Driving the California Coast with Laura: Day 2

Point Montara-Santa Cruz-Big Sur-San Luis Obispo - Santa Barbara - LA - San Diego



The Jeep was surprisingly warm last night. We drifted in and out of sleep from about 6:30 AM until a San Mateo County Sheriff abruptly and without invitation opened the passenger side door around 9:30. The Sheriff ran our IDs and then took off; we put our shoes and jackets on to head down to the shore.



We spent the night on a cliff overlooking the ocean, and scrambled down the ledge at dawn the next day to where the waves were breaking violently on the shore. We frolicked like Nevada kids are prone to do upon arriving at the Pacific, eventually tiring ourselves out and making our way to Santa Cruz for breakfast.

After eating donuts at Ferrel’s Donuts and remarking our own feral visages, we headed into town for Christmas shopping. This was largely successful, but the day's crowning event was the decision to purchase the hats that will no doubt come to mark the trip for me. Mine is a fedora, Laura's is a flapper hat. From there we made our way through Monterrey, Carmel, and down through the first portion of my favorite place: Big Sur.

Camping in Big Sur was peaceful. We placed perishable items outside of the car to keep cool during the night, and in the morning when we opened the door of "Club Jeep" the bag holding those items was torn to shreds. Strangely, none of the food had been so much as touched. We looked halfheartedly for tracks before getting confused and continuing down the road for coffee.


Throughout the day, as we continued along the Pacific Coast Highway, we walked around and Laura took pictures. I am anxious to see how they all come out, and I have a feeling I will be pleasantly surprised. I’ll be sure to load some of them onto my Chronicle as soon as possible. Our new hats added greatly to the quality of the photographs.

We spent a good deal of time in San Luis Obispo, watching people walk by our coffee shop and doing some window shopping ourselves. I managed to finish my Dad's Christmas present while sitting next to a loud insane woman talking to herself at the coffee shop; I think the quality of the gift may reflect this distraction.

The last stop for the night was just south of Santa Barbara, nothing noteworthy. A standard McDonald’s breakfast followed in the morning, and then we drove straight through to San Diego, taking the 101 through LA to avoid the misery of navigating that city.


We’re staying with my friend and fraternity brother in Del Mar for the evening. DJ has a beautiful house and has been more than gracious since we arrived. It is hard for me to believe that we got here around noon; the day and ensuing evening went so fast! I hope to see Grandma Ringler again tomorrow.

"Bear Meat" By Primo Levi

"I also know how important it is in life not necessarily to be strong but to feel strong, to measure yourself at least once, to find yourself at least once in the most ancient of human conditions, facing blind, deaf stone alone, with nothing to help you but your own hands and your own head."



Read the Entire Article Here.

Whitman, America.

Levi's new ad campaign utilizes some really cool Whitman poems and original imagery.

Hat Day.

(More To Come)

The Lights and Buzz

Driving the California Coast with Laura: Day 1, Reno-San Francisco-Pacifica-ish

We have been talking about this trip for at least a semester, if not longer. Something to get away after school gets out, and our first extended trip together. Laura arrived at my house at 8:15 AM as I hurried to finish the packing that I hadn’t done for this trip. In fact, my preparations had really only begun about thirty minutes before her arrival. We loaded my two bags into the back seat and took off for San Francisco on I-80, a clear drive on a nearly cloudless day.

When we arrived in the city we decided to visit the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, also known as the SFMOMA. I particularly enjoyed the installations displayed outdoors on the roof, built to withstand the weather and to be changed by the elements. The pieces that evolved unabashedly with time, and no one would ever “touch them up” to avoid the natural effects that fell upon them. I like that.

We went to the grocery store to get a picnic dinner for the beach, and hit the sand just as the sun set. We enjoyed a simple sandwich-and-soup dinner, watching the waves break and talking until the sky was completely dark. It wasn't until midway through dinner that we realized that less than a quarter mile away was where we had finished the Bay to Breakers race in May, our first time spent together after I got back from my bicycle trip.

After dinner we continued down the coast for about twenty minutes before pulling off at an overlook where we set up our "fort" in the back of the Jeep. On top of a climbing pad and goose-down cover, warmly surrounded by sleeping bags, we slept.

Thank You Mr. Armstrong (or the advice I heeded, and that which I should have),

Breathe in. Breathe out. Read to the next page. Read to the end of the Chapter. Outline until 7:00, then to Chipotle for dinner. You can listen to one song if you finish this case. Be in bed by 3:00, wake up by 10:00.

Before I left for Boyd Law in early August, I made a list of things I wanted to accomplish by the end of the semester: run a half marathon, play a new sport, join a ping pong club, get a 3.8 GPA, etc.

Now that list is thumb-tacked on the wall above my desk like a demented joke. By the first week in December my goals had become more fundamental: Remember to eat dinner. Brief those cases you haven’t looked at for a while. Remember to sleep. Memorize the elements to those obscure causes of action. Don’t lose it. Try to run today. Maybe run tomorrow. Ok, definitely try to run by the end of the week.

