I'm finally ready to go. I've managed to get rid of all of my stuff, the bike trailer is packed, the road awaits. I bought a new camera last week, so as soon as I figure out how to transfer my digital photos to my blog I'll post the first set of pictures from my trek. I've been really looking forward to the trip for the last week; I'm a bundle of nerves. I'm sleeping in fits and starts, I can't really concentrate on anything for more than a minute. I sort of feel like a racehorse ready to jump out of the gate, though of course I won't be biking that fast, most of the time. And I'm not a big fan of oats either.
I wrote most of this beforehand in a neighbor's apartment; I was writing and he was prepping wedding invitations for mailing (congratulations again guys!) while watching ESPN. It's amazing how out of touch I feel after a week without a television and just a few days without a computer. How did the Celtics-Hawks end up even at 2-2? How are Britney and Lindsay doing? How many times did they check in and out of rehab this week? How will I get through the coming weeks and months without this information? I may have to cancel this trip.
This will most likely be my last post for a couple of weeks; I'll be relying on public computers at the local library/internet cafe (such as the one I'm in right now) for the duration of my trip. But I'll be writing posts everyday as I make my way to Maine, so when I do manage to find a computer I'll type as many posts as possible. So, if don't see any posts for awhile and then suddenly see a dozen that's why. If you don't see any posts for a month, you'll know it's probably not because I'm lost in the desert, or sinking in quicksand, or because I've been kidnapped by a cult.
Probably not.
See you on the road.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Monday, April 21, 2008
Getting Ready Part Two
I'm still making gear changes; I bought a new tent from REI today. My other tent seemed too heavy and had too many parts - a bag for the tent, a bag for the poles and the fly, a bag for the stakes. I was thinking it would feel like I was pulling an apartment around before long, so I opted for a lightweight (5lbs.) two person dome tent - I'll still have room to move around in with the advantage of a shelter that's easy to put up alone, with fewer pieces to put together, and everything fits in one small bag, so I save room in my trailer as well. I feel better about the load I'll be pulling, so I ask you, what's $100 for a little piece of mind?
I also bought a different spade (for digging holes when mother nature calls, you know.) I bought the first one from an army surplus store - it was collapsible and so compact but made out of steel or kryptonite or some other ridiculously heavy substance and weighed 10 lbs. I don't know what I was thinking; now I have something closer to a garden trowel, plastic and maybe six ounces. Obviously, weight is becoming very important to me as I realize I'm going to be lugging this stuff around from coast to coast for months - hopefully a trowel is enough to get the job done.
My apartment is starting to remind me of the one I had in college - I now have a minimal amount of furniture (a couch, a desk, my computer, a television) and a fridge that's mostly empty (some eggs, orange juice, a half a stick of butter, and a beer.) I've been giving things away to friends/neighbors/Goodwill pretty steadily as I don't want to have to deal with trying to get rid of everything all at once, and it makes cleaning a lot easier. I'm also trying to get used to the idea living with the bare essentials - I got rid of my bed, and I'm sleeping on my living room floor in my sleeping bag; I'm down to the clothes I'm bringing on my trip, meaning I wear shorts and shortsleeved shirts just about everyday, which can get chilly this time of year, jacket or no. I've gotten rid of all my cookware, so if I need to cook I do it over the stove with my cook kit. It's like trying to acclimate to really colder water at the beach; if you go in a little at a time eventually your body gets used to it and you swim (or if you're at Ocean Beach in San Francisco, you get hypothermia, lose control of all your muscles and are swept out to sea - try it, you'll like it!) The water here is cold, really. Hopefully I'm following the former path, and not the latter.
I've been trying to learn some fundamental Spanish for the road - I realized I'll be in states with large Hispanic populations for about a third of my trip, so it might be helpful to know a few handy phrases: Quiero una cerveza (I want a beer), Su bragueta está desecha (en los pantalones) (Your fly is undone), Tengo una fractura complicada (I have a compound fracture). Seriously (I was serious about the beer), I'm trying to learn enough to order something from a taqueria or ask for directions in smaller towns where the bulk of the population might well be Spanish speaking. And not make a complete fool of myself in the process - I'll bring the guidebook I've been using along with me to try and avoid accidentally proposing to someones daughter. Comprende?
