New Friends in New Places

One of the obvious draws to bike touring is the scenery.  Getting to see this country at such a slow place offers things that traveling by car cannot.  The other big draw, however, is the people.

No, not this guy

My mother always told me not to talk to strangers.  To be fair, it wasn't really her that told me, but, to be culturally accurate, that is what all our moms told us, whether they did or did not.  She did actually tell me to be careful and I am sure she actually was worried about the quality of the character of some of the people I would meet. 

There are many modern conveniences available to the bicycle tourist today but there is one that has, far more than any other, made my trip so much better than it would be without it.  Its not a GPS (don't have it), or a cell phone (mine is off nearly all the time) or even a bungee cord (not all they've cracked up to be).  The real life saver is WarmShowers.org.  Its a reciprocal hospitality website specifically for bicycle tourists, closely related to CouchSurfing.org.  The idea is that if you are traveling, there are probably a bunch of people in or around your destination who would put you up for the night.  The expectation is that you will use it as both a traveler and a host, but neither is required, per se.  You can always say no, and it is always free.  

The first thing many of you will think is that this sounds like a great premise for an episode of prime time murder mystery TV suspense: unsuspecting suburbanite admits suave killer into his home only to be murdered in his sleep and robbed of all assets by dawn.  This could not be further from the truth.  This is all a part of the "don't talk to strangers" mentality that our culture tries to ingrain in us.  In fact, strangers are actually quite nice people.  Did you know, for instance, that you are a stranger to nearly 100% of the human race?  How many people would you kill in their sleep, especially after they gave you a freshly baked cookie?  You are probably not such a bad guy, once you get to know you, and the rest of us are like that, too.

The experiences I have had so far with these services has been 100% positive.  In 47 nights since I have started, I have slept at a stranger's new friends house 17 nights.  None of them live the same way I do, but none of us really live the same as anybody else anyway.  Steve in Orick, CA, had an incredible farm in his backyard, and hosted groups nearly every single week.  Gretta in Bayside had a huge edible garden.  Her children hung out with us most of the night.  John and Doris were retired geologists in a retired geologists paradise. Donna and family made me feel like I was back in Vermont.  Mike was an ex-cop in Vegas.  They were all such amazing people and they all treated me with such warmth and love and care.

Granted, signing up to host bike tourists probably attracts a certain kind of crowd, and bike tourists are probably a "type" of their own.  But this doesn't change how we are treated by every other person we meet on the road.  As a bike tourist, you really learn to drop the whole shyness thing and you wouldn't believe it, but everybody we talk to is a regular Joe, just like you and me.  Even the homeless ones, the smelly ones, the rich ones, the happy ones, and the sad ones.  Everybody is just a dude (or dudette) trying to figure out what the heck to do today.  Some people go to work, some people ride bikes and some people get drunk, but we are all just trying to figure it out.

There are no strangers, just friends you haven't met yet. Thank you Clark Family, Ted and Bria, Gerry, Steve, Gretta, Jib and Jane, Mo, Mark, John and Doris, Donna and Roger and Jenny and Adam, and Dace.  You have all made this trip a really incredible one.

In other news, Nevada was kind of weird.  I really did love the time I spent with my hosts in Pahrump and Las Vegas, but I was glad to leave Sin City and not look back.  Do you really need to gamble that much, Nevadans?  In the grocery store?  Can't Arby's just be a down home roast beef joint?  Lets leave the video poker out of it.  You don't need to fill every vacant space with a slot machine.

Crazy Nevada, this map is upside-down

The fountain show in front of the Bellagio was pretty cool

We did a bit of time traveling this morning as we cut across the northwest corner of Arizona.  As you may or may not know, the entire state of Arizona except for the Navajo Indian Reservation decided to NOT adopt daylight savings time.  Couple that with crossing into the mountain time zone and quickly entering Utah, and Ross and I are still trying to figure out what time it is.

After tonight in St. George, we head for Zion National Park, then Glen Canyon and the Grand Canyon.  Flagstaff, AZ, will be our next big city.

Until next time, babbity boop.

Listening to the Land

 Obviously (or maybe not so obviously), a big part of being a bicycle tourist is the land you bicycle through: seeing it, feeling it, getting to know it. In some places the relationship is easy; in others, it is challenging.

