“No, life cannot be understood flat on a page. It has to be lived; a person has to get out of his head, has to fall in love, has to memorize poems, has to jump off bridges into rivers, has to stand in an empty desert and whisper sonnets under his breath… We get one story, you and I, and one story alone. God has established the elements, the setting and the climax and resolution. It would be a crime not to venture out, wouldn’t it?” Â ~Â Donald Miller – Through Painted Deserts
Today is my last full day of riding by myself. Tomorrow is a rest day in Sedona with my friend Dale, then the following day I meet up at some point with my friend Dave to complete the ride back to Colorado. My days of solitude on this trip are over after today.
I expected to enjoy the solitude, but I’ve frankly enjoyed it more than I’d anticipated. The desert amplifies and highlights solitude. The simplicity and solitude I’ve found riding across these deserts has moved me in a way that’s beyond my expectations. I’ve found a peace inside myself that’s a little deeper than the already wonderful peace I knew.
How does the desert do this? I’ve always enjoyed time on my own. In solitude I’ve been able to discover the things within me and about me that make me what I am today. Time alone has always wrapped my mind and my soul in a way that opens me up to myself. Continue reading “Bicycling Across The West – Congress to Sedona in Arizona”
Bicycling Across the West – Day 9 – Parker to Congress in Arizona
“Don’t think about what you’ve left behind” The alchemist said to the boy as they began to ride across the sands of the desert. “If what one finds is made of pure matter, it will never spoil. And one can always come back. If what you had found was only a moment of light, like the explosion of a star, you would find nothing on your return.” —  ~ Paulo Coelho – The Alchemist
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Today is another desert crossing, but I’ve got a couple towns along the way to resupply. There’s risk for sure, but I figure it’s less risk than yesterday.
I’m up and out the door at 5:00 AM, but am disappointed to see once again that there’s more light in the sky than I’d hoped. My hope is to get started before first light on these desert crossing days, in order to get as many miles behind me as possible before the heat of the day begins. I’m continually surprised by how much the 100 miles or so between one day and the next changes the sunrise and sunset times.
When planning this trip, I’d always assumed I’d do a good portion of these desert crossings in the dark. I figured I could start about 3:00 AM to avoid heat and wind. I knew the moon would be close to new during these crossings, so I’d get no help there. My solution was more lights. I wear a helmet light combination that has a bright flashing red taillight attached to the back of my helmet, and a headlight on the front of the helmet that can eight be a constant or a flashing light. As bicycle lights go, this front light is OK, but not really a bright headlight that lights the road well. It’s made by Light and Motion, called their Vis 360 model. It’s really meant to make the cyclist highly visible to the motorist. Continue reading “Bicycling in the West – Parker to Congress in Arizona”
Bicycle Touring in the West -Â Day 8 – Twentynine Palms to Parker
“The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.” Â ~ Stephen King, The Gunslinger
I lay awake and look at the clock beside my bed. 3:59 AM. I’m waiting for the wake-up call.
I’m not sure why I ever do this – ask for a wake-up call or set an alarm. Most of the time, I don’t use an alarm at all, but if I want to make sure I wake before 4:30 or 5:00 in the morning, then I’ll use some sort of alarm. But when I do, invariably, I’ll wake a minute or two before the alarm, and wait for it to go off.
I remember the exact day this started for me. I was probably around 11 years old or so, and we were spending a week in a cabin on a lake. I’d forgotten any sort of alarm clock, but wanted more than anything in the world to get up at 5:00 AM to go fishing. My folks let me take the old rowboat out into the cove by myself to fish, and the independence of taking a real boat out onto the water by myself was overwhelming intoxication to an 11-year-old boy who loved to fish. Continue reading “Day 8 – Twentynine Palms to Parker”
Bicycle Touring in the West Day 7 – Rest Day in Twentynine Palms
“Don’t underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can’t hear, and not bothering.” ~ Pooh’s Little Instruction Book, inspired by A.A. Milne
Falling asleep last night, I’d thought I might try and “sleep in†this morning. Silly thought, as I was probably falling asleep about 8:30 at night, to the sound of a loud and boisterous party out by the pool. Normally this would have kept me from sleeping, but for whatever reason, I was able to sleep through most of it, waking occasionally but falling back asleep.
I’m not a particularly good sleeper, often waking to the slightest of sounds, generally not able to go back to sleep if I get out of bed in the middle of the night. Under normal circumstances, I usually start waking up by 5:00 AM, and on this trip, I’ve been out of bed by 4:00 most mornings. So this morning, “sleeping in†means I’m able to stay in bed until nearly 5:30 AM. Which represents a very good night’s sleep.
