two hundred ninety three

Dreaming 

The memories of the endless miles still visit my dreams even years later. Usually in my daydreams but on occasion during those twilight dreams I have just before I wake. 

I don't know the location, the day, the year or even the trip. I do remember every detail of the faces, voices and smiles. The conversations, the questions and the kindness. 

There are vivid flashes of breathtaking views, smells, flavors and feelings. The night sky, sunset and sunrise. The vistas, small towns, cities, hot desert highways and morning dew. 

The smell of rain, freshly cut fields, the ocean, saw mills, dairy farms, plowed fields, BBQ and flowers. 

The food was always a sensual experience. My body craved fuel so I salivated even at the thought of Top Ramen. After a few hard hot days a cheeseburger, fries and milkshake in a diner was overwhelming. It was a time to stuff my face, I think that was also in Ecclesiastes.

The endless number of campsites are a blur but I still remember the sounds of traffic, crickets, tree frogs, coyotes, dogs, water falls, ocean waves, thunder, rain, wind and absolute silence. The rush of waking to wonder where in the hell I was and the search for coffee and a bathroom.

Motels were usually modest and sometimes sub-modest. I stayed in some sketchy places but they were castles compared to curling up under my tent rain fly behind a guard rail along a busy highway. The showers, clean sheets, fresh shave, sleeping naked, fresh coffee, waffles, eggs, bacon and sticky bun breakfasts. 

I washed my clothes and dried my tent and bedding. I recharged my phone batteries, watched a little television and repacked my bike so I could roll out early.

I got on the road early because I skipped the usual morning rituals, breaking camp, repacking my bike, finding coffee and a bathroom. Because of the early start these were usually 100 mile plus days. I also remember my celebratory half gallon of vanilla ice-cream after a big mileage day.

In spite of the sweat, dirt, body oder, aches, pains, blisters, wind and sun burn, insect bites and traffic stress. I embraced all of it, I was happy.

The road is a mistress, a strong and difficult task master. I am unable to resist its call and have realized I foolishly once thought I can control it. However the road is in charge I can only surrender to it and live in the stress of it. 

I thrive in this stress and embrace it's challenges. The road tests me to my limits and beyond. Like the sea, the highway must be respected and at times feared, and like the sailor, I can't resist it's call.

Many people find this foolishness but in the chaos of the bike lane I find serenity. 

I am rewarded with the feeling of satisfaction. I'm being led on an adventure that is way out of my comfort zone. That is the place real life happens.

On the road there are no shortcuts, I must continue on pushing my body past its limits. I have achieved things I could never imagine.  

I could go on and on about this because the memories of these bicycle journeys begin to flood in as I write. I have felt this unwavering and demanding strength only once before.