thirty four

MISSING A TURN

Missing turns is part of the adventure. I can be a real hot head and lose patience when things go wrong. I haven't been visibly angry or in a fist fight for years. This was far too common in my youth. I guess there are things to get angry about but missing a turn isn't one of them. 

Touring has taught me some valuable lessons. I learned I have a choice to do things with or without anger.  One approach is to stuff it deep down inside and try not to act on it. This is the usual male approach I have successfully used this for years. 

The problem with this technique over time it eats at you from that  place deep inside. 

I have learned to do a new and wonderful thing with my anger. I look past it to find what I am missing. Here’s an example: I ride alone and navigate through strange new places by the use of a map. Along the way I miss a turn. First I get angry with the faulty map, then I find fault with the missing sign, then I find fault with the idiot that can't read a map or see a sign. I then realize I was the blind idiot. 

My natural reaction is too stayed angry with myself for the remainder of the day. Recently I’ve learned to get things in proper perspective. I choose to say out loud, “Well, I’ve never been here before”, then I start looking around as if I’ve planned this adventure. Its strange how I always find something I would have missed, like this beautiful lake in Maine.

thirty three

THE SMELL OF MY MORNING COFFEE

The morning fog was filled with quiet visitors. I sipped my coffee while waiting for the warmth of the morning sun to warm me and dry my gear.

 A curious doe and her fawn do some spying as elk hide just beyond my view. The night time campsite scavengers have gone to bed, while the dayshift eats the spilled noodles from last night’s dinner by the fire pit. 

My fellow travelers emerge blurry eyed from their shelters and begin to prepare for their own daily adventure. The morning brings farewells and wishes for a safe journey and the realization we shall probably never meet again. 

We are fellow nomads with the strong love for independent solitude. We are a small community spread from coast to coast and beyond. We speak a strange language and never talk much about the dangers other than bitch about motor homes with trailing little cars. 

We ask about where we started and where we are going, but measuring becomes less important with each conversation. I camped with a young German named Thomas and a young woman traveling alone from Boston. I had camped a week earlier with Thomas so we knew each other, in fact he called me old man. 

This young woman came in late and we invited her to share our camp fire. At first she refused with a pleasant but definitive thank you, but then changed her mind after she got a sense of us. 

The urge to treat her like our little sister was probably not welcomed, but it is an uncontrollable a natural male trait. She was to be admired for her cross country journey simply on its own merit. 

Thomas was going to take a day off to rest and hike some redwood trails, I was headed to the end of my long journey and a rental car. As I post this, I wonder how and where they are. One thing I feel strongly is that I’m jealous if they are still out there.

thirty three

FAST FRIENDS

Thomas was like a kid as he played with his bike as he marveled at the giant redwoods. Most Europeans I have met marvel at the open spaces we have in this country for the first time. He reminded me how to live life, he made me wanting to be twenty two again.

The young people I met along the way were living out an adventure they will never regret. I am trying to do the same with a much older body. 

Thomas convinced his parents to take a year off from medical school. He will value this his whole life. He was missing his parents and girl friend and talked about them each morning. I don't think he is as much of a loner as I am, which is probably a good thing. 

I was glad to spend time with him, it was good for us both. He wanted the company and I probably needed it.

thirty two

SHOPPING FOR FOOD

In a morning call to Germany Thomas promised his mother he would eat well.  We both stocked up on our food stores. He used a pumpkin from a picture for his mother. The pumpkin fell off of the bike and broke. He quickly put it back and said "we must go", so we rode off into the sunset laughing.

thirty one

THOMAS RIDES INTO THE SUNSET

This was the first time we said goodbye. We had shared a camp and some German soup, which I found out later was just soup made by a German.

We had Mexican food earlier that day, which I think was new to him. 

My hip was acting up and he was riding like a twenty two year old. We said goodbye, I took a coastal route and he took a short cut. 

I was impressed with this kid I would miss him and I think he liked my company too.

thirty

FIRST ENCOUNTERS

The climbing for the most part was behind us now, including the tunnel. Just before you enter the tunnel you push a button to start flashers blinking, but unfortunately only a few notice or understand what they are for. Some think they mean go faster and blow your horn.

A young 22 year old German named Thomas past me a few miles back. He signaled me to stop to talk and eat, I just wanted to catch my breath. 

He pulled out what amounted to a small grocery store, but I just drank some water. We talked a few minutes and continued on. Later we ate Mexican food and that evening shared a camp site. 

We talked a lot that night. We talked about large American campers and trucks, politics, sports, and life in general. For a young man he was quite wise, he said I was smart for a “meat cutter” which I hope lost something in the translation. 

This was a memorable evening for us both. Like many Europeans, he came back from the shower in only a towel, then dried off and dressed in plain sight. 

We split up in the morning because he just rode too fast for me. A week later we would meet in Oregon and ride the Redwood Highway and camp in bear country. I really liked that kid and do hope to see him again someday.

twenty nine

THE KID AND THE OLD MAN

Have you ever met someone for the first time and instantly like them? I’m a 55 year old American, Thomas is a 22 year old German. We have cycling as a common but it was more than that. 

It was our joking back and forth and the “kid" and "old man" names we gave one another almost instantly. This kid was in shape and twenty two, I’m in okay shape but much older. I still have that guy thing about competition, however with Thomas it was a playful competition, he would actually get me to think I could win.