As I packed the last of my things early this morning I glanced up at the list for the last time, and noticed that I had fulfilled only one of the 15+ goals:

10. Make one new good friend.

It wasn’t high on the list. It wasn’t the first thing on my mind when I sat down to write down what I wanted back in August. My GPA was a higher priority. I can’t remember now, but it may have been the highest. In retrospect, it should have been last on the list. The tenth should have been the first.

I received a much-appreciated letter from Ross Armstrong in August, right as I arrived in Las Vegas. Ross is a third year law student at Willamette. When I was a freshman undergraduate, Ross agreed to be my campaign manager when I ran for Student Senate. Ross’ knowledge, guidance, and credibility pushed me into a position I could never have achieved alone; needless to say, I take his advice very seriously.

I re-read his letter this morning, and realized that I had only followed half of it. There are two sections: “Class Success” and “Self Success.” I followed the class advice, but neglected the “self.” Looking at it now, he was entirely correct about how to stay happy and to enjoy life while taking in a large amount of new information. The key is people. Friends will pick you up when you fall behind, and if they can’t help then friends will at least suffer with you.

When the time comes for me to write someone a letter I’ll repeat a lot of the advice that Ross gave me, but I will put “Self Success” first on the list. Then I’ll put “Class Success.” Then I’ll put “Self Success” again, just so that it is the first and last thing the reader remembers. (I learned that in my Lawyering Process course.)

Legal systems are human creations, constructed to maintain order within human social structures. There is nothing natural about a legal system, and therefore studying law without human contact is without merit as well as exceedingly boring. Law is a discipline that is best realized when it is debated, reformulated, and settled, over coffee or in a group study room. The more voices, the merrier.

There are numerous rules and laws, but all are subservient to the Golden Rule. This rule, the basis of Law second only to the human beings themselves, is simple and ancient. It is found in nearly every religion and culture. The Book of the Dead used it as the test of worthiness in crossing over to the afterlife; "He sought for others the good he desired for himself. Let him pass.”

My first semester was as much about learning what to do as much as it was about learning what not to do. It was about trying to see where a behavior or repercussion was treated in the past, is currently being treated, and will be treated in the future, and deciding why it is beneficial for society or else destructive to society. In essence, it’s about trying to do the right thing even under tremendous pressure, and using mental tools other than animalistic emotion to reconcile the “big picture” with the “little picture” and realizing that you will almost always be coming up short in one way or another. At least that’s how it seems to me.

I am so grateful for my fellow students, my professors, Laura, family, Ross, friends, Chipotle, and the workers at the Balance Café.

(Before)




(After)

Snapshot Entry

I stumbled upon, while looking at my files from this past semester, this entry dated Novemer 19, 2009. I concluded it today (December 14, 2009) in the way I would have back then:


My little chronicle, so long it has been since I've visited you! Not surprisingly you are just the way I left you, though I have changed a great deal since our Spring love affair.

I don't have time right now to write an entry. I don't have time for much of anything at all it seems, but I am going to write this all the same in case I ever reminisce and wonder how my first semester at Boyd Law really felt. I want to have something to go off of if some bright-eyed young 1L-to-be asks me what he or she can expect.


In truth, my first semester is most like a marathon dance competition. I showed up with my shoes shined and my clothes ironed. Just like my classmates, I felt suave and smart because I had been accepted, I was on my way!

The first dance is a slow waltz through late August and early September. Compared to the break-dance competition I had fretted over and feared, there was nothing to it. There was a string quartet playing; my classmates and I laughed and joked as we made our way slowly around the dance floor, sipping cocktails and feeling ultra-cool because now we were doing something (even if it was learning which hunter should keep a dead fox back in 1888).

Somewhere in October, the string quartet drifted and out was replaced by a disc jockey. I didn’t really notice at the time. I was getting a little tired, maybe missing a step here and there, but nothing to worry about. The class danced on.

The DJ slowly picked up the volume. One song moved seamlessly into the next; the tempo picks up slowly throughout the song, and increases from one song to the next.

Now you're dancing to a heavy house beat in mid-November, trying to keep up with the beat, but when you look around everyone else is double-stepping to the beat! This makes you think that you should be four-stepping to get ahead and keep your scholarship, and this in turn makes someone else eight-step to a beat that, under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t even want to dance to! And everyone is doing it. And everyone is tired.

This was before Finals Preparation had even begun.

The Lonesome Polecats Skip Warped Tour

Roughly June 23-28, 2009:

I fitted Eli to ride on the Giant on a Monday evening. The next day we arranged supplies, mostly foraging through Flipside leftovers. By Wednesday we were ready to ride south on Highway 395, hugging the Eastern flank of the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range all the way to Yosemite.