I also bought a different spade (for digging holes when mother nature calls, you know.) I bought the first one from an army surplus store - it was collapsible and so compact but made out of steel or kryptonite or some other ridiculously heavy substance and weighed 10 lbs. I don't know what I was thinking; now I have something closer to a garden trowel, plastic and maybe six ounces. Obviously, weight is becoming very important to me as I realize I'm going to be lugging this stuff around from coast to coast for months - hopefully a trowel is enough to get the job done.
My apartment is starting to remind me of the one I had in college - I now have a minimal amount of furniture (a couch, a desk, my computer, a television) and a fridge that's mostly empty (some eggs, orange juice, a half a stick of butter, and a beer.) I've been giving things away to friends/neighbors/Goodwill pretty steadily as I don't want to have to deal with trying to get rid of everything all at once, and it makes cleaning a lot easier. I'm also trying to get used to the idea living with the bare essentials - I got rid of my bed, and I'm sleeping on my living room floor in my sleeping bag; I'm down to the clothes I'm bringing on my trip, meaning I wear shorts and shortsleeved shirts just about everyday, which can get chilly this time of year, jacket or no. I've gotten rid of all my cookware, so if I need to cook I do it over the stove with my cook kit. It's like trying to acclimate to really colder water at the beach; if you go in a little at a time eventually your body gets used to it and you swim (or if you're at Ocean Beach in San Francisco, you get hypothermia, lose control of all your muscles and are swept out to sea - try it, you'll like it!) The water here is cold, really. Hopefully I'm following the former path, and not the latter.
I've been trying to learn some fundamental Spanish for the road - I realized I'll be in states with large Hispanic populations for about a third of my trip, so it might be helpful to know a few handy phrases: Quiero una cerveza (I want a beer), Su bragueta está desecha (en los pantalones) (Your fly is undone), Tengo una fractura complicada (I have a compound fracture). Seriously (I was serious about the beer), I'm trying to learn enough to order something from a taqueria or ask for directions in smaller towns where the bulk of the population might well be Spanish speaking. And not make a complete fool of myself in the process - I'll bring the guidebook I've been using along with me to try and avoid accidentally proposing to someones daughter. Comprende?
Monday, April 14, 2008
Getting Ready Part One
Generally speaking, preparations of some sort have to be made before any journey can begin. In my case, that to date has involved getting rid of practically everything I own - selling my cd collection, giving furniture away to my neighbors, putting books on the street for people to pick up (San Francisco is notorious for the practice of putting things on the sidewalk for any and all takers - refined dumpster diving, you could say.) I'm only saving a small box of things that a friend will ship to me when I get settled in Portland - things have a habit of collecting without much effort, so I'm sure I'll be up to my neck in stuff again before I know it. And frankly it feels good to be free of the yoke of possessions - they can weigh you down without you're even realizing it, i.e. how can I move I have so much stuff, who is going to watch my stuff while I'm away, I have to move into a bigger place I have so much stuff. Stuff it, I say.
I've been biking more lately, trying to get my body ready for the work to come. I don't want to shock myself with 40-50 mile bike rides day in and day out, so I've been riding a couple of times a week, 40 miles here, 15 miles there, 30 miles somewhere else. I've only ridden my bike, without the travel trailer I recently purchased attached; I'll take the bike with an empty trailer out for a few rides this week. I need to first adapt to the feeling of turning, braking, starting and stopping with an empty trailer in tow, then I need to practice doing all of that with a trailer that's loaded down with my life for the next four or five months. I'll be hauling a tent, sleeping bag, my clothes, my food, water, everything I need to live will be behind me in a trailer 2 1/2 feet long and 1 1/2 feet wide. The idea became a daunting reality when the trailer was delivered to my doorstep; it came in a box and I had to put it together myself. When I was done, I looked at the finished trailer and the pile of my gear next to it and started to sweat - how was I going to fit all of this into such a tiny little space? Am I crazy? I should probably just buy a plane ticket and forget this foolishness.
After taking a few deep breaths and looking everything over again, I started to assess what it was that I really needed, and what I could do without. Tent, check. Tent extension for a condo like camping experience, no. Sleeping bag, check. Foam pad for premium sleeping conditions, no. Flashlight, check. Huge lantern with 4 D batteries for daylight at anytime of night, no. And so on and so forth until I think I've cut back to the bare essentials - I'm not bringing much in the way of food, for instance, and what I do buy is probably not going to require much cooking, eliminating the need for any type of cook stove and limiting the cookware I need to a very basic set. I plan to buy whatever food I need as I go, and am probably going to eat straight out of a can fairly regularly (canned ravioli here I come!) Maybe I should just trade my cookware for a can opener, hmmm. At any rate, I'm still making gear changes where I think I need to or have to out of weight consideration.