Thomas spoke English fairly well and had only been in America for about a week so I wanted to give him a good welcome. I wanted him to know an American who loves this country and am not ashamed of our roll in the world, he will meet someone who will bad mouth this country soon enough.

twenty eight

OH TO BE TWENTY TWO AGAIN

This is Thomas, a young man from Germany. I posted on him earlier, and I wanted to update his progress. He took a year off from medical school to tour the Americas. 

He will spend time working at a hospital somewhere in Central America. I received the second e-mail, the first from a library in Death Valley, and now Mazatlán, Mexico. He said it was hot, and can't wait to get into the mountains.

A year or so later he sent a post card from the tip of South America so he made it.

twenty seven

OUTER BANKS

Between the hurricanes of 2004 I was able to ride the outer shores of North Carolina. Sometimes it was only 100 yards wide. The ride was interrupted by really cool ferry rides and light rains. 

My fifty mile knee was acting up, so I started adjusting the clip in clips on my shoes. A small quarter inch adjustment solved the problem. 

The first two weeks in the seat is always a problem, but with a good leather seat it is just a matter of time. I was able to take a dip in the Atlantic on a deserted stretch. I couldn't find my suit, well I didn't look very hard.

twenty six

Lucia, California campground beach. Not much to say but Wow!

twenty five

SMILE WALTER

This is "Walter" my traveling bud; I must have spent too much time alone. It is a cycle cross Surly Cross Check. I’ll detail the equipment in later posts, for now I just want to introduce my fellow nomad "Walter”. We have traveled over 5000 miles or more together. I have trusted my life to this fine bike and have never been let down.

twenty four

This is the beach under the route one bridge in Lucia, California,nice.

twenty three

LUCIA, CALIFORNIA COAST HIGHWAY101

 Under the bridge in the distance is a state campground. California has a bike and hike rate of two dollars, which makes it easy to find a camp. This one was so remote it only had solar powered.

twenty two

MY FIRST LOOK AT THE CALIFORNIA COAST

The California coast trip in '04 was breath taking. As an Ohio boy with almost twenty years as a desert rat, the ocean is a curiosity. I don't know much about it but at 54, I’m like a little kid around rolling surf. This is a spot close to Big Sur, California; the bright blue of the water was my favorite. There were whales traveling north. Wow!

twenty one

CAN YOU SEE?

Most of my journey was on and off of the coast. I cycled inland a few miles then back to views like this one on the Oregon coast. I look through my pictures and there are many like this one. I could not hear the waves, but the slow rhythmic ribbons of waves soothed the eye. People spend a fortune to live in a house with an ocean view, some surf, some fish, some sail, and some like me simply see. 

I think the word see is a better word, it means much more than looking. Things are always moving and changing, creatures hunt, swim, dive, and fly, tides rise and fall, clouds and winds flow together, and the sun has a special way to show the ocean's beauty. The first light of morning turns into the bright sparkle of midday and then transforms into the breathtaking colors of sunset. This time I took the time to wait and watch................wow.

twenty

AN UNEXPECTED ADVENTURE

This is a private landing strip in a rural part of the Chesapeake Bay  Peninsula. I had hitched a ride with a generous Gideon across the Bay Bridge Tunnel. He was traveling north to Salisbury to sell boat anchors. He was a bit concerned for my sanity because he had never seen my mode of travel.

I rode north to a campground that charged thirty five bucks, no electric hookup, water, or mint on my pillow for a patch of grass, It was very nice grass but I thought I could do better. 

The southern end of the peninsula is Virginia but it wasn't geared for tourists. No motels, parks or public beaches mostly private homes and farms. 

It was almost dark so I needed to find a place. I found a small corner lot with an abandoned farm house surrounded by an assortment of animals. There was also a metal building full of junk, surrounded by more junk. 

The bugs were beginning to bite so I began to search for any place that would be safe and out of the way. I found a place and only needed permission. 

There was nobody around so I was about to set up camp when a truck came out of the woods. It held four non English speaking Latin men who had been cutting fire wood. Through our limited words and hand language agreed that I could camp, maybe. 

They said something about the owner flying to Virginia. I thought he was not returning that night. We exchanged goodbyes as they left as I set up camp.

nineteen

UNEXPECTED ADVENTURE

I was asleep when the tent filled with bright light and the snarl of a rotary motor. I zipped open the tent in time to be blinded by the landing light from the landing airplane. Being grateful it missed me because I had chosen to camp on the edge of the field that had suddenly become a runway, I figured I had better introduce myself. 

The private plane taxied up to the metal building. It just fit perfectly between the junk. The man's wife greeted me calmly even though she couldn't see me in the dark. Then the man said, “Come here and get this”. I was quickly put to work carrying a box and luggage to his wife's car. He kissed her goodnight then turned to me and asked me what I needed. 

It was a strange greeting because there wasn't one. He focused on the details of my adventure as we toured his farm. I was introduced by name along with health details to each animal resident, as we fed goats, sheep, one beef cattle, and twenty one chickens, which we counted twice. 

He didn't mention the fencer was on as we climbed over it several times, but apologized each time I got shocked. We collected twenty eggs of which he gave me ten. Then we met the people living in the old farm house. I assumed they were not legal residents from things he said to them and about them, it was comical the way they were able to understand one another through his broken Spanish. 

He was a long ago transplanted cheese head from Wisconsin. I said I was amazed anyone lived in this old farm house, he just said, “Well they need someplace to live”. 

This guy was a real character who I was glad to have met. I asked about him in a nearby town, it seemed everyone had at sometime worked for him or had dealings with him.  All had a kind word about his character and kindness, I surely did. 

I still couldn't believe he landed a plane in that short field, and again I was glad I camped on the edge.