Our trip down the coast was my introduction to this lesson. The up and down hills, the gentle morning fog were gentle reminders of where we were. There was water everywhere: for washing drinking and the morning soaking of tents and sleeping bags.

When we turned east, the land changed and so did our trip. Water became not scarce, but used, taken up. Aqueducts and irrigation, fenced off lots and NO TRESSPASSING signs. The San Joquain Valley is a richly agricultural region and there was no getting around it. Its the heart, the bread and butter of the American Industrial Agricultural Complex. Pistachios, almonds, citrus, tomatoes, avocados, garlic, cotton..., the list goes on and on. This place feeds the United States of America. We filled our bellies on fresh fruit, 10 for $1 artichokes, and Mexican pastries.

Then we got to Yosemite and the land was less gentle with its communication. We went from sea level to 10,00ft in under a week. The sheer granite cliffs and geologic enormousness of the valley are hard to put into words, but the message was clear. We woke up with ice on our tents at 4,000ft. The water was the tastiest, cleanest, coldest water I think I have ever had (sorry Vermont). The water fell from the rocks, 3,000ft above your ahead. It burst from the ground in bubbling springs.

Over 9,945ft Tioga Pass things changed again. The contrast between the wet western Sierra and the dry eastern Sierra was abrupt and striking. It wasn't quite desert (yet), but the mountains cast a long rain shadow. The mountainous lakes of June Lake and Mammoth were breathtaking. The whole area was literally alive: Mono Lake is a million year old lake with some of the youngest mountains in the world. Some volcanic upwellings are as young as 350 years old. I have spent time with older trees.

There were hot springs scattered across the land here and the land told us to soak in them. We spent 2 days going from spring to spring, camping right next to one near Mammoth. Water hot enough to burn was diverted into so many pools, along so many streams and you could see the life that came from it, smell the vibrance of it.

In Big Pine, we passed the oldest living things on the planet, the Bristle Cone Pines, with some survivors over 3000 years old.

In Lone Pine, we saw Mt Whitney, the tallest mountain in the lower 48 states. Its 14,500ft peak didn't stand out among the other 14,000 footers, but the range as a whole was impressive. In the east, its sometimes difficult to tell where the valley ends and the mountain begins, but here it is crystal clear.

From Lone Pine, we went further east and the land lost all sense of subtly. 50 miles in and we found ourselves in the Panamint Valley. It was 100 degrees by noon and not a lick of natural shade to be found. Water here? Non-existant. Ross and I each had to pack 12 extra pounds of water before we left, and we were lucky we did. Rather than climb the 4000ft pass in the midday scorch, the land made other plans for us. We turned in early that night and set the alarm for 2:30am. By 3, we were on the road. The moonlit desert was serene and quiet and still 70 degrees. 3 hours later at 6am, we had gone 14 miles and gained 4000ft of elevation. It was still dark when we began our descent.

The next 18 miles took us 40 minutes, down 5000 ft, below sea level. This was our next big stop after Yosemite, the Valley of Life, as its known by the Shoshone. It is called by white man Death Valley and its not hard to understand why. The biggest National Park in the lower 48 is a place of indescribable beauty and danger: scorpions, rattlesnakes, utter lack of moisture, 5ft thick salt beds and 120 degree heat. The land here speaks firmly and directly. It is not loud or overstated, but quiet and strong. The colors of the mountains, the plant life sprouts from apparent nothingness, the brutal, belligerent, overwhelming heat are beautiful conundrums to a casual observer lacking the fine details.

The white man stuck with his motif: places like Stovepipe Wells, Furnace Creek and Badwater Basin, the lowest point in the western hemisphere, are intimidating destinations. With less than 2 inches of precipitation per year and 150 inches of evaporation per year, its no wonder our culture does not do well here. Those that called it the Valley of Life are now confined to mere acres of their original homeland.

Again, we had to wake up in the wee hours to scurry over the mountains before the sun awoke to send its fiery breath onto the valley. This time, it was 80 degrees. At 3am.