Early morning is absolutely my favorite time of day. There aren’t many souls up and about early, so it always feels like I’ve got the cosmos to myself. Well, maybe not the cosmos, but this morning I at least the hotel lobby and breakfast area. I read while the breakfast counter is set up, and enjoy a very quiet and peaceful breakfast outside in the cool shade by the pool.
After a couple hours, some youngsters start to stake their claim to the pool, and I head back in to the breakfast area to enjoy a little “second breakfast.†There are quite a few folks in here now, and listening to the chatter around me, I’m able to deduce that along with the wedding party that stayed here last night, there was also a small group of young men from the nearby Marine Corps training center staying at the hotel while doing some training. There is every indication that some of the young Marines got to know some of the wedding party as the orbits of their respective parties seemed to intersect last night.
Isn’t love grand? Well, maybe not love, but at least everyone seems to feel better this morning. Well, OK, maybe not better in all respects – there are clearly some hangovers being carefully nursed. Well OK, in the case of the Marines, their leader seems none too tender with them in his “nursing†of their hangovers. Continue reading “Day 7 – Resting in Twentynine Palms”
Bicycle Touring in the West Day 6 – Victorville to Twentynine Palms
“It is only when we silent the blaring sounds of our daily existence that we can finally hear the whispers of truth that life reveals to us, as it stands knocking on the doorsteps of our hearts.” Â ~ K.T. Jong
Determined not to be surprised by the earlier sunrise, and highly motivated to log as many miles as possible in the wind-free early morning hours, I’m wheeling my bike out of the motel in Victorville at the earliest hint of light. I make my way east on Bear Valley Road, where traffic is light this time of morning. The shoulder is good in places, less than good in others, and I’m told that during busy times, this road carries very heavy traffic.
Connecting with highway 18 east of town, I follow this road into the little town of Lucerne Valley, where I stop at what will likely be my last available water supply for 50 miles or so. Here, I leave highway 18, and head further east on Old Woman Springs Road. (It’s also called highway 247, but that’s a boring name…)
The traffic on highway 18 is starting to pick up a bit by the time I leave it, and the traffic on Old Woman Springs Road remains very light early on this Saturday morning. It’s a beautiful morning, and while a bit of wind is swirling around, it swirls so that at times it’s in my face, and at times at my back. While there’s no shoulder at all on this road, the lack of traffic makes this a small concern.
If there was any doubt before, there can be no doubt now – I’m in the desert. And I begin to notice something, or perhaps it’s more accurate to say that I begin to notice less of something. It starts with a curiosity I develop about a chirping I keep hearing on both sides of the road. I wonder what sort of bird might be so abundant out here in the desert, and stop several times to sit still and watch for the bird. Continue reading “Day 6 – Victorville to Twentynine Palms”
It is only when we silent the blaring sounds of our daily existence that we can finally hear the whispers of truth that life reveals to us, as it stands knocking on the doorsteps of our hearts.
~K.T. Jong
I recently rode my bicycle across the deserts of the west. I’m blogging about that trip here. Here’s an excerpt from one of the postings, from a day when I was beginning to get deep into the desert:
I pull over to have a little snack, and become aware of just how quiet it is around me. The wind is puffing around here and there, and I have no doubt that it’s going to grow into a big wind before long, but right now it’s pretty light. However, even this light wind should make some noise, right?
The quiet is mesmerizing. I realize that when the wind blows, it’s not the air moving we hear, it’s the sound of the air moving through things like leaves and trees and grass that we hear. Out here in this desert, there’s just not much in the way of leaves and trees and grass. There’s nothing whatever in the way of leaves and trees and grass in fact. There are Joshua Trees now and again, which are actually a cactus, and there are some other cactusy-looking plants along the sandy floor of the desert, but there’s just not enough volume of “stuff†to blow around in the wind to create the background white noise of the normal outdoor’s that my experience has taught me to expect.
I find I really like this. It’s a rare sense of focusing quiet. Every few minutes a car or truck passes and disturbs the silence, but I stand here a long time leaning against my bike, and appreciating the quiet solitude. It reminds me of an experience scuba diving once. I was doing a night dive. Moving along the top of a reef, I found a nice sandy area, and settled down to suspend just above the bottom, turning out my light. The darkness enveloped me completely, and the silence and darkness was breathtaking. I lay there for a few minutes, enjoying the exhilaration of this silent primordial darkness, before turning my light back on and moving my way down the reef.
