I stayed at Smith Rock State Park for my second night of camping. A woman named Tammy recommended the site; she was smoking a cigarette at a truck stop just north of Klamath Falls, and by virtue of the fact that she talked to me and had a recommendation she became my guide.
Tammy was right on the money; Smith Rock is a climber's haven, replete with young people and young spirits running around in puffy down jackets and playing on slack lines. I met a financial advisor from North Dakota who was touring on a BMW, and we talked for a bit about our prospective routes. He was fired up about his blog (www.murphygoeswest.blogspot.com) and the enjoyment of his trip was visible in his eyes. He said that this was his two weeks off for the year, and that he had been planning this trip since he had his last two weeks, this time last year.
A recent divorcé with two kids who he loves very much, Murphy readily admitted that his slick BMW was his post-divorce, midlife crisis purchase. I always like it when people are bluntly honest about things like that: it seems healthy and cathartic to be able to accept the goofiest possible explanation for something in our lives. A guy like that realizes that we're all just dicking around here on Earth, and whether you're doing it on a motorcycle or selling mutual funds is largely irrelevant. We were both doing what made us happy, and it increased our happiness to talk about it with someone who understood. Smith Rock was a place of excellent energy. Apparently Allan Watts wrote some guidebook for the area, but I didn't go into the shop to find out if it was THE Allan Watts or not. I wouldn't be surprised if it were.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Seeing Farther
I stared straight ahead as hard as I could.
I focused my gaze to the point that I expected my third eye to burn a hole through the poster on the wall like a magnifying glass pointed at an ant under the summer sun. In front of me was a poster with a hidden image set into a seemingly bland pattern of repeating tesseracts. I stared harder, and my eyes watered. The waitress had told me that the hidden image was an eagle. I crossed my eyes then uncrossed them.
I looked blankly down at the toilet to my right to rest my eyes. The poster was hanging in the bathroom of a tiny breakfast restaurant called "Captain Jack's Stronghold" in the tiny Northern California town of Stronghold. Both the restaurant and the town were named after an Indian known as Captain Jack, who in the late 1800s killed a US general and took refuge in a nearby labyrinth of lava rock formations. They say he was outnumbered 10 to one as he held the federal troops at bay.
The old man I shared a breakfast table with had shared this story with me. I was pleased to find the restaurant wasn't named after the Disney movie franchise, as I had expected when I walked in. The rest of old Jack's story is printed on the menu, if you ever find yourself on Highway 139 and want to fill in the details.
I pushed open the bathroom door to make sure no one was waiting patiently on the other side, then went back to work on the poster. I walked towards it and away from it, squinted my eyes, crossed them, and moved them in every possible combination of directions I could think of until they started watering and begging for mercy. I went back to my coffee and the old man. This was my second attempt at the poster, and he waited expectingly to hear my report. I moved my head slowly from left to right with a solemn look on my face.
He pretended to commiserate, but a grin was shining its way out of the corner of that old farmer's mouth. The sweet waitress tried to ease my pain by assuring me that others had faced my predicament; many of her return customers were travelers hellbent on seeing the eagle appear magically from the pattern.
By now a family of six or so had joined the project, and the oldest son had pulled out his phone to look up tips for seeing the hidden gems in these posters. He was about my age, and the entire family was dressed in University of Oregon Ducks fan gear. The son downloaded an application with other hidden images and brought it over to me, hoping to let me leave with a consolation prize. I stared at the pattern on the screen: nothing. All patterns, no eagles.
A similar poster was hung outside of my seventh grade science classroom. I was often sent to the hall during seventh grade science for talking in class, so I was well acquainted with that poster. While my classmates learned about potential and kinetic energy, I was in the hallway working on that poster: crossing my eyes, walking back and forth, and staring with all my might. I never saw what was on that hallway poster.
This always bothered me. It bothered me much more than it seemed to bother others, and it bothered me even more now as I stood next to the toilet at Captain Jack's. To me, this meant that there existed a level of reality that my mind failed to comprehend, but that others could plainly see. It wasn't about the eagle; it was, and still is, about having some sliver of the universe closed off to me.
I've heard people say that if aliens did try to communicate with us, we might not even detect their transmissions because our five senses don't line up with their senses and methods of communication. I'm not sure if I believe that or not, but I do know that if an alien were trying to show me a picture of an eagle, all I would see was an unappealing pattern: and the kicker is, that's even after I've been told there's an eagle to look for. What more could be written in a field of grass blowing in the wind, or a cloud, that I wouldn't even be looking for? What more lies beyond my eyes?