Next post: Getting Ready, Part Two: Me gusta el montar en bicicleta!
I've been biking more lately, trying to get my body ready for the work to come. I don't want to shock myself with 40-50 mile bike rides day in and day out, so I've been riding a couple of times a week, 40 miles here, 15 miles there, 30 miles somewhere else. I've only ridden my bike, without the travel trailer I recently purchased attached; I'll take the bike with an empty trailer out for a few rides this week. I need to first adapt to the feeling of turning, braking, starting and stopping with an empty trailer in tow, then I need to practice doing all of that with a trailer that's loaded down with my life for the next four or five months. I'll be hauling a tent, sleeping bag, my clothes, my food, water, everything I need to live will be behind me in a trailer 2 1/2 feet long and 1 1/2 feet wide. The idea became a daunting reality when the trailer was delivered to my doorstep; it came in a box and I had to put it together myself. When I was done, I looked at the finished trailer and the pile of my gear next to it and started to sweat - how was I going to fit all of this into such a tiny little space? Am I crazy? I should probably just buy a plane ticket and forget this foolishness.
After taking a few deep breaths and looking everything over again, I started to assess what it was that I really needed, and what I could do without. Tent, check. Tent extension for a condo like camping experience, no. Sleeping bag, check. Foam pad for premium sleeping conditions, no. Flashlight, check. Huge lantern with 4 D batteries for daylight at anytime of night, no. And so on and so forth until I think I've cut back to the bare essentials - I'm not bringing much in the way of food, for instance, and what I do buy is probably not going to require much cooking, eliminating the need for any type of cook stove and limiting the cookware I need to a very basic set. I plan to buy whatever food I need as I go, and am probably going to eat straight out of a can fairly regularly (canned ravioli here I come!) Maybe I should just trade my cookware for a can opener, hmmm. At any rate, I'm still making gear changes where I think I need to or have to out of weight consideration.
Next post: Getting Ready, Part Two: Me gusta el montar en bicicleta!
Monday, April 7, 2008
Why?
When people ask me what I do for a living lately, I tell them nothing. They then tend to give me rather quizzical looks, so then I go on to explain I've quit my job to bike across the country. Most people are very excited by the idea, asking how long it'll take to ride my motorcycle from here to Maine. I tell them I'm riding my bicycle across the country, and they look anywhere from a shade of incredulous to shocked to dumbfounded. "Why?" Not that most people aren't still excited for me and the idea of packing everything in to go on an adventure, I think it's the magnitude of the journey that prompts the question.
So why am I undertaking my journey? Well, I've always wanted to bike across the country, ever since I was in high school. Right after graduation, I tried to convince a girlfriend that it would be fun to buy bicycles, train together for the trip, and set out to see the country with nothing but the wind in our hair and the stars in our eyes. It turned out the stars in my eyes blotted out the reality that the bikes we bought (cheaply, from a third rate department store - they seemed to be made out of cast iron with tires suited more for a farmer's tractor) were much too heavy; we were "training" by biking to our summer jobs - to get there, we had to follow a hilly, windy road with tons of traffic. It was sweaty work and by the time we got to our jobs we were already tired, and had a whole day of work and a ride back to look forward to. I tried to ignore the obvious and keep up our flagging spirits, but our training regimen failed quickly, and the whole trip and our relationship was cancelled not long after our last ride home from a grueling work day (we both had jobs in the restaurant business, not so much fun in the summer.)
I never forgot the dream, though; I bought better bikes, went for longer rides, kept imagining the fun of being out on the road. But living my life seemed to keep getting in the way of the trek, as it can and often does. I went to college, got a job, was in a long term relationship, got another job. got lazy. I managed to cross the country in a car a few times (fun but probably irresponsible now, in the days of global warming and our dependence on foreign oil - a guilty former pleasure, I guess), got a few more jobs, and now here I am.
The opportunity to make the trek presented itself not long ago. I was working as a paralegal, the definition of drudge work, at a law firm I liked only a little more than a six year old likes spinach. I worked there solely for the salary, which is probably the reason most paralegals (or most of us in general, I suppose) do what they do every day. And in San Francisco you either bring home the bacon or you end up scrounging through a dumpster looking for dinner - seriously, the City has become an incredibly expensive place to live, and if you're not willing to do the work necessary to bring home a San Francisco sized paycheck you can't live here.
