Tag: bicycling in california

Misery Milkshake

Desert Flowers in Navaho countryAt about 45 miles, we come to a little place called Mexican Water and I do some gulping of a different sort — about half a gallon of vanilla milkshake. This is our breakfast stop, but as it often the case, we end up eating cheeseburgers for breakfast. A milkshake on top of a greasy cheeseburger is a fantastic idea, right? A big rich milkshake that’ll sit and curdle in my stomach for the next few hours as we make our way across a hot desert…

Stated that way, I know it doesn’t sound like such a great idea. But sitting in an air-conditioned diner, enjoying the coolness and wanting more of it, an icy milkshake sounds really wonderful. Intellectually, I know what’s going to happen. I know this won’t turn out well. But I do it anyway.

Why the heck do we do this to ourselves? Are we pre-wired for self destructive behavior? I can’t even begin to count instances in my life when I’ve watched smart and sane people dive headlong into a night of drunken debauchery fully aware of the high price they’ll pay the next day. Or folks who maintain high calorie intake diets day after day, knowing full well that they’re saturating themselves with weight and goop that will significantly deteriorate their quality of life all the way up to the point that it kills them early.

I’m sure psychologists have all sorts of “reasons” for this behavior. There must be a few folks who are immune to it, but it’s a pretty small percentage in the culture I’ve observed, and certainly doesn’t include me. Is it an internal collective lemming-type behavior, truly trying to bring about self-destruction? Maybe some sort of psychological pathology bred into us by a common ancestor way back in time who just happened to have some other traits that evolution selected for, and we just got this dark tendency by accident?

Maybe it is lemming-like. If so, I just took a huge leap off the vanilla milkshake and cheeseburger cliff, and I pay a heavy price as I push my mushy legs around the pedals headed east out of Mexican Water. That cheeseburger grease and heavy cream curdles nicely in my gut, urged on by a broiling sun baking down on me.

This self-induced gastronomical hurt-locker stretches out in front of me for a lot of miles, so I settle down into a miserable pity-party, and watch Dave hurtle on up the road without me. Wallowing in my suffering, I imagine that wind could have a big impact on me right now. A friendly tailwind would drown my bellyache in the pleasure of the ride, while a bad wind would dig this black hole of misery deeper.

With that thought, I cast a jinx. A nasty crosswind pushes against my right shoulder. Just as the euphoria I felt this morning boosted my physical well-being, my current milkshake misery pummels my tolerance for the wind that’s blowing in my ears. Dave seems unfazed by either the milkshake or the crosswind, cranking away at his steady pace. Mr. Consistency.

Misery, like the Sirens of the ancient Greeks, lulls our mind into numb acceptance, and we fall deeper and deeper into the hole of loathing, unable to see joy around us. I know this is happening to me as I force my legs to turn the pedals, and I struggle to find a mast onto which I can lash myself to avoid falling into a pit of despair. I remember the wonderful euphoria I was feeling all morning before breakfast, and try to keep my focus on the goodness the memory brings. I begin to enjoy the ever-evolving desert beauty around me again.

Silence

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“The quieter you become the more you are able to hear.”
~ Rumi

[/fusion_text][separator style_type=”shadow” top_margin=”10″ bottom_margin=”200″ sep_color=”#71b5dd” icon=”” width=”” class=”” id=””][/one_fourth][three_fourth last=”yes” spacing=”yes” background_color=”” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” background_position=”left top” border_size=”0px” border_color=”” border_style=”” padding=”” class=”” id=””][imageframe lightbox=”no” style_type=”dropshadow” bordercolor=”” bordersize=”0px” borderradius=”0″ stylecolor=”” align=”center” link=”https://neilhanson.com/pilgrim-wheels” linktarget=”_self” animation_type=”0″ animation_direction=”down” animation_speed=”0.1″ class=”” id=””] [/imageframe][separator style_type=”shadow” top_margin=”20″ bottom_margin=”20″ sep_color=”#71b5dd” icon=”” width=”” class=”” id=””][fusion_text]Twenty miles out of town, I stop along the side of the road to take in a few calories and some liquid. The sun has crept above the horizon, a bright furnace of nuclear fusion, beginning the morning ascent into his throne in the sky. Mountains rim the horizon around me. The air is crystal clear. I’m a tiny dot in a vast petri dish of sand and desert plants.

And the silence…

The silence of the open desert again, that lack of stuff to create sound as the wind moves through it. A great metaphor for our time here in this life. While we’re here, we might as well be invisible were it not for the impact we have on the world around us. The things we move through make the music that becomes our life.

Once we leave, the only thing we leave behind is the sound we made while moving through the obstacles we find. The only thing we take with us is the silence we’ve nurtured in our heart. We’re like an invisible wind, only apparent to the universe around us through the deeds we do, the songs we sing, and the harmonies we create in the world as we move through it.

