of words; they've kept me away from here. There are some pictures though.

I'm headed down the coast next, likely not using the internets so much until LA. I've never seen this stretch of ocean before, and I'm excited about the towns along the way. Today's ride got the juices flowing. I felt like throwing up, going up to Twin Peaks. Then it got much easier, and the hills weren't a problem. I'm ready for more riding, campfires, and stars. My bay area 10yr Obie reunion was great, with no shortage of good talk with good friends.

Chico to Sacramento

2007-11-20T08:57:00.000-08:00

11/16

I rode down the foothills of the Sierras from the Benanders. It was fast, down 2200' in 8 miles, but bumpy. I turned South and took back roads through orchards in the morning, mostly walnut with peaches and other fruit trees on occasion. These petered out into rice fields, canals leading square muddy lakes. Thousands of ducks and geese were wheeling in the sky. Herons and egrets abound. It was flat. It was as flat as Oberlin, only for a much longer distance. The Sutter Buttes provided some relief. I made it to Yuba City in the afternoon, ate huge mexican meal - knowing I get rice and beans draws me to the Mexican places, though Cal-Mex isn't high on my list of cuisine preferences - and was ready for bed by 7pm.

11/17

From Yuba City, I rode mostly down the Garden Highway to Sacramento. This parallels the Feather River. It was incredibly foggy, again with many rice fields. More swans rested in one patty than I'd seen altogether in my life before. The fog and the flat and the at times incredibly rough levee road were demoralizing. Saddle soreness dominated my thinking. I picked up a roadie (really a mtb-er in disguise), Brian the engineer, and he rode and chatted with me the last 10-15mi into Sacramento. I picked up my pace a bit, and got engaged in conversation, forgetting my pain. The fog lifted too, as he joined me. I'll probably see more cyclists if I ride on weekend days. Brian really helped distract me, and made the miles fly by.

I arrived in Sacramento around 3pm, and spent some time catching up with Heather. We acquired groceries and then went over to friends of hers for dinner partyings. This was the first time I broke into a circle of friends on my ride, and it was a good time. We ate well of the tofudebeast and eggplant, with Heather's friends prodding me for stories from the past. I was happier to divulge bicycle touring lore. Later we played Apples to Apples, a game we should teach Cyc. Wordy people will love it, but it has a broader appeal.

11/18

I spent a bit of the day talking to family, and arranging my visit to Berkeley and San Francicso. I napped. I ran errands, and ultimately never explored Sacramento much. This, I am told, is not a great loss. I did get more time to catch up with Heather, and that was good. It's interesting to see how we've each changed in the last ten years, and who we've become. There's still a connection, true with most of my Obie friends, that I don't find elsewhere. It has to do mostly with values. Intelligence and freakiness are a common thread too, but they seem to matter less than some shared understanding of should. We spent a bit of time talking over dinner, mostly about family and friends, and then called it an early night.

This morning (11/19) we went out for breakfast and now I'm preparing to head West.

At the Benanders

2007-11-20T08:43:00.000-08:00

11/15 & 11/16

I had a couple of good rest days with the Benanders. I'd lost 15 pounds in three weeks, and was determined to put it all back in, in two days. Doug and Betty treated me to excellent food and a low key relaxing time. I needed it. I explored Chico a little each day, seeing more bikes per capita than anywhere else I've been in the US. It's a cute college town, just at the foot of the mountains. I was referred by one bike shop to another when I asked for directions. There I received a number of hand-drawn maps from Mike "Rand McNally" Peavy, detailing the route from Chico to San Francisco, by way of Sacramento. He was a great resource, and put me on back roads much of the way. My week ended with pizza, beer, and BSG Friday night, excellent denoument for my rest days. It was familiar, in many ways. Thanks Benanders.

Bend to Forest Ranch

2007-11-15T07:12:00.000-08:00

Summary

My trip really began in Bend. I knew better what I was into, and was excited about getting to Lava Beds National Monument in particular. I spent nine days riding, with a "rest day" in the park. The terrain went from high desert pines to the Klamath Lake basin. On to Tule Lake basin and the buttes of the Medicine Lake shield volcano. Through low mountains to the Pit River valley, over more mountains to Willow Creek and then Big Valley, more mountains to Eagle Lake, more mountains to Susanville, and finally, over and through the mountains to Forest Ranch. Thank you Zack (and Jill and Lee) for convincing me to take the dry route South. It's been wonderful. You can see pictures from the whole trip thus far here.