On the reef, both before my little experiment with primordial darkness and after, I saw a couple small sharks out hunting. I’m sure this potential danger added something to the exhilaration of the experience. I was alone in an environment that could rapidly turn mortally hostile, and I temporarily shut down my important sense – my sense of sight. I surrendered to the environment around me, allowing myself to soak inside the vastness.
Here on the bright and flat surface of the desert, I’m remembering and recognizing that feeling. Again I’ve dropped myself into an environment that could get mortally hostile rather rapidly. The quiet around me reminds me of that quiet I felt on the reef all those years ago.
I’m not sure what it is that attracts me to these “moments†out on the edge of comfort. It’s not as though I just find myself here – I went to great lengths to put myself in this situation. The aloneness with the quiet unlocks windows in my heart and soul I think. Taking this path that leads me out along the edge of life lets me feel the edge of something greater than myself, and that must be what pulls me toward these situations. I can’t keep the smile off my face as I bask in the warm, quiet solitude.
A Bicycle Tour Across The West:
Day 5 – Frazier Park to Victorville
Mad Dogs in the Desert
“Inside of me there are two dogs. One of the dogs is mean and evil. The other dog is good. The mean dog fights the good dog all the time. “Which dog wins? The one I feed the most.”
– Comanche Elder speaking of the inner struggle of good and evil
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The motel I stay at in Frazier Park (technically the town in Lebec I think) is clearly a trucker’s motel. I’m in the common breakfast area at 5:00 AM, and at that hour, it’s full of truckers already. I don’t exactly fit in seamlessly in my spandex and bright yellow windbreaker, but after a few odd looks, the truckers seem to accept me in their space.
I realize we’re not that far from LA here, and many of these guys probably have deliveries to make in the LA area, and are getting an early start to try and beat traffic. Clearly this hotel isn’t a “holiday and recreation destination”…
It’s quite cold this morning – around 35 again – and I really don’t have gear for that temperature. I’m confident this is a short inconvenience at this altitude and hour. The elevation is something around 4500′, which is “in the mountains” in this part of the country. My first half-mile or so is a little climb, which I’m grateful for to warm up a little, but after cresting the pass, it’s a bitter descent for a few miles in the icy air. Yesterday morning, the temperature was about the same, but I was working steadily. This morning, descending through the icy pre-dawn air, my fingers ache and I’m shivering pretty significantly. Continue reading “Day 5 – Frazier Park to Victorville”
Bicycle Tour of the West
Day 4 – Paso Robles to Frazier Park
A first taste of remote
“At the heart of all beauty lies something inhuman, and these hills, the softness of the sky, the outline of these trees at this very minute lose the illusory meaning with which we had clothed them, henceforth more remote than a lost paradise… that denseness and that strangeness of the world is absurd.â€Â - Albert Camus
Today is the longest planned day of my trip – 146 miles. The first 75 or 80 of those miles are across a remote section with no towns, no services, and barely any houses. I’m up well before first light, wolfing down leftover steak from the night before, and topping off the hydration tank. I’m on my bike and riding as the faintest light streaks the eastern sky. Continue reading “Day 4 – Paso Robles to Frazier Park”
I met and interesting fella the other day. A fellow cyclist, I suspect he has several years on me. As is usually the case with cyclists when they first meet each other, we went to great lengths to talk about how slow we ride. This is interesting behavior that seems consistent among road cyclists, and a bit unique to them. In most sports, the bravado takes over, and guys talk about how good they are. With road cyclists, everyone is always talking about how slow they ride, and how weak they are, and how their bike could never go as fast as your bike. All in the hope, I suppose, that they’ll take you by surprise when the riding actually begins.
But I digress…
The conversation got me thinking about how much my style of cycling is a reflection of the way I live my life, and how much that’s changed over the years.
When I was a younger man, I liked sprinting. I was physically built more like a sprinter, and in most things I did – sports or otherwise – I went at them pretty hard and relentlessly. Point A to Point B was what I was all about, with a strong focus on getting to Point B as fast as possible.
Today, I’m much more of a savorer than I am a sprinter. While I’m still aware of Point B in front of me, and I still arrive at Point B, I’m much more focused on savoring the moments along the path between Point A and Point B than I am with reaching Point B in record time.
I like to keep my head up these days, and make sure I catch the nuances of the world as I pass through it. I like to sniff the air often, to make sure I don’t miss some particularly sensual scent as it moves across me. When I hear some crickets or lizards singing beside the road, I’m much more likely to stop and soak in the sound for a few minutes.