The hypnotic silence wraps itself around me. The early morning magic soaks into me as surely as the heat from the rising morning sun burns into my cheeks. I’ve always enjoyed the quiet, but am discovering a new dimension to silence here in the still desert morning. No cricket chirps, no bird sings, no leaves rustle with the movement of air. A truck drives by. I hear it coming from miles away, and hear it for miles as it moves down the highway after it passes. With every 50 or 60 seconds, it puts another mile between itself and me, and drops the sound even further.

Deep silence is something so rare that it’s both conspicuous and remarkable when it confronts us. As I reflect into the depths of the silence around me, the desert itself becomes both more surreal and more personal. Quiet so deep and so broad that it becomes one of the prominent defining dimensions of the world around me. It’s hypnotic. Mesmerizing. Sensual. I know I should get moving down the highway, but the silence holds me. I wallow in it.[/fusion_text][/three_fourth][fullwidth backgroundcolor=”” backgroundimage=”” backgroundrepeat=”no-repeat” backgroundposition=”left top” backgroundattachment=”scroll” video_webm=”” video_mp4=”” video_ogv=”” video_preview_image=”” overlay_color=”” overlay_opacity=”0.5″ video_mute=”yes” video_loop=”yes” fade=”no” bordersize=”0px” bordercolor=”” borderstyle=”” paddingtop=”20px” paddingbottom=”20px” paddingleft=”0px” paddingright=”0px” menu_anchor=”” equal_height_columns=”no” hundred_percent=”no” class=”” id=””][one_fourth last=”no” spacing=”yes” background_color=”” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” background_position=”left top” border_size=”0px” border_color=”” border_style=”” padding=”” class=”” id=””][imageframe lightbox=”no” style_type=”none” bordercolor=”” bordersize=”0px” borderradius=”0″ stylecolor=”” align=”none” link=”https://neilhanson.com/pilgrim-wheels” linktarget=”_self” animation_type=”0″ animation_direction=”down” animation_speed=”0.1″ class=”” id=””] [/imageframe][/one_fourth][three_fourth last=”yes” spacing=”yes” background_color=”” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” background_position=”left top” border_size=”0px” border_color=”” border_style=”” padding=”” class=”” id=””][fusion_text]

Pilgrim Wheels Excerpts
This post is part of a series of posts, representing excerpts from Pilgrim Wheels, a story of a cycling journey across America. Pilgrim Wheels will be released in early March, let me know if you’re interested in doing an advance review.

[/fusion_text][/three_fourth][/fullwidth]

The Edge

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“We’re always attracted to the edges of what we are, out by the edges where it’s a little raw and nervy.”
~ E.L. Doctorow

[/fusion_text][separator style_type=”shadow” top_margin=”10″ bottom_margin=”200″ sep_color=”#71b5dd” icon=”” width=”” class=”” id=””][/one_fourth][three_fourth last=”yes” spacing=”yes” background_color=”” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” background_position=”left top” border_size=”0px” border_color=”” border_style=”” padding=”” class=”” id=””][imageframe lightbox=”no” style_type=”dropshadow” bordercolor=”” bordersize=”0px” borderradius=”0″ stylecolor=”” align=”center” link=”https://neilhanson.com/pilgrim-wheels” linktarget=”_self” animation_type=”0″ animation_direction=”down” animation_speed=”0.1″ class=”” id=””] [/imageframe][separator style_type=”shadow” top_margin=”20″ bottom_margin=”20″ sep_color=”#71b5dd” icon=”” width=”” class=”” id=””][fusion_text]Pre-dawn darkness sees me quietly stealing out into the wilderness, away from people, toward solitude. Rolling down the road through a sleeping town toward the vast empty expanse of the Mojave Desert, I listen to the sweet sound of my freshly oiled chain reflected from the buildings in town as I push my bicycle out onto the surface of a vast desert wilderness.

Once I leave town, the next services are 90 miles east, the longest crossing I’ve ever made. My cache of water at the 70 mile mark is my insurance policy should the wind turn bad on me. In addition, I have two full water bottles, two liters of Gatorade, and another half-liter of water in a bladder stowed away in my bag.

This crossing brings me to within shouting distance of the threshold of mortality. If the wind blows the wrong direction, or the heat gets particularly high, I’ll have a pretty tough day. If both happen, I could be in serious trouble — the kind of serious trouble that can be life-threatening.

Not to over-dramatize the risk. I am, after all, on a public highway. In most cases, if I end up in serious trouble, there’s at least some chance that I can flag down help. Nonetheless, I’m alone on a bicycle crossing a desert wilderness in the summer. Things can turn ugly in a hurry.

So why on earth am I doing this? These next few days really are the “heart of the truth” for me, crossing first this Mojave, then the Sonoran. Crossing the heart of truth, out on the edge of comfort and safety.

Edge: A rim or a brink, or, a place where something is likely to begin. A penetrating and incisive quality, or, the degree of sharpness of an instrument designed to cut. Keenness, as of desire or enjoyment; zest: The brisk walk gave an edge to my appetite. (Compilation from several sources.)