As I travel, I'm learning a bit. I carry too much food and not enough water. Scenery and music are my best distractions from pain, though growling sometimes helps (Jon taught me this at Emma Long). I carry too much anxiety about the unknown: upcoming weather, strange people, and things that go bump in the night. I have a healthy fear of getting run over, but the rest of it I need to let go. Still, I relish travel, and finding out what lies down the road.

As I meet people along the way, I become more convinced that people are good and act in a kindly manner. This includes especially Don the driver to Bend, the ranger in La Pine, the woman at Dawson House lodge, the construction workers southeast of Klamath Falls, rangers Tom and Amy in Lava Beds, Robert the flight attendant, Jim et al. at the Canby Hotel, and the Eagle Lake fisherman who gave me water and told me the rest of the days ride would be easier. I know that's a laundry list, but each of those poeple went out of their way to be friendly or helpful, and they deserve recognition.

Daily Notes

11/5

Out of Bend to La Pine State Park. A short day's ride, maybe 32 miles. The bike computer eats too much battery. Also, it's not as entertaining as it is demoralizing, and so I go without. The terrain is slightly uphill, with long flat hills. The roads are hemmed in by modest sized ponderosa and lodgepole pines. The scenery is somewhat tedious. La Pine SP is much the same, though with more wildlife than I've seen so far. An abundance of chipmunks and squirrel, and no shortage of raptors, including a bald eagle. At around 18 degrees, this was my coldest night. I sing Tom Waits "Cold Cold Ground" to myself - well, the chorus at least - again and again.

11/6

Ice inside much of my tent this morning, I'm happy the campground has hot showers. Slow going, I ate a big breakfast and fell back asleep in the sunshine, tent and bag drying out. I got a late start and took backroads out to 97. Stopping at the general store, I talk to the locals, and see Stecher's predictions fulfilled. They talked about neighboors so strung out on meth for days on end that they can't put a can in the recycling machine. They ask me if I'm carrying heat, fearing for my safety from "beasts on two legs". Rode slightly uphill, hemmed in by pines. As the day went on the scenery started to get interesting, ridges on the left and Mt. Thielsen on the right. I was feeling good, and pushed another 20 miles, turning my planned short day into an average one - 48 miles.

11/7

Staying at the Dawson House Lodge was a good idea. Homemade coffee cake and many scones came with the room, and fed me throughout the day. I planned a long day's ride to get South before the weekend storm arrived. The first 25 miles flew by. Collier State Park on the Williamson River was the first change in scenery in a while. The ground dropped to the river, then I followed the river into the Klamath Lake basin. There were great views of the mountains across the lake. I rode past sunset, over six hours in the saddle and over 70 miles. I talked to Elise for a while on the phone. It was good to catch up; I miss my sister.

11/8

I started the day riding a bike path through Klamath Falls, along the canal. Many domestic and stray canal cats wondered what I was. Talked with some construction workers a while on the other side of town, and they were very encouraging. Flat farmland and Mount Laki on my left, the scenery kept getting better. Garlic harvesting made my tummy rumble. I motioned this to the farm workers, rubbing my belly, and they smiled and laughed.

This was an incredible day. I was off US 97 for first time in days, taking back roads. The weather was sunny and in the 60s - perfect. I crossed into California, and took Hill Rd along the west side of Tule Lake. Gillem's bluff, basalt block faulting covered in orange and green lichens, was on my right. The lake on my left. I rode into Lava Beds, and then up and uphill at end of a 50 mile day. I stopped frequently to check out the crazy lava formed terrain, e.g. Devil's Homestead. Several times I stopped to rest, and marvelled at the peace of desert solitude. How I love it. Near sunset, I made it to the Visitor Center. Ranger Amy indicated the campsite with the best view, and stopped by later to chat. I asked Ranger Tom if he had any firewood in his truck as he was driving around. He went back home and provided me wood for two nights' fires. I offered my fire to my nearest camper, Robert, driver of the technomadic offroad van that passed me earlier in the day. He came by with a bottle of wine and we shared stories, campfire, and stars that only the desert can provide.