We made it out alive, but changed. The languages and words and emotions that California has graced us with in this past month have been more varied than our own, over-complicated grammar. From tallest to biggest trees, oldest trees to youngest mountains, highest mountains to lowest valleys, California's superlatives are a dramatic list of vacation destinations. Seeing them from the seat of my bicycle has been other-worldly: all of this has been so close this whole time, yet so far.

Leaving Death Valley this morning, I biked my 2000^th mile. I spent that mile with no other human, Ross was ahead of me a ways. At 6:30am, the sun had not yet risen and, 3000ft above the hottest place in the U.S., it was 55 degrees. I was by myself but not alone. I spent the moment with the dawn-lit Amargosa mountains and the high desert beneath them. An orange glow spread across the scene as I stopped to just breathe. 2000 may be just a number, but that was an incredibly special moment.

And so I leave California behind. Nevada calls: the hijinks of Las Vegas, the Valley of Fire. More pictures are up, but don't expect to find enlightenment. You'll have to go yourself to find that.

More Pictures

OK, the pictures are up.  You can stop bugging me now (mom).  You may now all vacation vicariously through me and the internet.  I am up to date and will upload new pictures after I take them, probably around Las Vegas or so.  The link is in the sidebar, My Picasa Web Albums.

End of the Coast

We have made it to Morro Bay, CA, just north of San Luis Obispo.  I'll give a quick recap of where have been since my last post.

Leaving Occidental, we hit the Sonoma County coast, winding through beautiful wine country.  Skirting the Tomales Bay, we ended up in Mill Valley, just north of Frisco, as I call it.  We stayed with Mark, a gracious WarmShowers host for a few days, daytripping into San Fran.  San Fran was a really great city.  Very scenic and spread out.  Out of towners that we were, we mistakenly happened upon a few hills that probably could have been avoided, but I think thats all part of the "Frisco Experience."  We got some "bomber burritos" in the Mission District, reconnected with our inner deadheads in the Haight Ashbury District, and visited a couple local breweries, our favorite of which turned out to be 21st Amendment Brewers, right near Giants Stadium.  In the 2 days I spent cruising the city, I am proud to say that I tried every beer they had to offer.

Ross and I left San Fran on Friday Morning, leaving behind Christine and Andrea the German who would stay another few days.  Christine would fly back to Vermont and Andrea would continue along the coast after some further exploring.  We had a mentally grueling day leaving the city, fighting suburban "bleh" thru Daly city and Pacifica.  It wasn't until after a good climb over Devils Slide that I really felt comfortable again, out of the path of the sprawl-monster.  We spent that night in Half Moon Bay, camped out 100 yards from the Pacific.

Our next day found us in Santa Cruz, birthplace of American Surfing.  We spent a little time on the boardwalk, absorbing the sensory onslaught as best we could.  I thought it was a lot like the Seaside Boardwalk, just without the Jerz.

The next day we took off for Monterey, through oceans of Brussels sprouts, artichokes and strawberries.  One stop on this ride, Castroville, claimed to be the artichoke capital of the world.  It was as exciting as you are imagining it to be.  Ross had an incident with a dog (he should really pick on people more his own size), and we basically hot-footed it to the city.  Monterey was very nice, but I am left wondering if Steinbeck Plaza was really that nice when he wrote Cannery Row.  We also met a(nother) crazy guy on a bike.  He said he was 26 states and 60,000 miles in.  He looked it.

The next day we rode into Big Sur, where we were reminded to always "keep the greasy side down."  "Remember that," Colin the Firefighter said.  Will do.  Big Sur was breath taking:  the colors were different, the scale was incredible.  I felt so small next to such a huge, powerful and still so dynamic coast.  We camped in the rain and took off the next for San Simeon.  We saw the elephant seal sunbathing on the beach and realized we could make it all the way to Morro Bay with the glorious tailwind that had appeared.  We took it and ran.  After some real Cat 7 races, we landed and got a bight to eat on the embarcadero, in view of the big Morro Rock.

It poured all night, so we are taking a day off to recover before we head inland and north to Yosemite, Death Valley, and subsequently Las Vegas.  Contrary to popular opinion, what happens in Vegas will be blogged liberally.  Stay tuned for pictures and more soon.

Update:  I am nearly completely up to date with my pictures.  Bookmark my Picasa page so I don't have to keep linking you to it.