Life happens on the edges. We can’t find the next place on our journey until we discover the edge between the place we are and the place we need to go. Something ends and something else can begin only along an edge. Along these edges we find and feel the penetrating and incisive qualities that give definition to our life. Our interface with life is sharpened at the edge. We discover our greatest zest and our most keen desires at the edge.

I feel alive in a way we rarely get to feel alive in our safe and coddled culture today. Dawn spreads a beautiful pastel palette of color across the eastern horizon in front of me, adding fuel to my wonder and excitement.[/fusion_text][/three_fourth][fullwidth backgroundcolor=”” backgroundimage=”” backgroundrepeat=”no-repeat” backgroundposition=”left top” backgroundattachment=”scroll” video_webm=”” video_mp4=”” video_ogv=”” video_preview_image=”” overlay_color=”” overlay_opacity=”0.5″ video_mute=”yes” video_loop=”yes” fade=”no” bordersize=”0px” bordercolor=”” borderstyle=”” paddingtop=”20px” paddingbottom=”20px” paddingleft=”0px” paddingright=”0px” menu_anchor=”” equal_height_columns=”no” hundred_percent=”no” class=”” id=””][one_fourth last=”no” spacing=”yes” background_color=”” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” background_position=”left top” border_size=”0px” border_color=”” border_style=”” padding=”” class=”” id=””][imageframe lightbox=”no” style_type=”none” bordercolor=”” bordersize=”0px” borderradius=”0″ stylecolor=”” align=”none” link=”https://neilhanson.com/pilgrim-wheels” linktarget=”_self” animation_type=”0″ animation_direction=”down” animation_speed=”0.1″ class=”” id=””] [/imageframe][/one_fourth][three_fourth last=”yes” spacing=”yes” background_color=”” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” background_position=”left top” border_size=”0px” border_color=”” border_style=”” padding=”” class=”” id=””][fusion_text]

Pilgrim Wheels Excerpts
This post is part of a series of posts, representing excerpts from Pilgrim Wheels, a story of a cycling journey across America. Pilgrim Wheels will be released in early March, let me know if you’re interested in doing an advance review.

[/fusion_text][/three_fourth][/fullwidth]

The Sweet Shore of Sleep

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“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

[/fusion_text][separator style_type=”shadow” top_margin=”10″ bottom_margin=”200″ sep_color=”#71b5dd” icon=”” width=”” class=”” id=””][/one_fourth][three_fourth last=”yes” spacing=”yes” background_color=”” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” background_position=”left top” border_size=”0px” border_color=”” border_style=”” padding=”” class=”” id=””][imageframe lightbox=”no” style_type=”dropshadow” bordercolor=”” bordersize=”0px” borderradius=”0″ stylecolor=”” align=”center” link=”https://neilhanson.com/pilgrim-wheels” linktarget=”_self” animation_type=”0″ animation_direction=”down” animation_speed=”0.1″ class=”” id=””] [/imageframe][separator style_type=”shadow” top_margin=”20″ bottom_margin=”20″ sep_color=”#71b5dd” icon=”” width=”” class=”” id=””][fusion_text]Day 7 of my trip. A good day to rest. This seems to be a popular opinion at any rate.

Late in the morning, sitting in some shade close to the pool, I’m enjoying my little slice of life. I’ve got my book with me, but I’m not reading it. I’m languishing in the shade, soaking in the hot air. Kids laughing and splashing in the water around me is a sweet melody, bringing back memories of when my children were young.

I notice a small bird moving around the desert plants, and reflect on how the wildlife has changed along with the plant life as I’ve moved from the coast out to the desert. In just a few short days I’ve gone from lush rainforest, through wine country and grassy savannah, now onto a high desert, about to drop into deep and dangerous desert.

One thing I didn’t count on when I planned this trip was how full of blooms the desert is in June. The spectacular Datura grows everywhere along the highway here, with beautiful big white flowers that look iridescent in the bright morning sunlight. As the day heats up, the flowers must close or fade, because I don’t see them in the afternoon heat. (Of course, they might be there and I’m the one wilted in the afternoon heat, no longer paying close attention…) Their large leaves and flowers spread out over the side of the road, spilling their sweet fragrance through the morning air as I’ve pedaled past them on the road.

Leaning back in my chair, enjoying the shade by the pool, that sweet fragrance infuses my memory. I can surely recall a few frustrating incidents I’ve had as I’ve approached this rest day, some bad wind and deadly drivers for example. But along with those moments of frustration has come a long list of moments of pure sweetness.

There’s some measure of sweetness in nearly every moment, along with some measure of bitterness. Life is so much better when we learn how to sniff out the sweetness in each moment, distilling any bitterness away.