11/9

Many cars and RVs drove into the campground over the night and morning. The Pathfinders were enjoying an annual gathering at the park, bringing folks from all over Northern California. No more solitude at the campsite, I quickly got out about the park to explore. I rode out to and hiked up Schonchin Butte. On the top, I stripped down to my shorts and did Sanchin kata several times. It felt good, and satisfied my sense of verbal irony. It was good to get to the top of things and have a look around. I explored three caves, delving into lava tubes for the first time. They were ok, but somewhat dry as far as caves go. The surface landscape was far more impressive. Buttes abound. Lava flows stretch across the land, dotted with holes that are cave entrances. It's like nowhere else I've been, and yet has so much of what I love about desert landscape.

11/10

I rode out of the park in gray light, ominous clouds dropping over the mountains to the Southeast. The crosswinds were strong. A sail would've carried all 300# of me and Ziggy and our supplies up the gradual grade on 139. Ah yes, a new road, smaller than 97, bigger than the backroads to and through the park. The land was again ponderosa pines, though with more grasses and hills. It started to rain in a misty way. I put on the Chemical Brothers, Underworld and Roni Size. I was cold and wet, but my hands and feet only got to a certain amount of discomfort and then got no worse. I rode on. My campground at Howard's Gulch was closed, and having talked to a local NFS employee, I was hestitant to camp there. I rode on to Canby, and discovered the Canby Hotel, a diamond in the rough.

I walked into the Hotel, through the restaurant into the bar, where everyone was sitting watching UCLA v ASU. Here I am, rain pants, day glow vest, probably with my helmet still on. The bar has maybe 7 guys, mostly in camo. All become silent. An old man sits in a recliner facing the bar and TV. He's the owner, Jim Tavernetti, and he quickly puts all at ease giving me a room for the night, clasping my shoulder and asking pointed questions about my trip. Others become interested. I go upstairs to change, and come back down and shoot the shit with the guys. Mostly I talk with Jim and with Keith, a hotshot firefighter. An excellent bacon cheeseburger - something that'd been on my mind for several hours in the rain - and several beers and I'm ready for a nap. I got up later for dinner and the USC/Cal game, and had an excellent prime rib. Met another local who'd spent time in Antioch and had his kids train with Alan Dollar. We knew someone in common - a small world after all. I talked with Matt and then Michael a bit, connecting with friends I've left behind. I finished The Agony and The Ecstasy that night/morning. That was a good read; thanks Tim.

11/11

After taking pictures of the Canby scenes, I started the day with the best biscuits and gravy I've had. Did I mention that the food at the Canby Hotel, a modest establishment in many ways, was surprisingly excellent. The biscuits and gravy were from scratch, the sausage broken up and fried first. With eggs and potatoes, this was what I needed to start my day. Over Packers manhandling the Vikings, I ordered a short stack of pancakes less than an hour later. "Where are you going to put it?" the waitress asked. I get so hungry on this trip. The cakes were good dessert for my breakfast. Jim and I were the only ones in the bar that morning, watching the football game and talking about football and listening to his tales from the pass. Occasionally he'd step into the kitchen to work on the elk stew he was making. Wish I could've stayed for that. I rode out of Canby around noon, through the Pit River valley a little ways, and then up mountains and over Adin Pass. Big Valley and Adin weren't too far away. The mountains were rugged and not much higher than the surrounding land, making for interesting but sometimes difficult riding. I stopped at the general store and should really have taken Keith's advice and picked up a sandwich for later. I rode out of the valley and mostly uphill for hours, following Willow Creek to my guerilla campspot. Drinking cold water left me chilled. I wasn't hungry, having had a late breakfast and having snacked a bit on the way. Finding cat scat near my tent, I spent a cold windy night a bit restless, in my sack for most of 12 hours.

11/12

Red sky dawn was a bit ominous. Multigrain porridge with apricots and blueberries helped. This was my hardest day's ride. It was cold, gray and windy, around 40 degrees with 10-20mph cross and headwinds. I wore my skullcap for the first time riding. Still going uphill most of the morning, I was tired and cold. The land opened up into several flat basins, with more cows than belong in the desert. After about 25 miles I made it to Eagle Lake. I was ready to give up, and yellow blaze again - i.e. hitch a ride. A little Toyota truck passed me twice and then stopped and the man inside offered me water. Woohoo! I was running low, thinking about filtering some lake water through my washcloth. He bailed me out and then told me the rest of the ride to Susanville had one hill to climb, a couple miles of flat and then I could coast the rest of the way in. Well, that wasn't exactly true, but it did serve to motivate me. Of the 20 miles left that day, there were two climbs totalling maybe 6 miles. There was a 1 mile descent where I howled like a wolf to keep the deer from crossing in front me. A long flat stretch of 5 miles in another high basin full of cows. After the climb out of this, there was indeed 7 miles downhill to Susanville. Enchiladas rice and beans, a hot bath, then Kung Pao Chicken and MNF helped ease the pain. I felt like I accomplished much this day, making it when I felt for so long like giving up.