It was Eli’s first significant bicycle trip. It was also, I assume, the first time Eli rode a bike more than 15 miles. He was fearless; partially because he didn’t know any better and partially because, well, he’s Eli.

Departing from my Dad’s house in Northwest Reno we made our way across the Truckee Meadows Valley and into Washoe Valley. The scenic detour around Bower’s Mansion was calm and void of traffic. We traveled light because we only had one trailer, and made incredible time all things considered. As we stopped to have a quick drink on the southern end of Washoe Valley, I snapped a quick photo of a forlorn street sign that would come to represent the trip in its entirety: “Lonesome Polecat Road.”



I have done the Carson Loop and the Washoe Valley loop more often than I can count, both with Brandyn and alone, but the route we took to bypass the craziness of Carson City was one I had never taken before. A small two-lane bikeway skirted along the foothills of the Sierras, overlooking Carson City and the Nevada legislature.

We stopped for dinner in Gardnerville or Minden; I don’t remember which it was. I honestly can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. After dinner, things started to unravel a bit. I took off too quickly through town and lost sight of Eli. When I ran into a gas station to use the bathroom for no more than a minute flat, he managed to ride past me and out of view. I came out, looked in front and in back of me, and couldn’t see him.

Figuring he was lost, I rode back through town looking for him. Mindenerville is little more than a bulge in the otherwise slim Highway 395, bringing it out on either side for the town limits but not really leading anywhere, so I figured he couldn’t have gone too far. He was nowhere to be found.

I asked people walking, and the restaurant employees, and anyone I could if they had seen a neon shirt ride by. No one had seen him since we took off together. My blood pressure began to creep up, until I finally had to text Sam; “I lost Eli.”

With a gravitas I had only seen previously in The Shawshank Redemption, a torrential rain suddenly poured down from the Heavens. Eli had absolutely no gear with him, and had just put his cell phone into my bag for safe keeping. He had his clothes, his Ipod, his bicycle, and a piecemeal knowledge of survival techniques gathered primarily from The Lord of the Rings. I grew more anxious with each passing moment.

I finally managed to wave down a construction worker who loaded my bicycle into the back and drove me up the hill that led South out of town. Finally, to my relief, I saw Eli on the side of the road walking his bike. Tired from the long day's haul, we pulled off and made camp just off the road.

The next morning we rode into Topaz and ate a hearty breakfast at the Topaz Lodge after being sternly warned not to scratch the tile floor with our shoes. After the regular 12 cups of coffee and huge portions, we were ready to ride on. Riding with a full stomach, a full water bottle, and a happy heart is the only way to bicycle tour.





The weather throughout the day varied as the topography of the Sierras to our right varied. When they reached high into the heavens, they allowed for clouds to build up and sprinkle rain onto us. When the range would again fall back towards the valley, the sky would lighten and warm our backs. All you really needed was a light waterproof jacket to zip or unzip.

About 30 miles north of Bridgeport, it began to rain harder. I stopped with Eli and told him it would be best to get his rainproof coat out of his bag, an article of clothing I had specifically listed on my packing list. He agreed and fished a long sleeved T-shirt out of his bag. I waited for a moment to grab his jacket, but he indicated that he was ready to continue riding. I waited for a moment to see if he would get out his jacket. It was then that I realized that the long sleeved shirt was his jacket, or at least what he had packed in case of bad weather.

I hoped for the best from the weather, knowing that the long sleeved shirt wouldn't do much if the rain picked up. The rain did pick up, and began pouring buckets as lightning splintered the sky all around us, followed almost immediately by deafening thunder. I was getting cold, and Eli looked frozen. He yelled at me through the hurricane that we would have to stop and make camp where we were, because he "WAS GOING TO CATCH PNEUMONIA!!"

The valley was steep on both sides of the road, and without supplies the camping would be miserable. I told him we'd have to keep moving to find a better place. With a look on his face like he wanted to rip me off my bike and pummel me for suggesting this trip, Eli turned up his IPod and trudged onward.


We arrived in Bridgeport frozen stiff. The first store we saw had a "Free Coffee" sign in the window, and we immediately took advantage of this. While in the store we asked about camping in the area, and a kind gentleman on a fishing trip gave us a ride up to his campground just north of town. The campground had warm showers and a community cabin where we played chess, ate our dinner, and were generally thankful to be out of the cold for a moment. That night we had a fire near our tent before sleeping soundly in a grassy field.


The next morning we stopped back in Bridgeport for coffee at the "Pony Espresso" and then continued on to Lee Vining, a small town on the eastern edge of Yosemite. We spent most of the afternoon people watching and resting at a gas station before ascending the first few miles of Tioga Pass to camp.


The next day, our last day of riding for the trip, was the soul-wrenching climb up Tioga Pass. Cars whizzed by on the skinny two-lane road that had been precariously dynamited into the side of the steep valley wall. Every few miles a huge boulder lay in the middle of the road as an ominous reminder that timing was everything on this climb, and that your helmet wouldn't do much good if one of these monoliths decided to pry itself loose as you rode by below at the wrong moment.