This summer – on my bicycle journey from Monterey, CA back to Colorado, I had one day that I’d worried about as it was coming up. It was a 120 mile day across the Mojave Desert in June, the first 90 miles of which had no houses, services, or other ways to supply myself with water. I was on my own, and if ever there was a need to stay focused on Point B, that was the day.
A tailwind developed for me, and I knew if that wind continued, I could make record time in the day. Back in my sprinter days, I would have poured on the coal, and not let up until I reached the end. Instead, I stopped and took pictures often, (almost 100 pictures that day I think), and left several voice recordings. I was so wrapped-up in the joy of that tailwind that I didn’t really care about a record time.
On one stretch, the road was a gentle descent for over 10 miles. With the tailwind, I was able to gently coast down the empty highway, rolling by bicycle from side to side, enjoying the hot breeze and the sounds of the desert lizards on the side of the road. Sure I could have grabbed a great big gear and screamed down the descent at 40 MPH, but I would have missed that gentle rhythm of rolling the bike from side to side, and the song of the lizards, not to mention the gorgeous scenery unfolding around me.
The wind stayed behind me all day, and it turns out I did set a record for myself, averaging over 20 MPH over that 120 miles. Never for a second do I wish I would have pushed harder to set a better record. The joy of that day cycling still lingers in my memory today.
Point B is still on my mind, and there’s no doubt I enjoy getting there, but I enjoy it so much more now that I’ve leaned to savor the space between Point A and Point B more than I once did.
A Bicycle Adventure Across The West: Day 3 – Lucia to Paso Robles
A Steep and Beautiful Climb Away From The Coast
“Mountains have a way of dealing with overconfidence.”  - Hermann Buhl
I’ve only got 70-something miles to go today, so I have another leisurely morning, enjoying breakfast. I know there’s a steep climb first thing out, but figure it can’t be that bad, and then the rest of the day should be easy.
Dave Meyers, (the fella I met the night before), is finishing up his early breakfast as I sit down, and he’s headed out for an early start on the day. We’ll both end up at Paso Robles tonight, so I could see him along the way. After a leisurely breakfast, I walk outside, hanging out and enjoying the beautiful morning.
A car pulls up with two young girls in it. They’re visiting from France, and apparently couldn’t afford the prices at the Inn, so decided to just sleep in their car. They look like their night’s sleep was not a good one, and I chat a bit with them before getting on the bike and heading down the road. I’m a couple miles down the road before it dawns on me that I should have offered them the use of my room to shower and rest. Of course, the folks who own the Lucia Lodge wouldn’t have been happy had they found out about it – they missed out on the chance to move a little more silver into their pocket. But the girls would have appreciated it I’m sure, and I could have bragged about the two pretty French girls who spent the morning in my hotel room. I would have left out the part about me not being there… Life’s about creating good stories…
Headed south through Big Sur on the morning of Day 3
The first four miles follow the coastline up to the point where the road is closed, at which time I turn left, cross a cattle grate, and begin climbing on the Nacimiento Road. Those first four miles are really enjoyable, since there’s not a car on the road with the road closure. The morning air is cool and moist, and I savor the coastline, knowing this will be the last bit of riding I’ll get alongside it.
After crossing the cattle grate, I drop into my lowest possible gear, and will rarely leave that gear for the next hour and 20 minutes or so. I’d been told it was a steep climb, but hey, I live in Colorado and climb steep grades all the time. Such arrogance… The climb is a little under 3000 feet in about 7 miles – about 400 feet a mile, an average of 7% to 8%. A couple spots hit 16% and 18%.
Continuing to climb away from Big Sur - on a VERY STEEP road
That’s steep, and the extra weight I’ve packed isn’t helping at all during the climb. I stay lathered in a nice coat of sweat thanks to the hard work of climbing. I stop to take pictures a few times, but the chilly air gets me moving again quickly to stay warm.
The road is really quite beautiful, and the views back down onto the coast from the steep mountainside are stunning. There are spots where you’re climbing through stands of towering Redwood, and other spots where you’re pedaling beneath lichen-covered branches that overhand the road. Mixed in are vistas with views that seem to go forever back down the mountains and across the Pacific.
Looking back north along Big Sur on the steep climb over the coastal range
As I’m climbing, the support van from the touring group I passed yesterday passes me. Turns out they’d sagged the cyclists up to the top of this steep climb, and the cyclists then rode from there to their next destination. I wave at them as they pass. Their route is slightly different from mine over the next few days, and I’ll get ahead of them and not see them again. By the time I get to Colorado, they’ll be about a week behind me.