My eyes close as I wander through these thoughts. The kids have gone in, leaving behind a pristine quiet to keep me company as I sit alone in the warm shade. Drifting along the quiet surface of deep relaxation, sneaking gently along the shore between sleep and wakefulness, I feel a smile in my soul. My mind quietly laps up against that sweet shore of sleep, like a log might roll gently back and forth against a shady bank at the edge of a quiet pond.[/fusion_text][/three_fourth][fullwidth backgroundcolor=”” backgroundimage=”” backgroundrepeat=”no-repeat” backgroundposition=”left top” backgroundattachment=”scroll” video_webm=”” video_mp4=”” video_ogv=”” video_preview_image=”” overlay_color=”” overlay_opacity=”0.5″ video_mute=”yes” video_loop=”yes” fade=”no” bordersize=”0px” bordercolor=”” borderstyle=”” paddingtop=”20px” paddingbottom=”20px” paddingleft=”0px” paddingright=”0px” menu_anchor=”” equal_height_columns=”no” hundred_percent=”no” class=”” id=””][one_fourth last=”no” spacing=”yes” background_color=”” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” background_position=”left top” border_size=”0px” border_color=”” border_style=”” padding=”” class=”” id=””][imageframe lightbox=”no” style_type=”none” bordercolor=”” bordersize=”0px” borderradius=”0″ stylecolor=”” align=”none” link=”https://neilhanson.com/pilgrim-wheels” linktarget=”_self” animation_type=”0″ animation_direction=”down” animation_speed=”0.1″ class=”” id=””] [/imageframe][/one_fourth][three_fourth last=”yes” spacing=”yes” background_color=”” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” background_position=”left top” border_size=”0px” border_color=”” border_style=”” padding=”” class=”” id=””][fusion_text]

Pilgrim Wheels Excerpts
This post is part of a series of posts, representing excerpts from Pilgrim Wheels, a story of a cycling journey across America. Pilgrim Wheels will be released in early March, let me know if you’re interested in doing an advance review.

[/fusion_text][/three_fourth][/fullwidth]

Pedaling Past The Grim Reaper

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“For what is it to die, But to stand in the sun and melt into the wind?”
~ Kahlil Gibran

[/fusion_text][separator style_type=”shadow” top_margin=”10″ bottom_margin=”200″ sep_color=”#71b5dd” icon=”” width=”” class=”” id=””][/one_fourth][three_fourth last=”yes” spacing=”yes” background_color=”” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” background_position=”left top” border_size=”0px” border_color=”” border_style=”” padding=”” class=”” id=””][imageframe lightbox=”no” style_type=”dropshadow” bordercolor=”” bordersize=”0px” borderradius=”0″ stylecolor=”” align=”center” link=”https://neilhanson.com/pilgrim-wheels” linktarget=”_self” animation_type=”0″ animation_direction=”down” animation_speed=”0.1″ class=”” id=””] [/imageframe][separator style_type=”shadow” top_margin=”20″ bottom_margin=”20″ sep_color=”#71b5dd” icon=”” width=”” class=”” id=””][fusion_text]Pressing up a gentle slope into the headwind, I hear the roar of a car engine ahead. Coming toward me a Mustang pulls out to pass another car. Expletives explode from my mouth as I make a split-second decision to stay on the road rather than diving off the shoulder and down the two foot drop into the rocks below. Pulling out right behind the Mustang is a pickup truck.

Rocketing head-on at highway passing speed, they pass me at a couple feet, though it feels like inches. I’ve got no shoulder. Nowhere to retreat. I’m completely exposed and vulnerable, left to trust completely, trusting both the drivers and the wheel of karma.

The terror of the moment grips me as I continue pedaling, and I begin shaking. Luck is with me this morning, but just barely. So easily, that close encounter could have gone the other way, pedaling past the grim reaper so closely.

There are moments in life that come down to a tiny fraction of fate or fortune, and can go either way. There’s a new lens that opens up to us suddenly when this happens, and we see the world a little differently. We realize that we just stumbled past the doorstep that takes us out of this life. Stealing a glance into the doorway as we pass, death’s merciless scythe reaches out to leave a little scar on our soul, reminding us just how closely the door follows us through life.

What we see when we glance in as we pass does much to define our spiritual outlook. We look back on these moments, basking in the mercy and grace we feel at being still on this side of the doorway. From these moments we decide whether we believe there’s any rhyme or reason to which way we stumbled. We wonder if we’re somehow favored by the Universe, or somehow invincible, or deserving of some special treatment.

The jitters and shakes eventually subside with my regular pedal strokes. I realize how dang lucky I am to be alive. With passing weeks and months I’ll look back on the panic and dread of the moment, and I’ll remember that dark door through which I stole a glance in passing. I’ll remember the sense of overwhelming grace and mercy I felt when my stumble kept me on this side of that door. I’ll realize, over and over, that at any moment “there but for Grace” I could easily fall.

There’s no deserving, or plan, or roadmap, or anything like that. There’s no bartering or negotiating. Lean just slightly the wrong way, at the wrong time, and the door will swallow us up if we happen to pass too close.

Reach out and hold hands with Grace, give Mercy a hug. Today and every day of this lifetime. That’s the image that will come back to me over time as I remember that stolen glance into darkness. Not because of any debt. Not to buy insurance for the next stumble.