We reached Ellery Lake and spent the day at the Tioga Pass Resort, watching unhappy children who had been dragged on a sightseeing voyage by their parents and wealthy motorcycle tourists come and go. We narrated their stories to pass the time, talking amongst ourselves about what the downtrodden offspring must be thinking.


We desperately needed to bathe and make some effort to wash our acrid cycling jerseys that clung to us with residual sweat. As we tried to wash off in an icy creek that resulted from snow run off, I slipped and nearly lost every item of clothing I had brought with me. Luckily, Eli was able to collect the items as I howled and half rolled, half ran down the creek bed after my belongings.

The following day Laura arrived and the three of us drove into the Yosemite Valley to hike Half Dome. This is usually a day-long trek for people starting at 6 AM, and we were starting at around 11:30. I lead the Death March to the summit, and we arrived back at the car shortly after nightfall. Eli had his IPod in for the final three hours, and I was hesitant to shake him from his comatose state. Both Laura and Eli fell asleep almost immediately when we got back to the car, and I listened to a Neil Young Album alone as I watched the sun set for the second time that day: our drive out of the Valley allowed it to barely re-emerge before we got back to camp.

I was a little embarrassed to have Laura sleep in our tent, which three days earlier Eli had claimed “smelled like dog.” To say the tent smelled like dog is an insult to dogs, even very smelly ones. But we were all ready to sleep and promptly passed out after the long day. The next day I climbed with Laura for a while and Eli explored more of Tioga Pass.

The Los Angeles Show

We're in LA, trying to get to the venue!

I stowed away with Emma's band June Set Fire on their first out of state trip to LA. Lucas had an energy drink and is growing louder by the minute!

Bob Duffey and the Purple Van

After camping on the outskirts of Las Cruces, I rode ten miles into town at about 7:00 in the morning to grab breakfast. An older gentleman named Ed asked me about my rig, and we talked for a while about motorcycle touring and land sailing (he was wearing a land sailing shirt). He was there to have breakfast with two friends, Bob and Ana Duffey, who are also motorcycle tourists. I joined them at their table and told them about the three flat tires I had had in the last 50 miles; apparently Southern New Mexico is notorious for goatheads, which had indeed been causing all of my flats.

I had a slow leak in my rear tire as I ate breakfast that I didn't really want to fix with a hand pump only to go two miles to the bike shop. Bob asked if I would like to load my rig into his van so that he could take me over so that I would not have to get directions to the place or use my hand pump. After breakfast, we said goodbye to Ed and headed to the van.

Bob's van is something is like the Mystery Machine from Scooby Doo gone wild. It is from the 1970s, has over 500,000 miles on it over three engines, and is COMPLETELY purple. The exterior paint, the upholstery, the steering wheel cover, and even the bean bag chair in the back are purple. The carpet and the rims are purple. Bob likes purple.

After fixing the flat, the temperatures were soaring. Bob and Ana asked me if I would like to join them for lunch, and we went back to their house, which I was curious about after riding in the van. It didn't let me down.

Bob's house is completely devoted to motorcycles. He won the 1977 CBS Sports Spectacular World Championship Motorcycle Jumping Competition by jumping his motorcycle over rows of cars to land on a target. He held the record for the fastest quarter mile ever ridden on a motorcycle: backwards. In his front room his two stunt bikes sat behind velvet cord, and his purple motorcycle leathers with "Bob Duffey" emblazoned on them hung on the wall. There were thousands of miniature motorcycle replicas, motorcycle posters covering ever inch of every wall, and in the bathroom the Hot and Cold taps had been replaced with piston heads, and the water spout was an exhaust pipe. Bob loves motorcycles.

We watched grainy old videos of when Bob became the first man to jump over a helicopter with the rotors spinning. We watched the 1977 CBS coverage. When looking through photo albums, every single picture had a motorcycle in the scene, and many times the subject was riding the bike.

Bob didn't recall time so much in years as much as by the motorcycle he owned at the time, or else how it related to the 1977 jump competition. 1977 might as well have been Year 0 of the Bob calendar; everything else was either "Before Competition" or "After Domination". Bob's pictures can be seen here:


Bob helped me box my bike and trailer for the bus ride home the next day. Just as Bob had chosen to measure his life by what motorcycle he owned or how it related to his "big jump", I had decided to listen to what I see as omens. For one thing, Texas was blisteringly hot. My last three days I had averaged over 100 miles per day, which meant I was racing the heat instead of enjoying the ride. I wanted very much to be home for Mother's Day, and could just make it if I got on a bus the following morning. All of my friends were finishing school at the University of Nevada, and I looked forward to spending my summer with them. The time was right.

I'm camping on the outskirts of Las Cruces looking down on the city tonight!