11/13

Mexican breakfast fueled my climb out of Susanville to Fredonyer Pass, the highest point in my trip at 5700' and change. The weather turned nice again. The piney mountains were nice, but the little hills leading to Chester were frustrating. The road, 36, wasn't the best. There was often no shoulder, and the road was crumbling along the edges. Trucks blew me off the road several times - better this than swerving back into the road following the pressure wave, uncertain of what's following the truck. I went to several campgrounds on Lake Almanor, only to find them all closed. It was a bit too populated for me to want to guerrilla camp again. The lake was low, and I had barely any view of Mt Lassen through the low clouds. So I moteled it at a place where I could cook my own food and cut some more weight from my load. It was a good days ride, but I was certainly worn from the days before.

11/14

I expected the ride down Deer Creek Valley to be a bit more downhill. I got on 32 from 36, and rode the winding road through the mountains. I did get some wicked descents, covering many miles faster than I could spin in my top gear. I spent most of my time though in my low range, climbing from one valley to another, following a ridge line for a while, down and up and down and down. It was the most scenic mountain ride so far. The ponderosas were soon mixed with fir, then live oak and maybe chestnut, with increasing manzanita in the underbrush. I stopped for a views and granola from time to time. I had the end so close, that I willed myself up some of the mountains, trying to forget how drained I felt, how sore my ass and lower back were. I left the creek sooner than I expected, again having to meter out my water. 1.5L over 52 miles with several thousand feet of climbing loaded isn't much, but it proved to be enough. I made it to the Benanders before 3pm, ate and napped. I caught up with Betty, and then we went out to meet Doug at the Sierra Nevada Brewery and Restaurant. Again, it's great to be around folks who are like family, having known me since I was a wee thing. I'm going to rest here in Forest Ranch for a couple of days, and enjoy the company of the Benanders while I can.

Corvallis, 11/2,3&4

2007-11-15T06:59:00.000-08:00

Friday I rented a car, packed up my stuff, and drove over the mountains to Corvallis to spend the weekend with Vicki and Bob. I hadn't planned on this, but it turned out to be a great idea. Thanks Vicki. Friday afternoon I spent with Bob, first to his probability class then to an excellent seminar on billiard trajectories on rational polygons. I was surprised at how accessible this all was to me, after years of no math. In the evening, Bob and Vicki and I went to a math professor reception party for the visiting seminar speaker and had a good time chatting with Linda, Ed and Yeygeny. Good converstation was really the theme of the weekend. Bob and I have a similar distracted rambling style, and share many interests. This was good stuff. Vicki helped me learn more where I come from, telling me stories of my parents and grandparents from times I'd not heard of. I'll keep ending sentences with prepositions; that's what they're for. Anyway, this was an excellent rest weekend with folks as close as family. I wish I could have stayed longer, but the road ahead was calling.

Cascades, Yak and on and on

2007-11-03T00:13:00.000-07:00

10/28
So on my second day I went over the Cascades on the John Wayne Trail, a converted rail grade. It was nice riding without cars, up through the mountains. The pines and firs grew shorter, and soon I was in the tunnel through the pass. I camped by Lake Keechelus, making my first shells and cheese and tuna dinner. It was so good, indicating that I had indeed climbed mountains to get there. I turned in early, happy to get warm and cozy as night fell.

10/29
I got a slow start the next day; it was cold and damp outside and I just wanted to stay in my bivvy and bag. I met Jesse as I was packing up, happy to meet and talk to someone. She said my trip was inspirational, and this has stuck with me as a sort of burden. I need to let that sort of thing go. The riding was gently downhill, still on a gravelly path. About 15 miles on my way, I broke my Brooks, most likely because I was mounting a double rail saddle on the wrong seatpost. Evil looking clouds were rolling in from the North and I was riding along a front, fearing weather. The mountains behind me were disappearing into grey soup. I bailed from the trail at Cle Elum and took old Hwy 10 down to Ellensburg. The old highway goes along the North side of the Yakima river, and took me from forest to grassland. I rode hard to beat the storm that never came. Arriving in Ellensburg at dusk, I bought a new saddle and decided to motel it.