I was given a terrible review at this spinach factory, and I had what I think can be called a moment of clarity - I could stay on at a job I didn't like (and apparently didn't like me) in a field I fell into, or I could quit and make a total life change. I quit ten minutes after my review was over, packing the things at my desk I wanted to take and leaving the rest. I knew I didn't want to be a paralegal anymore; I knew I didn't want to work in an office anymore. I knew I couldn't afford to live in San Francisco anymore. A situation with dire consequences, no job in the big city? Or a golden ticket to a new life in another city?
A good time to ride my bicycle across the country. Why? Because I really do want to ride through the U.S. with the wind made by my pedal pumping legs in my face. Because I want to camp out by the side of the road listening to the howls of coyotes as I fade off to sleep. Because I want to meet the people of America, and visit their towns and eat their food and talk to them, whether I speak their language or not. Because I want to be at a fork in the road and choose which way to go without knowing exactly where I'll end up. Because I can - I'm single, I don't have kids, and I'm fairly young (38 is the new 25, right?) Because life is short and I don't want my greatest achievement in my old age to be my old age. Because maybe, just maybe, in the end I'll bike down the road I'm looking for.
That's why.
So why am I undertaking my journey? Well, I've always wanted to bike across the country, ever since I was in high school. Right after graduation, I tried to convince a girlfriend that it would be fun to buy bicycles, train together for the trip, and set out to see the country with nothing but the wind in our hair and the stars in our eyes. It turned out the stars in my eyes blotted out the reality that the bikes we bought (cheaply, from a third rate department store - they seemed to be made out of cast iron with tires suited more for a farmer's tractor) were much too heavy; we were "training" by biking to our summer jobs - to get there, we had to follow a hilly, windy road with tons of traffic. It was sweaty work and by the time we got to our jobs we were already tired, and had a whole day of work and a ride back to look forward to. I tried to ignore the obvious and keep up our flagging spirits, but our training regimen failed quickly, and the whole trip and our relationship was cancelled not long after our last ride home from a grueling work day (we both had jobs in the restaurant business, not so much fun in the summer.)
I never forgot the dream, though; I bought better bikes, went for longer rides, kept imagining the fun of being out on the road. But living my life seemed to keep getting in the way of the trek, as it can and often does. I went to college, got a job, was in a long term relationship, got another job. got lazy. I managed to cross the country in a car a few times (fun but probably irresponsible now, in the days of global warming and our dependence on foreign oil - a guilty former pleasure, I guess), got a few more jobs, and now here I am.
The opportunity to make the trek presented itself not long ago. I was working as a paralegal, the definition of drudge work, at a law firm I liked only a little more than a six year old likes spinach. I worked there solely for the salary, which is probably the reason most paralegals (or most of us in general, I suppose) do what they do every day. And in San Francisco you either bring home the bacon or you end up scrounging through a dumpster looking for dinner - seriously, the City has become an incredibly expensive place to live, and if you're not willing to do the work necessary to bring home a San Francisco sized paycheck you can't live here.
I was given a terrible review at this spinach factory, and I had what I think can be called a moment of clarity - I could stay on at a job I didn't like (and apparently didn't like me) in a field I fell into, or I could quit and make a total life change. I quit ten minutes after my review was over, packing the things at my desk I wanted to take and leaving the rest. I knew I didn't want to be a paralegal anymore; I knew I didn't want to work in an office anymore. I knew I couldn't afford to live in San Francisco anymore. A situation with dire consequences, no job in the big city? Or a golden ticket to a new life in another city?
A good time to ride my bicycle across the country. Why? Because I really do want to ride through the U.S. with the wind made by my pedal pumping legs in my face. Because I want to camp out by the side of the road listening to the howls of coyotes as I fade off to sleep. Because I want to meet the people of America, and visit their towns and eat their food and talk to them, whether I speak their language or not. Because I want to be at a fork in the road and choose which way to go without knowing exactly where I'll end up. Because I can - I'm single, I don't have kids, and I'm fairly young (38 is the new 25, right?) Because life is short and I don't want my greatest achievement in my old age to be my old age. Because maybe, just maybe, in the end I'll bike down the road I'm looking for.