I started at about noon and am in Deming. The tail wind is very strong and there is a chance i will make it to las cruces, otherwise i'll camp out!

Silver City, New Mexico!

As my last post stated, I rode a grade-A tailwind out of Safford, AZ yesterday for about 10-15 miles before setting up camp for the night a little ways away from the road.

I woke up early with the sun this morning. I was up at six and took about an hour to pack up; Clayton had kindly told me as I departed about Arizona's aggressive "killer bee" population, and I spent about 15 minutes actually packing and 45 minutes running in sporadic circles every time something buzzed within 50 feet of me. I packed up wearing only my boxers and shoes, so this must have looked pretty freakin' insane if someone were to look over from the highway.

The wildlife in this area is amazingly dense, and because the roads are not often traveled the animals tend to come close to the road. As I ride, I hear constant scurrying away from the road through the bushes. I happened to see a coyote at about 150 yards, and stopped to take a picture. He looked at me and howled. I howled back. He howled a return. This call-and-return continued for the better part of three minutes until HE got bored and wandered off.

I rode about 120 miles today, with a whole lot of vertical. There was a total of one mini mart between Safford and Silver City, so I figured I better make it pretty far. I crossed a State Line, a Time Zone, and the Continental Divide today. All in all it was a great day but by far the hardest I've had thus far. To reward myself I am staying in a motel tonight, and will probably get a slow start tomorrow. Cheers!

In silver city new mexico, more to come

Safford, AZ

I got into Safford, Arizona around two o'clock and have been doing some errands. I might ride on, but there is about a 50/50 chance I will stay here tonight! There is not much between here and Silver City except mountains...

I'm in Globe, Arizona and will be staying about eight miles down the road at a campground on the indian reservation tonight.

A Bee in my Bun-net

I left Wickenburg riding solo once again. The ride into the Scottsdale/Cave Creek area had some interesting events, but I was so well rested and fed from the night before that I hardly minded. While I was riding on the wide shoulder of a fairly busy highway, I felt a sudden sharp pain in my left buttocks. It continued to grow stronger and stronger as I slammed on the brakes and pulled to the side of the road, tearing my Spandex shorts down and exposing myself to the Greater Phoenix area. As soon as my shorts were down, a bee whizzed off into the sagebrush. How he got in there is beyond me, but I had to ride in a slightly different position for the remainder of the trip.

About twenty miles down the road from the bee, I passed a sign that read No Hitch Hiking: Prison Area. Not a second after I thought about how ironic it would be for me to get a flat in that area, I heard the surefire "pop" and felt my rear tire deflate. 30 feet beyond the sign, I had to take off my trailer, pop off the rear tire, and change the tube as highway travelers no doubt considered the likelihood of a prisoner using this clever ploy to hitchhike into town and terrorize Phoenix.

When I got near the house, I got my hair cut. Clayton saw me riding in as he was driving out, and Shelly had everything I would need waiting for me in a guest bedroom, complete with a plethora of throw pillows.

At dinner, I FINALLY got to meet my Dad's Aunt Barb! Dad has always told me about his Uncle Dave and Aunt Barb who lived off of the Sea of Cortez and enjoy everything Baja California has to offer. I was very sad to hear that Uncle Dave passed away last summer; I heard nothing but good things about him and would have liked very much to meet him.

After dinner, I worked for what felt like endless hours trying to load pictures and write up my Blog from Wickenburg. Marissa came home late from preparing for her last finals before graduating from ASU (President Obama is speaking at their graduation!), and we had a nice opportunity to catch up and chat.

Today we had breakfast, took Beau and Happy to the dog park, met up with my cousin Matthew, had a delicious dinner at Clayton's house and took a quick dip in the pool. It has been a very restful day. I'm going to wake up early and work with Clayton before getting on the road towards the East by late morning. Thank you Barb, Shelly, and Clayton for all of the hospitality I've received while in the Phoenix area!

Nobody Knows It but Me"

This is a Patrick O'Leary poem read by actor James Garner... I really like it a lot but it happened to appear in a Chevy Tahoe commercial that I didn't really care to display on my blog. I changed up the code of the YouTube embedded video so it shows pretty much just the play button, which you can click to hear the audio. I hope it works!

Pictures!

At long last I have added pictures to my Blog! You can find them at the bottom of each post, or watch the slide show at the following address:

http://tinyurl.com/trevorschroniclepictures

A Desert Rose

Jesse and I pulled into Wickenburg, Arizona early yesterday afternoon on what would be our last day of riding together before he headed North towards New York and I continue East towards wherever I am going.

As we set our bikes against the side of a Safeway to get our bearings and a bite to eat, we were greeted by John and Rose, a couple loading a massive amount of groceries onto a wagon. We greeted the couple, and Rose was ecstatic to hear what Jesse and I were doing. She told us how good she felt when she walked to and from the grocery store, and how she couldn't understand how anyone could drive in a car when it felt so nice to be out exercising and enjoying the day. She offered to let us take a shower at their home. We gratefully accepted, and she gave me directions to their condo nearby. They departed and we gourged on our snacks.