10/30
I'd seen the canyon road leading in between the hills South of Ellensburg before, but had always taken the highway around it. I'd wanted to follow it for some time, and was not disappointed. The picture from this post is looking down part of the Yakima River from Canyon Road. I loved the windy road, cottonwoods, and riffly waters. I'd followed the river most of the day before, but this was the big payoff. After several hours in the canyon, the land abruptly opened up, presenting the town of Selah on the hills opposite the river. Talking to a couple of locals, I determined I could take the highway or the long way over the Yakima and Naches rivers. Wide shoulders and lack of cycling prohibition led my bike onto I-82. Sometimes Ziggy leads the way. It was good most of the time, as far as surface and shoulder go. After 10 miles, I was more than happy to get on US 97. I rode again until dusk, and rented a teepee from the Yakima Nation.

10/31
That was the coldest night I spent outdoors in over a decade. What's my bag rated to anyway? Canvas teepees aren't made for indoor fires, and so I had a cold night with trains and owls hooting and whistling again and again. Tired, with an achey knee creaky in the cold - the family doc calls this "arthritis" - I had some doubts about my day. I climbed a small mountain South of Toppenish for about an hour. This dropped into a small river valley, not unlike the Yak. Only this was drier country, and the river was not so accessible, fenced off for cattle. This kept me from refilling my bottles; I wanted to hold out for better water. I slowly climbed the river grade in the foothills of the Simcoe mountains. The sun started to sink behind them, and my desired campground was still 2000' up and 10 miles along the road. I told myself how tough I was. Then I decided to hitch over the pass. Discretion. Valor. Etc.

Having some concern about being able to make it to Bend by the weekend, in order to meet Bob and Vicki when they were free, I was conflicted to find that I could get a ride not only over the pass, but all the way to Bend. This state persisted for at least five full seconds. I decided to take the opportunity presented, and head on down to Bend. Don was a kindly old samaritan, who turned around after a quarter mile or so to come back and pick me up. We talked most of the ride, and he seemed glad to have the company, refusing my offer of gas money. The scenery passed much faster. Back up into the juniper and ponderosa of the Simcoe mountains. Down to the Columbia, one of the best American river. Up the grasslands of the central Oregon Plateau. Through a few small farm towns.
Into increasing sagebrush, then juniper and pine, with more and more fire peaks appearing to the Southwest. Redmond. Bend. Thank you Don, for the lift and for good company.

11/1
Rest day in Bend. After riding around town a bit, finding a local bike shop and learning my way around, I rode out to the High Desert Museum. My trip has a desert theme, and this was a good educational opportunity. Also, I really dig natural history museums. It was that and much more, though I wish there'd been more natural history... I rode back and spent much of the afternoon at the Deschutes Brewery, my first beer in a week. So I tried all of the seasonal and pub only beers they had. I took notes. I especially recommend the Double Black and the Ghostbuster. The Lucky Dutch Lager was one of my favorite lagers ever, but the other two paired better with my sloppy joe. Yum.

On the road

2007-10-28T08:05:00.000-07:00

I rode out with Zack to Fall City yesterday. We stayed for the Critical Mass ride Friday night, which was a fine way to say goodbye to Seattle. Riding up the Snoqualmie Valley was gorgeous - trees changing in the valley with the Cascades as backdrop. Today, I'm riding over the mountains. Then it's South to Bend.

I've got all sorts of mixed emotions right now. I'm incredibly excited to be on this trip; it's me and my steed and the great outdoors. How touching. Leaving friends in Seattle makes me sad, though. I'm expecting to be lonely a bit this week. Facing the mountains now is a bit daunting, but I'm hopeful I'll get over with both of my legs still attached. Then I'll be in new territory (for me), and exploring is one of my greatest joys.

Route Thoughts

2007-10-18T17:07:00.000-07:00

I'm not really tied to it, but this looks like a good way to get away from the wet. The route segments are split in a way I remember them, not necessarily by day. I may wander off this path, but it looks good for now.