That's why.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
28 Days
Hello. My name is David and I have a question - what will the world look like after cannibalistic zombies have destroyed the world in just 28 days? Kidding, about the zombies anyway. My name really is David, but in 28 days instead of zombies chewing through the world (hopefully) I'll be leaving on what will be biggest adventure of my life, riding my bicycle across the United States from San Francisco, California to Portland, Maine - 3,226 miles if you drove straight across the country, which I may wish I had afterward.
I'll be rambling first through the Pacific coast from San Francisco south to just outside of San Diego, then east hugging the border of Mexico through Arizona, New Mexico and West Texas. I'll follow the Gulf coast from East Texas to the panhandle of Florida, and then I'm not sure. I'd like to follow the coast of Florida around the Everglades to the Atlantic side, but it's a long trip - mileage estimates vary but I think it's safe to say that Florida has at least 1200 miles of coastline. I'll have to see how I'm feeling at that point - if I'm up for the exercise I'll follow Florida's coast; if I'm not so inclined I'll ride across the panhandle to Jacksonville and then follow the coast to Maine.
Ramble: to wander around in a leisurely, aimless manner
Ramble: to talk or write in a discursive, aimless way
I say I'm rambling (the former) because though I know my final destination and how I generally want to go about getting there, I have no set route. I can start or stop riding when I like, if I want to take detours or go off the beaten path I will. I can follow a whim, take the left fork in the road instead of the right, not ride for a day. When I'm hungry I'll eat, when I'm tired I'll sleep, etc. You get the picture. My only fixed goals are to get to Maine sometime in October, before it gets uncomfortably cold in the Northeast, and to avoid the latter definition of ramble in this blog.
I'm calling myself the biking fool because though I have biked extensively in the past, I've never ridden more than a hundred miles in a day over the course of a weekend. I've never ridden with a trailer in tow. I've never pitched a tent wherever I was at the end of the day: the side of the road, someones backyard, a parking lot. I'm not in the best physical shape of my life. But I've always wanted to bike across the country; I want to be part of the landscape, breathing in the air around me without any barriers - you can't get that in a car. I think it'll be fun to meet the people of the west, and the south, of New Mexico and Texas , Florida and Virginia. I think it will be personally interesting to me to see how I deal with living in a tent, cooking when I can, eating whatever I can get locally, surviving without Starbucks. And if I'm not in great shape now I bet I will be by the time I get to Maine.
In the days to come I'll be blogging about what got me to this point, my various trip preparations, and then we're off. Thanks for rambling in.
I'll be rambling first through the Pacific coast from San Francisco south to just outside of San Diego, then east hugging the border of Mexico through Arizona, New Mexico and West Texas. I'll follow the Gulf coast from East Texas to the panhandle of Florida, and then I'm not sure. I'd like to follow the coast of Florida around the Everglades to the Atlantic side, but it's a long trip - mileage estimates vary but I think it's safe to say that Florida has at least 1200 miles of coastline. I'll have to see how I'm feeling at that point - if I'm up for the exercise I'll follow Florida's coast; if I'm not so inclined I'll ride across the panhandle to Jacksonville and then follow the coast to Maine.
Ramble: to wander around in a leisurely, aimless manner
Ramble: to talk or write in a discursive, aimless way
I say I'm rambling (the former) because though I know my final destination and how I generally want to go about getting there, I have no set route. I can start or stop riding when I like, if I want to take detours or go off the beaten path I will. I can follow a whim, take the left fork in the road instead of the right, not ride for a day. When I'm hungry I'll eat, when I'm tired I'll sleep, etc. You get the picture. My only fixed goals are to get to Maine sometime in October, before it gets uncomfortably cold in the Northeast, and to avoid the latter definition of ramble in this blog.
I'm calling myself the biking fool because though I have biked extensively in the past, I've never ridden more than a hundred miles in a day over the course of a weekend. I've never ridden with a trailer in tow. I've never pitched a tent wherever I was at the end of the day: the side of the road, someones backyard, a parking lot. I'm not in the best physical shape of my life. But I've always wanted to bike across the country; I want to be part of the landscape, breathing in the air around me without any barriers - you can't get that in a car. I think it'll be fun to meet the people of the west, and the south, of New Mexico and Texas , Florida and Virginia. I think it will be personally interesting to me to see how I deal with living in a tent, cooking when I can, eating whatever I can get locally, surviving without Starbucks. And if I'm not in great shape now I bet I will be by the time I get to Maine.
In the days to come I'll be blogging about what got me to this point, my various trip preparations, and then we're off. Thanks for rambling in.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