Jesse didn't feel like staying in a pay campground, so we got directions to a good spot to camp outside of the town. After talking to a kind veteran who almost certainly had Post-Traumatic Stress disorder, we headed to the house to shower.

We were greeted by John and entered into a cool, air conditioned room adorned with little knick knacks and counters still covered with the recently purchased groceries. The condo was small, no more than 1000 square feet, and it felt very comfy. After a quick paper-rock-scissors tournament, Jesse took the first shower as I talked to Rose and John in the living room.

John works for a traveling carnival and had just returned from a long event in Tucson. They had spent the day going back and forth from the grocery store (twice) to load up on food and supplies for his homecoming. Rose quickly offered to let us do our laundry, have dinner with them, and spend the night if we weren't riding straight through. I talked to Jesse when he came out, and we were both more than happy to spend a night indoors and away from the riverbed the veteran had gravely warned us about.

After my shower John, Jesse and I took Stoney (the dog) for a walk through the desert with a couple cold beers and pellet guns to keep things interesting. John told us about various aspects of "The Show," including his time spent as the guinea pig for the 5-story slide when it had been set up incorrectly... Laughter ensued.

When we got back Rose had prepared an immaculate spread for dinner. For the second time that day I ate until it hurt. We were supposed to watch a movie but Jesse passed out in his lounge chair not two minutes after sitting down in it. John and I had already seen the movie, so we decided against it and he wandered off to take care of something. I pulled up a stool in the kitchen, where Rose was cleaning up after dinner (I offered to help, but she flat refused.)

It was at this point that I found out why Rose had had a glint in her eye and a special smile on her face when she had talked about walking to the grocery store earlier that day. She told me that after surviving a bout with cancer, she had "blossomed" up to 600 pounds from never leaving the house. She had since lost nearly 400 pounds from exercise and diet, and said she felt like she was living again after having given up.

Jesse had mentioned earlier that he was riding to Cedar City, Utah. Rose had mentioned her mother grew up in Cedar City, a town in Southern Utah with a strong Mormom community. Rose had grown up with this same devout Mormon upbringing, and continues to practice and live her life in keeping with the LDS faith. She did her mission in a Spanish speaking country after graduating with a Law degree from Yale, and following her mission continued living in Barcelona and practicing International Law. She had been a partner in Baker and McKenzie, a major international law firm, prior to having cancer.

She had met John only seven years ago, after beating cancer for the second time. Across the street from the hospital room where she underwent treatment, John had been working a carnival; neither of them realized until they began dating years later. She told me how lonely she was when John was on the road, but that he had been tireless after leaving the show a few years back and it was her who had convinced him to return to it. Although it made her lonely, she was happy to see him feel fulfilled again.

More than anything, she talked about how grateful she was. She said that although they lived humbly, she wouldn't have it any other way and that she appreciated the life she had been given. I thought again of Grandpa Ringler, a child of the Great Depresssion who would have fully appreciated the two trailers-worth of food in Rose's pantry.

Rose and I talked until I couldn't hold myself awake on my stool any longer. I sank into the warm bed John and Rose had made up for me, and I felt incredibly lucky to be where I was.



John, Me and Jesse armed to the teeth!

Hope, Arizona

I woke up at 3:00 AM this morning and decided to write a post. There isn't much else to do in Hope, an RV park abandoned by snowbirds (retired people with RVs escaping the cold) in search of cooler climate! I've been travelling the last two days with Jesse from New York, which has been a pleasent change of pace from riding alone. I crossed over the Colorado River into Arizona today, moving across the desert at a solid clip. Yesterday I rode through the Algodones sand dunes and the equally barren Chocolate Mountains. "The House of the Rising Sun" came to mind, and by the end of the day my brain felt a little fried from the sun despite having plenty of food and water; I started talking to myself, and when I finally came to the Colorado River late in the afternoon I exclaimed out loud "Shit, it's the Colorado!" to no one in particular. At this point I opted out of the addtional 20 miles I was considering.

The temperature at its zenith has been around 94 degrees, and I've started to wear a long sleeve semi reflective shirt and large brimmed hat to keep the sun off me. It looks like an outfit my Dad picked out; needless to say I look like a dweeb but I'm not getting burned!

I'm finding it harder and harder to continue on not because it is physically challenging, but because there is so much going on in Reno I look forward to. I passed highway 95 today, the most direct route back to Reno. I will fight another day under this sun.

Also, the Eddie Vedder song "Hard Sun" is great to listen to while sitting in a comfy chair in a cool room reminiscing over time spent toiling in the desert, but listening to it in the middle of the afternoon while riding through a sand dune might have killed a piece of my soul. More soon, possibly from Phoenix!