Just because. Those moments introduce us to Grace and Mercy. The gift is the chance to reach out and hold their hands. Nothing more, nothing less.[/fusion_text][/three_fourth][fullwidth backgroundcolor=”” backgroundimage=”” backgroundrepeat=”no-repeat” backgroundposition=”left top” backgroundattachment=”scroll” video_webm=”” video_mp4=”” video_ogv=”” video_preview_image=”” overlay_color=”” overlay_opacity=”0.5″ video_mute=”yes” video_loop=”yes” fade=”no” bordersize=”0px” bordercolor=”” borderstyle=”” paddingtop=”20px” paddingbottom=”20px” paddingleft=”0px” paddingright=”0px” menu_anchor=”” equal_height_columns=”no” hundred_percent=”no” class=”” id=””][one_fourth last=”no” spacing=”yes” background_color=”” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” background_position=”left top” border_size=”0px” border_color=”” border_style=”” padding=”” class=”” id=””][imageframe lightbox=”no” style_type=”none” bordercolor=”” bordersize=”0px” borderradius=”0″ stylecolor=”” align=”none” link=”https://neilhanson.com/pilgrim-wheels” linktarget=”_self” animation_type=”0″ animation_direction=”down” animation_speed=”0.1″ class=”” id=””] [/imageframe][/one_fourth][three_fourth last=”yes” spacing=”yes” background_color=”” background_image=”” background_repeat=”no-repeat” background_position=”left top” border_size=”0px” border_color=”” border_style=”” padding=”” class=”” id=””][fusion_text]

Pilgrim Wheels Excerpts This post is part of a series of posts, representing excerpts from Pilgrim Wheels, a story of a cycling journey across America. Pilgrim Wheels will be released in early March, let me know if you’re interested in doing an advance review.

[/fusion_text][/three_fourth][/fullwidth]

Silent Wind

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“Silence is the language of God, all else is poor translation.”
~ Rumi

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Day 6 – Victorville to Twentynine Palms, California

The earliest hint of light finds me wheeling my bike out of the hotel in Victorville. Following Highway 18 east into the little town of Lucerne Valley, I stop at what will likely be my last available water supply for 50 miles. 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…)

With no shoulder on the highway, I’m thankful for the very light traffic early on this beautiful Saturday morning. A fickle wind swirls in the mounting heat of the morning.

The wildlife along the road has changed with the landscape as I’ve moved further into the desert. For several miles, I pay close attention to chirping along the side of the road, assuming it must be some sort of ground bird. Eventually, I come to the conclusion that the chirping comes from small lizards (or maybe geckos) dashing across the road from one scrap of vegetation to another. I suspect they hole up in the shade as the day heats up, but here in the early morning, I can barely see them as the scurry across the pavement.

I also notice something less. Less noise. It’s really quiet. A mesmerizing quiet.

I pull over to have a little snack in the deepening quiet. A fierce and piercing sun scorches the desert floor around me, pushing the temperature upwards. I can see for tens of miles all around me, and it feels like the quiet reaches out across all those miles of baking desert. The light and silent wind swirls around here and there, playing across my skin, swirling dust in the road, hinting of a big wind to come. Continue reading “Silent Wind”

Desert Meth Dogs

“I learned later that the Lancaster area is known as a real meth making mecca in California. In that context, this little experience with the “desert meth dogs” makes a little more sense…”
~ Q: What do you call a dictionary using meth? A: addictionary.

My wheels are rolling across a broken road this morning. I think it’d be hard to find a ten square foot section of this pavement that isn’t fissured with cracks large enough to swallow a bicycle tire, so riding takes more concentration to stay upright than it would on decent pavement.

I’m well past Lancaster and Palmdale, concentrating on keeping my tires out of fissures in the road, when angry barking catches my attention. I haven’t noticed the high-fenced yard around a dilapidated house coming up on my left. The angry barking coming from the dogs on the other side of that fence has my full attention now. These are clearly mean and nasty dogs. They know they’re mean and nasty, and they want everyone around to know they’re mean and nasty.

Approaching their territory, I’m comforted by the high chain link fence running along the road, keeping the dogs in. The dogs are pouring toward the fence as I pass the front of the house, and I notice they’re headed toward the gate, where there’s a big gap in the fence.

It’s rare that I worry much about dogs. I get along great with them for the most part, and it’s usually clear they’re just letting me know I’m passing their territory. But right now, there’s no doubt in my mind these dogs mean business. They have no interest in scaring me off; they want warm flesh.

There are six or eight of these guys, snapping at each other for the honor of drawing first blood. Before I’ve even thought about it, I’m out of the saddle, and the adrenaline has cranked my output up into the red zone. I’m pouring as much coal as I can to the pedals, and the 35 miles per hour I’m able to reach keeps me just ahead of the fastest of the dogs.

After a few seconds of slow-motion terror, I see I’m leaving them behind, so I start to back off the speed. Normally, once a dog chases you out of his territory, he’s fine if you slow down. He’s done his duty, and moved you along the road. He’s not in this for blood; he just wants to keep the peace in his territory. He’s the sheriff, and he’s moved the vagrant out of town.