At the summit of the climb, I put on my jacket and start a cold descent. The road twists and turns as it drops, and after about 10 minutes or so of shivering, I’ve descended into warmer air that’s noticeably more dry than the air on the other side of the mountain.
It’s amazing how quickly the landscape changes from one side of the coastal range to the other. On the wet side of the mountain, there were towering Redwoods and plants that were almost tropical. This dry side of the mountain, though, reminds me a lot of my home in Colorado, heavy with grasslands and pine.
Reaching the base of the descent, the road passes through the gate into Ft Hunter-Liggett. In normal times, the gate is manned, and you’ve got to show your drivers license and proof of insurance if you’re in a car. However, since highway 1 is closed, and traffic is diverted to this road, the gate isn’t manned, and I pass right through.
The base of one of the giant oak trees on the inland side of the coastal range in Ft Hunter-Liggett
Largely deserted, the highway is a beautiful ride through oak savanna. I believe the oak trees that are abundant along this ride are Valley Oaks. They’re giant trees, massive trunks and beautifully shaped crowns. These trees are up to 600 years old, and I stop and enjoy a little rest, leaning my bike and my back against one of these old ents, soaking up that ancient energy again.
Continuing along Nacimiento-Fergusson road to Mission Rd, I make my way through Ft Hunter-Liggett, eventually coming to what they call “the G-14â€. (An unusual language usage in this part of California is that people refer to roads like that – “the G-14â€, or “the 1â€, meaning highway 1.)
I head southeast along the G-14 into a headwind that’s a little frustrating. It’s not a heavy wind, but I’d had my expectations set for that NW wind that is supposed to be blowing this time of year. For much of the ride, the wind is very light, but at times, it gets between my ears and messes with me…
At Lockwood the road turns right. There’s really no town or anything else here, just a tiny store on the corner, and I stop and calorie-up a bit. As I’m sitting in the shade, I eavesdrop on a conversation some locals are having. A gal has gotten a new job with the county, and she’s telling her friends all about it. After they leave, I go over and talk to her, as I’m interested in what she does.
Turns out she catches bugs. I’m in wine country now, (though I haven’t really seen the evidence yet), and they go to great lengths to assure that certain particularly destructive bugs don’t make their way into their region. She goes around all day setting traps, and investigating what she catches. She’s really excited about her job and what she does, and tells me WAY more than I need or want to know about bugs. I politely tell her I’ve got to make my way down the road, and pedal off, leaving her making notes about bugs in her bug log.
Another 20 miles down the road is a little intersection called Bee Rock. I catch up with Dave Meyers here at Bee Rock, and we enjoy a sandwich together. Like Lockwood, there’s nothing here but a store. The store here is much friendlier than the one at Lockwood, with nice tables to sit at. Dave and I enjoy a nice long lunch here, chatting and enjoying the beautiful day. When I’m ready to leave, Dave isn’t quite ready, so I head up the road ahead of him.
And up it is. For the first 2 or 3 miles out of Bee Rock, there’s a steep little climb that’s a bit of a surprise. My legs are toast after the climbing this morning, so they complain quite a bit headed up over this grade. At the top of the grade, though, there are beautiful views in most directions. Lake Nacimiento is off to the right, and Lake San Antonio is behind and off to the left.
The views after climbing south from Bee Rock
From here to Paso Robles, the road gets quite a bit busier, with steady rollers lasting a good bit of the way. The road has little or no shoulder in spots, making for a few nervous moments with cars and trucks squeezing me to the edge of the pavement. By the time I reach Paso Robles, the wind has turned a bit, and sometimes quarters at my back. Still a light wind, but anything not in my face is appreciated.
Paso Robles is a nice little town. I can easily see coming here for a little vacation. It’s quite bicycle-friendly, and smaller than I expected. It’s probably not much more than a mile from the north end of town to the south. It’s a warm “homecoming†sense I get when I see my hotel – a feeling that I’ll come to expect and look forward to at the end of each day. I know there’s a warm shower and a soft bed waiting for me.