Doesn't this look inviting?


Dweeb Garb

A new Map at last!

Over the Mountains

I left San Marcos yesterday and ran down the coast to San Diego. I stopped off at a high-end Triathlon store to pick up an extra tube, and ended up running into some locals with whom I rode into La Jolla. This was especially nice because it allowed me to take a "locals" shortcut that didn't show up on the map, and I was in Mission Bay in no time at all!

From looking at my elevation profile (which tells you how much elevation change takes place between points) I saw that by far the most major climbing would be out of San Diego for the first 100 or so miles, a gain of about 7,000 feet altogether before dropping below sea level.

I stayed last night at the Viejas Indian Reservation. As usual I got in late at night and didn't realize until this morning that the campground had a hot tub, showers, and a store. After a poor night's sleep, these things got me off to a good start this morning.

Most of my day was spent climbing. At one point, right before Jacumba, the road is only a stone's throw from the Mexico border, and there are border patrol agents EVERYWHERE in the area. The terrain was beautiful and completely desolate; the bike route goes along the nearly deserted Old Highway 80, through a dry mountainous country.

The descent I had been looking forward to all day turned out to be the most terrifying part of the trip, as the wind coming through the canyon was so strong I couldn't ride any faster than 15 miles per hour without risking being thrown into traffic or off into a canyon.

When I finished the descent, the haunting wind turned out to be an ally. It hit me directly in the back on the straight run East, and I was going 25 miles per hour without even pedaling. It felt like I was riding a quiet motorcycle!

The only bad part about this stretch was the roads, which were in poor condition. I pulled alongside a cyclist from New York who had just finished changing a flat tire (his third on the day, poor guy) and was heading in the same direction. We rode together and talked until he flatted again, so I gave him a tube and we were back on the road until his disk brake started rubbing. I don't know anything about disk brakes, but still managed to center it so that the rubbing stopped and we could get to El Centro where there is a bicycle shop. We rode the tailwind into El Centro, split a motel room, and grabbed some excellent Mexican food not more than 20 miles from the border.

All in all I did about 80 miles today, and will be staying below sea level tonight in the desert of Central Southern California.


The Mexican-US Border

Don's Bookshelf

Today is Grandpa Ringler's birthday. He would have been 89 years old.

While I rest in San Marcos, I am staying in his bedroom. I stay up late at night taking in everything, trying to absorb the entire room at once. So many things strike me that I would have asked about. I wonder who William Cole was; Grandpa has his Iowa farm title on the wall, dated 1820.

As I glance from one book to the next on his bookshelf, I think about how rewarding it was to hear him to explain each of these works to me. He always knew their historical significance, the author's background, the motifs, everything. He knew the most obscure facts about the most obscure works. Being a writer himself, he understood writers and the way that each one tried to present his or her ideas.

I thought of him, the young Marine, while I was at Camp Pendleton. I talked with Grandma Ringler about how they became engaged shortly before he was sent off for what would have been his second tour in the Pacific had the Japanese not surrendered. I never knew that he had been a Marine even before the war had begun; there is a lot I didn't know.

In the bathroom his cane still hangs on the towel rack as if he will come back for it after washing his hands. I can sense his presence when I am around all of his artifacts, the pieces of history he held on to and kept alive. I will always have his picture on my desk and his voice in my heart, to immortalize him in the same way he immortalized his idols. Happy Birthday, Grandpa.




"Hold to the now, the here, through which all future plunges to the past."
-"Ulysses" by James Joyce

Refugio to San Marcos: The Urban Scramble

The funny thing about a Blog is that the more you are generating things to write about, the less time you have to sit at a computer and type them out!

I obviously saw quite a bit as I made my way through Los Angeles. In honor of Sam Turman, I ordered a tall cup o' joe at the toniest Starbucks I could find in Malibu. The gentleman behind me took out a piece of paper from which he read his latte order(no joke); I was quickly getting out of my element the farther South I traveled. My path was through many of the well-known beach areas; Santa Monica, Venice Beach, Redondo, etc. It was something else to see everyone rollerblading, walking their dogs, weight lifting, and acting in every way LA is generally portrayed. No Baywatch lifeguards though.

I got lost in a bad part of Long Beach. I rode near the Los Angeles River, quite possibly the most depressing site I've ever seen, though I was surprised when I looked into people's back yards to see that some houses had horses. What could you possibly do with a horse in the heart of LA, I wondered? I moved quickly to get as far from the sprawl as I could before night fall, but when I made it to the camping beach I had planned to stay at, I found it was RV camping only. I had gone around 100miles that day, and the sun had set. I camped in the parking lot of a nearby nature preserve. Around 12:30 AM, I was awoken by a floodlight shining directly onto my sleeping bag; a police officer had found me in the lot. He asked where I had come from, and when I told him he allowed me to stay the night where I lay, provided I didn't have any felonies or outstanding warrants. It was not the best night's sleep.