I don’t think these guys are wearing badges. They’re the desperadoes, and they are in it for blood. I’m 50 yards ahead of them, and they had backed off when they realized they couldn’t catch me. But when they see me slowing down, their interest in the chase renews with vigor. Immediately they begin sprinting up the road toward me again, hopeful that their prey might be faltering, fighting to be the one to bring me down. Of course, I crank the effort up again — this time leaving them far behind before slowing. I’m several miles up the road before I stop checking over my shoulder from time to time, to see if my desert meth dogs are keeping up the chase.

Pilgrim Wheels Excerpts This post is part of a series of posts, representing excerpts from Pilgrim Wheels, a story of a cycling journey across America. Pilgrim Wheels will be released in early March, let me know if you’re interested in doing an advance review.

The Droids You’re Looking For

“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

All eyes turn toward me as I walk into the breakfast room at the trucker’s motel in Lebec. My spandex shorts and bright yellow windbreaker standing out like a ballerina in a rodeo arena. Ignoring the stares, I grab a plateful of calories and plop myself down in a seat. The good buddies in the room decide I’m not that interesting after all.

I smile as I think about the scene from Star Wars:

“These aren’t the droids we’re looking for.”

“Move along.”

When Obi-wan did it in the movie, it seemed like magic. But I think it’s just part of being human. If you accept a certain viewpoint or perspective as good, right and factual, and exude this into the space around you with confidence, then the folks around you seem to catch what you’re exuding. Sounds kind of New-Age-y, but it really seems to be how we work.

I think back to the fella who gave me a lift past the bad section of road yesterday. He absolutely accepted as fact the complete fiction that his media masters had been pouring into his brain every day. If they say it’s fair and balanced, then it must be, right? If they say I should be outraged, then I should be.

A room full of truckers in flannel shirts and dirty ball caps look at this odd duck walk into the room. He’s wearing a do-rag on his head, spandex shorts, and a bright windbreaker. He’s greatly outnumbered, perfect fodder for some early-morning harassing. Instead, the truckers all shrug their shoulders and go on about their business, accepting me without comment. All because I believe I belong there.

Be the Force…

My imagined Jedi powers have no ability to warm me in the pre-dawn chill. I find myself dilly-dallying in the warmth of the convenience store. I know I’ve got a descent first thing this morning, and I’m not looking forward to the chill and the wind.

It’s 35 degrees outside and a bitter wind blows through the pass. With full water bottles and pockets full of food, I’m grateful for the little bit of work that a half mile of climbing offers to reach the high-point of the pass. Warmed just a little, a blast of cold wind coming over the pass slaps me in the face, and I start an ice-cold descent.

I’m shivering hard as I pass through the little town of Gorman, which is one of the oldest continuously used roadside rest stops in California, dating to way before the time of cars and highways. This route was heavily used by Native American Tataviam people for centuries before the Spanish entered the area. Apparently the town is built on the site of the Tataviam village of Kulshra’jek.

I’m fascinated by roads and their history. Roads are the arteries that weave a civilization together. The settlements that spring up, evolve, and fade along those arteries are, in many ways, the definition of the civilization. As the traffic along a trading path grows, it becomes wider, and pretty soon it’s called a road. Technology enables machines that travel the roads, so the roads have to be improved and paved. Pretty soon, you’ve got a web of roads and highways used by millions, and a few of those are evolutions of a little dirt path once used by traders in the area.

Our lives are like that. Who we are is defined by the paths we’ve chosen in life. Some of those paths get reinvented and improved as we travel them; while others fall into disrepair as we abandon them. It’s nice to occasionally find the time to look back across a path well-traveled, see the changes our path has wrought in us, and the changes we’ve left behind us along the path.

There are some things in life that bring a deep “joy smile” to our faces. A baby’s smile when he sees his mother’s face. A lover who sees her beau after a long absence. Maybe an elephant standing at the edge of a cool lake on a hot day, spraying water on himself and feeling the refreshing coolness. A dog who’s found something particularly aromatic to roll around in, coming to his feet, shaking off and smiling at his new perfume.

For a cyclist, a gentle downhill grade with a tailwind creates that smile. Once I’m past the bitter cold and aching fingers of the first half hour of the day, that smile splits my face from ear to ear as I soak up a wonderful tailwind flying down a gentle grade toward Palmdale.

After a few miles I come to an accident in the clean-up process. There’s a line of cars waiting to get by, but it looks like they’re going to be there a while. I glide up to the front along the shoulder, and the patrolman waves me through. Now, life is getting downright magnificent! Until he opens that lane up, I’ve got zero traffic coming behind me. I grab the biggest gear I can find, and fly down the road as hard as I can.

The scenery around me transforms rapidly from the moderately wooded mountain pass around Frazier Park into the edge of a world with very little water. By the time I cross Highway 14 and make my way into Lancaster, there’s no doubt I’ve arrived in the desert.

