Tag: desert solitude

Bicycling in the West – Kayenta to Towaoc

Bicycle Touring in the West – Day 14 – Kayenta to Towaoc

“Take a breath of the new dawn and make it a part of you.”
  ~ Hopi proverb

Today is a longer day for us, and we’re on the road before dawn. We’ve got a little over 107 miles to ride today, and if the wind’s not kind, it could be a long 107 miles. We feel confident that we’ll be able to find water every 25 or 30 miles, which puts our mind to ease that worse case, it’s just a long day.

At first we’re a little disappointed that we’re not on the road 30 minutes before we are because of the long day ahead of us. Riding east out of Kayenta, the landscape around us explodes into magical shapes and beautiful pre-dawn colors. As the sun washes across the mystical hills and rocks to our north, we stop often to take pictures of the breathtaking sunrise. By the time we’re 10 miles down the road, we realize how lucky we are that we didn’t leave earlier, or we would’ve missed a spectacular sunrise show.

Once again, I’m struck by just how much I treasure the early morning on a bicycle. The remainder of the day happens – sometimes good and sometimes less good. But dawn is universally spectacular, sometimes mind-numbingly so. This morning is one of those mind-numbingly beautiful mornings. Continue reading “Bicycling in the West – Kayenta to Towaoc”

Cycling Through the West – Tuba City to Kayena

Bicycling in the West – Day 13 – Tuba City to Kayenta

The desert flowers seemed to be in full bloom, and beautiful in the morning

 

 

 

“Time isn’t used, it’s experienced.”
~ Hopi Proverb

 

 

 

We’ve got an easy day ahead of us today – only 75 miles. Unless the wind is hard on us, we should get done in less than 8 hours. We take our time and enjoy breakfast, and meet some interesting folks as we’re walking out of Denny’s.

It’s a small group of folks – sounds like just 2 couples plus an extra person. They’ve got a truck with a trailer, and the trailer holds a couple of little Vespa-type scooters. The women ride the scooters along the highway, and the men follow along in the truck. When they get tired of “scooting”, the men pick them up and trailer the scooters. It’s a grand adventure for them. They’ve always wanted to take a trip like this along the highways of the Southwest. When they hit the high plains of Texas in a few days, they’ll just ride in the truck to avoid the heat.

I’m curious about why the little scooters rather than just everyone taking motorcycles? Well, a good part of the reason seems to be that the scooters are so much more fuel efficient. Plus, they’re cute. That’s important for sure… Continue reading “Cycling Through the West – Tuba City to Kayena”

Day 8 – Twentynine Palms to Parker

Bicycle Touring in the West - Day 8 – Twentynine Palms to Parker

“The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.”
  ~ 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”

Desert Solitude

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.