In Huntington Beach the next morning, I fixed a flat, had a doughnut, made some repairs, and mailed some postcards. By this time I was getting into the heart of Orange County, possibly the most dangerous drivers I've seen thus far. People won't hit you in LA, because there would be thousands of witnesses. In Laguna Beach, the Cadillac Escalades drive where they please, and I ain't nothing but a tall road cone.

The closer I got to San Diego, the more I kicked it into gear. Even with my trailer, I must have been doing 25 miles per hour average between Dana Point and Camp Pendleton. I was ready for a nice warm bed and tea with Grandma Ringler!

The Coastal Bike Trail rides right through Camp Pendleton, a large Marine Base near San Diego. I had a good time talking to the Marine sentries at the gate for a while before taking off across the gigantic base. The ride afforded lots to look at, but a very high stress riding environment. I was passed by three huge military trucks with "Student Driver" emblazoned on the front. Then I was passed by a full-sized tank. Thank God those "students" know what they're doing!

I'm now in San Marcos on my second day of rest, and will probably take one more before I hit the road.


Me and Grandma Ringler


"But officer, it was a crime of passion!"


A Dog Walker in Redondo Beach, LA



Redondo Beach Mural

Catching Up

I'm finally sitting at a keyboard, freshly showered and wearing fairly clean clothes. I haven't been able to get to a computer since Santa Cruz, which was six-ish days ago. I've been camping out in Monterey, Big Sur (both the North and South side), Pismo Beach, and last night at Refugio State Beach, located twenty miles North of Santa Barbara. This last stop has been one to shift my trip entirely.

To begin, it has been over 100 degrees for the last three days. I have been putting in a lot of mileage, doing the largest amount of hill climbing thus far, and generally laboring under the scorching sun. By the time I pulled into Refugio, I had put down 85 miles for the day with a whole lot of hills; it was arduous.

I pulled into the hiker-biker camp feeling 'bout half past dead. A fairly young guy in good shape with a brightly colored beanie was sitting alone at a table, gazing placidly out into the ocean not fifty feet from the campsite (it was an AWESOME site for hiker/biker). I was still reeling from the effects of dehydration as we exchanged pleasantries.

He asked where I was from; I said Reno. I asked if he was a hiker. He said no and pointed to his bike half-hidden behind a nearby tree. I asked where he was riding from, not paying too much attention but rather concentrating more on not missing the bench as I sat down. I could have sworn he said Petaluma...

I had been distracted. He was noticeably surprised by my response, or rather my lack of a response. I must have missed something."How long have you been on the road?" I asked, trying to keep the conversation alive despite my fatigue. "Just about three months" he replied. I was confused. Petaluma couldn't be more than 600 miles away, there was no way he was coming from there. "Where did you say you were coming from again?" I asked sheepishly, embarrassed for having forgotten so quickly.

"Panama City. I've been riding the Pan-American Highway through Central America for a charity." I was amazed. I wasn't aware that roads were running through parts of Central America. I had so many questions!

Aaron, it turns out, had been big time Real Estate guy in the Bay Area until about two years ago, when he sold all of his stuff and decided to go around the world. He had spent a significant amount of time abroad, and eventually found himself in a Hostel in Panama. He traded his backpack and a little cash for a bike owned by a man with red dreadlocks who was staying in the hostel. He set up a charity to build a school in Guatemala, and took off back to San Francisco. Tonight he is in San Luis Obispo with some friends who joined him in LA to ride the last stretch.


I kid you not. This guy really exists. You can read about his cause, his travels, and perhaps help in some way. This is his Blog:

http://www.lasthillbeforehome.blogspot.com/

A fraternity brother of his came up from Oxnard with dinner and they invited me to join them, which I was more than happy to accept. Pasta, bread, salad, wine... It really couldn't get any better, especially because I had planned on having trail mix with water before passing out. Instead we sat around and talked, and the group tried to convince me to turn around and head back to San Francisco with them, where a large party in the city will culminate Aaron's project. We playfully argued the pros and cons of my returning on the trail I had just set, though eventually they realized it was a lost cause.

For all of the traveling this man has done, he said time and again that riding the Baja Peninsula was the most beautiful and introspective portion of his journey. His friend, who had not seen him in over two years, told me that Aaron spent the first 45 minutes of their reunion gushing about the Baja ride.

He told me about the expansive desert and the lonely cacti. He told me about the bright blue waters and people camping on the sand dunes. I want to interact with the environment that this man, who has seen so much, couldn't stop gushing about. After I rest in San Diego with my family, I am heading into Baja California Sur and riding to Cabo San Lucas.

The same couple who brought us dinner last night graciously invited me to stay at their house in Oxnard tonight. Thank you so much Greg and Brenda. So here I am: freshly showered, wearing fairly clean clothes, and making this whole thing up as I go.


The Baker's dog Tug!