Pilgrim Wheels Excerpts This post is part of a series of posts, representing excerpts from Pilgrim Wheels, a story of a cycling journey across America. Pilgrim Wheels will be released in early March, let me know if you’re interested in doing an advance review.

Learning Minimalism

“Perfection is achieved, not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.”
~ Antoine de Saint-Exupe

Paso Robles is 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 quaint little town, and very bicycle friendly. I get a cozy homecoming sensation when I see my hotel, anticipating a warm shower and soft bed.

The young fellow behind the desk checking me in has a name tag that says “James,” and it turns he’s a cyclist. “Where’d ya ride from?” James asks.

I tell him my route from today, and he smiles and nods. “I’ve done that ride several times, over and back in a day. It’s a great ride, isn’t it?”

Over and back in a day? That’s 150 miles, with steep climbing. This guy’s an animal. I’m tuckered out after doing just half the ride. I try to keep the wimp factor as low as possible when I reply. “Absolutely, a beautiful ride. I’ll bet it’s a sweet day going over and back in a day.”

“Yeah, we usually ride over in the morning, have lunch at Lucia, then ride back after lunch. Steep coming up the Nacimiento Road, eh?”

My eyebrows climb my forehead. “Steep doesn’t start to describe it! I thought I was gonna fall over a couple times.”

His laugh is full of enjoyable nostalgia, his eyes looking off into the distance, as memories of what were probably wonderful rides wash over his face. Looking back at me, he asks, “So, where ya riding tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s a really big day for me — I need to end up in Frazier Park.”

I watch the joy of pleasant memories drain from his face, replaced by the agony of remembered pain. “I did that ride once. Hardest day I ever spent on a bicycle. Hell spread out over 150 miles. The winds across the valley spend the day sucking the soul out of you. Then the climb at the end of the day drops the hammer of ultimate despair on any joy left in whatever shell remains.”

Uh, oh. I might have bitten off just a bit more than I can chew. James must have seen the look on my face, and tries to give me some encouragement. “But hey, maybe the winds won’t be bad for you, ya know? But either way, be sure and carry lots of water, because it’s a long way across that valley from here until you can fill your water bottles – something like 75 miles, right?”

I’m not really feeling any better. “Right. Thanks. Yeah, 75 miles.”

Falling back into his front desk persona, he continues, “You’re in room 327, Mr. Hanson. Be sure and let us know if we can get anything for you, and I hope you enjoy your stay with us. Oh, and good luck on your ride tomorrow!”

“Thanks, I appreciate that. Oh, one other thing. James, is there a way I can package up a few things and have you ship them for me?”

After a hot shower, I spread my stuff out on the bed. Sorting through it with more ruthlessness than I had back at home before I started the ride, I build a pile of “nice to have” items, ready to package up and ship back to Colorado. In the pile is my iPad, iPod, tiny speaker, Kindle, 700-lumen headlight, all the chargers associated with this electronic stuff, 4 of my tire tubes (leaving me still with 4), and 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.

When I packed for the trip, I wanted to stay under 20 pounds. I was able to do this while still including quite a few items that I might find handy. The iPad is only a couple pounds, the Kindle maybe a pound, the light a couple pounds. It all fit inside my 20 pound goal – why not take it?

My culture teaches that it’s good to have everything you might need. Having something is good, being without something is bad. When I was packing, my perspective was, “how much can I take, within my constraints?” Tonight, looking down at the gear spread out on the bed, I was asking myself, “how little do I need to survive?”

Minimalism. Simplicity.

Stuff adds up if you’re not careful. It builds up around you. Getting rid of stuff brings 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, a lightness, after I go through and give away or toss large swaths of stuff.

When I was younger, I was more focused on accumulating than on distributing and cleansing. Now, I find myself constantly reevaluating just how much stuff I want around me. How much clutter can I tolerate before it weighs on my soul? How much flotsam am I willing to wade through to see the world around me clearly? It keeps me from moving along the path. 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. An addiction to accumulation maybe? A cultural epidemic?

My extra flotsam on this bike ride is one tiny symptom, but it’s all around us. Look at how much of our life’s energy we put into “accumulating 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.

But all our wealth weighs us down. It’s too much to try and haul up the steep hills of the back roads of life. Instead, we stay on the flat and busy expanse of the masses, where we don’t need to confront the tough climbs that might be encountered in the wilderness of discovering ourselves.

The sweetest moments in life lay waiting along the steep and winding backroads, hidden among difficult questions and tough issues. Finding them sometimes requires sorting through deep and honest introspection. But these steep and meandering backroads might be one of the best places in life to find glimpses of heaven, and to discover what that means to each of us.

Backlit Oak

Learning minimalism. Wasn’t this a common message among the great sages of the last few thousand years? Who was it that so wisely said it was easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a wealthy man to find heaven?

🙂

That’s on my mind this evening, as I look with satisfaction at the pile of “stuff” I’m sending back home. The last thing I want is seven or eight extra pounds in my bag that might slow me down if I catch a little glimpse of heaven somewhere along the road.