Tonight, I’m using Marriott points and staying at The Courtyard in town. It’s a great little hotel, and the folks are quite friendly and helpful. After I get checked-in and showered-up, I spread my stuff out on the bed, and start sorting through to create my second package to send back home. The steep climb this morning, followed by rollers all afternoon, taught me a hard lesson (again) about weight. I send home my iPad, iPod, tiny speaker, Kindle, 700-lumen headlight, all the chargers associated with this electronic stuff, 3 or 4 of my tubes (leaving me still with 3 or 4), and probably a few other items. While I don’t put stuff on the scale, it seems to me that I’ve cut my weight in half with this package.
It’s a nice lesson to me on simplicity and minimalism. When I was packing for the trip, I remember laying everything out, and going through some dry-run packs. I’d thought about trying to bring the iPad with me – I’d even found a pretty strong case with a keyboard built-in – seemed like the perfect solution for somebody like me who likes to write when I have a little spare time. The iPad only weighs a couple pounds or so – not a big deal. And of course the Kindle was pretty small too, and weighed only half a pound or so.
In the end, I had in my mind that I wanted to stay under 20 pounds, and I was able to do this and still carry many of these items that I might find handy. It all fit – why not take it?
Sitting in my room in Paso Robles, after climbing during the day that felt much more brutal than it should have, I have my answer. My culture has taught me that it’s “good†to have everything you might need. Having something is good, being without something is bad. That’s the world-view from which I’ve developed my values and guiding principles.
So of course, the lens through which I’d been looking when I packed was one of “how much can I take, within my constraints?†Tonight, looking down at all my gear spread out on the bed, my lens has changed a bit. Now, I’m looking at my gear, and asking instead, “how little can I survive with?â€
It might seem like a small difference, but it makes a big difference in what gets packed. Frankly, it makes a big difference in how I look at every day of this trip I’m on. Tossing my iPod in the package to ship home, there’s no whisper in my ear asking me to consider, “but you might want to listen to podcasts or tunes…†I’m delighted to put as much into the package home as I can, with no regrets or “what if†second thoughts.
Climbing away from the Big Sur coastline
Getting rid of stuff is a cleansing sensation. Almost like “stuff†weighs down the soul. It happens to me when I clean stuff out of my house too – a liberating sense of “giving†and “lightness†happens after I go through and give away (or toss) large swaths of stuff.
I think it’s a “place in life†thing to some extent. When I was younger, I seemed more focused on “accumulating†than on “distributing and cleansingâ€. At the point I’m now at in life, I find myself constantly re-evaluating just how much “stuff†I want around me. Accumulated stuff is clutter and flotsam that I’ve got to wade through over and over again. It keeps me from moving along the path. It’s as though each “thing†I accumulate attaches a string deep into my heart and soul, connecting me to the thing itself, making continued movement down the path difficult.
Why do we do this? It feels like an addiction we’ve developed – an addiction to accumulation. This little tendency to take a little too much with me on a bike ride is one tiny symptom, but if I look at my culture at a much higher level, it seems we’ve built our entire civilization on the same addiction and sickness. Look at how much of our life’s energy we put into “accumulating wealthâ€. This is seen as a very good thing, this accumulation of wealth. We advertise how much wealth we’ve accumulated with the homes we live in, the cars we drive, and our pride in our continued pursuit of greater wealth.
We’ve accumulated so much wealth that there’s no way most of us would even attempt to climb the tough hills and mountains of the back roads of life. Instead, the vast majority of us stay on the flat and busy interstate highway system, where everyone else is. It’s just the way we live – stay on the well-traveled and flat expanse of “the bypassâ€, and you don’t need to confront the difficult climbs and rollers in life.
Continuing to climb away from Big Sur - on a VERY STEEP road
But that’s where the best life has to offer is – out there along the steep and windy backroads. The questions and issues are hard ones, and require deep and honest introspection, but the rewards are beyond words. I’m pretty sure that’s where we find the doorways to heaven – out there along those difficult backroads of life where the climbs are steep and the roads wind their way through tough questions.
Looking back to the great sages of the last few thousand years, I find that message loud and clear. I grew up in a Christian tradition, and Jesus was pretty clear when admonishing followers to avoid the temptation of accumulation of wealth. He instructed followers to leave all they owned behind if they wanted to become a disciple. Easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle, He said, than for a wealthy man to be able to find heaven.
Morning along the Big Sur coastline
That’s on my mind this evening, as I look with satisfaction at the pile of “stuff†I’m sending back home. I’m grateful to have met Dave Meyers yesterday, as his inspiration gives me a bit more confidence in taking the drastic approach I’m taking. I don’t have any illusions of finding heaven on this trip, but the last thing I want is 7 or 8 extra pounds in my bag that might slow me down if I catch a little glimpse…