Pilgrim Wheels Excerpts This post is part of a series of posts, representing excerpts from Pilgrim Wheels, a story of a cycling journey across America. Pilgrim Wheels will be released in early March, let me know if you’re interested in doing an advance review.

A Steep Climb

“Mountains have a way of dealing with overconfidence.”
~ Hermann Buhl

Reaching the detour route, I take a left onto Nacimiento Road, a forest service road that’s been paved. Crossing a cattle grate as I leave the highway, I begin a seven mile climb that combines heavenly views with hellacious climbing.

Big Sur CoastAs the climbing begins, I drop into my lowest possible gear, and I’ll rarely leave that gear for the next hour and 20 minutes. The steep climb is about 3000 feet in about seven miles – about 400 feet a mile, an average of 7 to 8 percent. Maybe only 4 to 5 percent in some places, balanced by many places at 11 to 12 percent, a couple places at 16 to 18 percent. The U.S. interstate highway system allows a maximum grade of 6 percent. A 7 to 8 percent grade on a highway is considered dangerous; 9 percent is rarely encountered anywhere.

Pedaling up an 11 to 12 percent grade is gut-wrenching, even without the extra touring weight on the bike. At 16 percent, it’s all I can do to keep moving. The climb slaps some of the swagger right out of me, and has me giving serious consideration to those “nice to have” items in my pack. Tomorrow I have a VERY long day of riding, with climbing at the end of the day. Just how “nice” are those extra ounces and pounds I have in my pack?

While pouring my focus into the work of climbing, I also need to keep a little attention aimed at the road ahead and behind. For most of the climb, it would be impossible for two cars to pass each other at speed. The road’s just too narrow. When two cars pass, one needs to pull over as far as they can, while the other passes slowly. The constant tight turns and switchbacks limit the opportunity for even that sort of passing.

Notwithstanding the steep grade and narrow road, the beauty of the ride up the west slope of the Coastal Range is hard to express. The views back down onto the coast as I climb are stunning. Time after time, the road makes a sharp switch out on a ledge that gives me a view either north or south along the rugged coastline that takes my breath away. At one point, I’m stopped and admiring the view, eating a banana, when a convertible sports car steams past me headed up the hill. The driver is one of the blonde Beautiful People, sitting so low in the seat she can barely see over the hood. She waves at me as she passes, exclaiming, “Isn’t this just so beautiful?!”

Big Sur Coast

Well, yes it is. From the top of this bicycle, with an unlimited view and the time to take it all in safely, it’s beautiful indeed.

In those spots where the road tucks back into the mountainside, the landscape changes suddenly to a deeply forested thicket with towering redwoods. The transition from the openness of the mountainside to the depth of the thickets is usually marked by a zone of smaller trees covered in hanging lichens.
The grade gets much easier toward the top, but the temperature has dropped dramatically. I stop several times to enjoy wide vistas with views that seem to go forever back down the mountains and across the Pacific, but the stops are short as the moist air cools me rapidly. At the top of the climb, the road is deep into a forest, the air itself is quite cool, and I’m chilling down even faster. I stop, put on my jacket, and take in some fluid and calories.

Descending is downright cold, and I’m shivering hard. After a few miles of descending through forest, the landscape changes quickly and the temperature climbs. In less than five miles, I’m in a dry, grassy savannah much like my home on the eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains in Colorado.
Nacimiento Road transitions into Fort Hunter-Liggett as the descent flattens out. The traffic is still extremely light, and I can only imagine how light the traffic would be without the road closure back on the coast. A warm tailwind follows me out of the mountains, painting a big smile across on my face.
Winding my way through broad oak savannah, I marvel at the massive old valley oaks spread thinly across the plain. Giant spreading trees, some of them 600 years old, they have massive trunks and beautifully shaped crowns. I stop to enjoy the silence and beauty of the place, leaning my bike against the side of one of these old Ents, and my back against the other side.

Old Backlit OakThis old tree has called this grassy plain home for hundreds of years. Basking in the bright sun, soaking up nutrients from the ground, it’s grown to this nobility at a pace I can’t comprehend. It welcomes me under its shade, and I wonder what other folks looked like and sounded like who might have shared this shade in the past, over the hundreds of years that this old graybeard has been growing in this spot, quietly waiting for me.

I’m in Steinbeck country now, broad grassy pastures with scattered ancient trees. I imagine Samuel Hamilton jostling down the road toward me in a wagon, Lee sitting beside me in the shade. A small breeze whispers through the grass close to me as I lay against the old oak tree, a touch of sun making its way through the branches now and then to warm me, the sea of short prairie grass stretching out for several hundred yards between this tree and the next. Relaxation saturates my body as my mind brims with contentment. Soft savannah sounds fade into the distance as I doze up to the edge of a nap.

Pilgrim Wheels Excerpts This post is part of a series of posts, representing excerpts from Pilgrim Wheels, a story of a cycling journey across America. Pilgrim Wheels will be released in early March, let me know if you’re interested in doing an advance review.