I focused my gaze to the point that I expected my third eye to burn a hole through the poster on the wall like a magnifying glass pointed at an ant under the summer sun. In front of me was a poster with a hidden image set into a seemingly bland pattern of repeating tesseracts. I stared harder, and my eyes watered. The waitress had told me that the hidden image was an eagle. I crossed my eyes then uncrossed them.
I looked blankly down at the toilet to my right to rest my eyes. The poster was hanging in the bathroom of a tiny breakfast restaurant called "Captain Jack's Stronghold" in the tiny Northern California town of Stronghold. Both the restaurant and the town were named after an Indian known as Captain Jack, who in the late 1800s killed a US general and took refuge in a nearby labyrinth of lava rock formations. They say he was outnumbered 10 to one as he held the federal troops at bay.
The old man I shared a breakfast table with had shared this story with me. I was pleased to find the restaurant wasn't named after the Disney movie franchise, as I had expected when I walked in. The rest of old Jack's story is printed on the menu, if you ever find yourself on Highway 139 and want to fill in the details.
I pushed open the bathroom door to make sure no one was waiting patiently on the other side, then went back to work on the poster. I walked towards it and away from it, squinted my eyes, crossed them, and moved them in every possible combination of directions I could think of until they started watering and begging for mercy. I went back to my coffee and the old man. This was my second attempt at the poster, and he waited expectingly to hear my report. I moved my head slowly from left to right with a solemn look on my face.
He pretended to commiserate, but a grin was shining its way out of the corner of that old farmer's mouth. The sweet waitress tried to ease my pain by assuring me that others had faced my predicament; many of her return customers were travelers hellbent on seeing the eagle appear magically from the pattern.
By now a family of six or so had joined the project, and the oldest son had pulled out his phone to look up tips for seeing the hidden gems in these posters. He was about my age, and the entire family was dressed in University of Oregon Ducks fan gear. The son downloaded an application with other hidden images and brought it over to me, hoping to let me leave with a consolation prize. I stared at the pattern on the screen: nothing. All patterns, no eagles.
A similar poster was hung outside of my seventh grade science classroom. I was often sent to the hall during seventh grade science for talking in class, so I was well acquainted with that poster. While my classmates learned about potential and kinetic energy, I was in the hallway working on that poster: crossing my eyes, walking back and forth, and staring with all my might. I never saw what was on that hallway poster.
This always bothered me. It bothered me much more than it seemed to bother others, and it bothered me even more now as I stood next to the toilet at Captain Jack's. To me, this meant that there existed a level of reality that my mind failed to comprehend, but that others could plainly see. It wasn't about the eagle; it was, and still is, about having some sliver of the universe closed off to me.
I've heard people say that if aliens did try to communicate with us, we might not even detect their transmissions because our five senses don't line up with their senses and methods of communication. I'm not sure if I believe that or not, but I do know that if an alien were trying to show me a picture of an eagle, all I would see was an unappealing pattern: and the kicker is, that's even after I've been told there's an eagle to look for. What more could be written in a field of grass blowing in the wind, or a cloud, that I wouldn't even be looking for? What more lies beyond my eyes?
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
My First Motorcycle Tour
I rode the Honda 750 from Las Vegas to San Marcos, where I spent a day with Grandma, and then I rode from San Marcos through Death Valley to meet with my Dad in Furnace Creek. We spent the night at Furnace Creek, then rode the next day back into Reno along the Eastern Sierras.
Friday, May 20, 2011
The Matt-packing Trip
I arrived in Salt Lake City by bus this morning at about 5:30 AM. As soon as I left the bus I went looking for breakfast with a fully-loaded pack and Patagonia messenger bag, and found a great little place in a hotel. SLC is an absolutely gorgeous city this time of morning, but judging a city at 6:00 AM is a bit like judging a newborn baby while she's asleep. Still, this seems like an excellent place to be.
I asked the maitre d' if the restaurant had wireless internet, and she looked me up and down disapprovingly before saying that they did, but I could not stay for too long because they were very busy that morning. At first I was offended, but then I realized that my appearance closely mirrored that of a homeless person and that her reservation was at least understandable, albeit rude.
I shoved my backpack into the booth with me and got out my computer. I booted up my Rosetta Stone: Mandarin for Beginners, and started to do the Pronunciation Lesson that I couldn't do last night on the bus because it would have been too loud for the other passengers. I then realized that I was only fueling my already poor social image by staring gravely at my laptop and pronouncing the Mandarin word for "boy" one syllable at a time, often repeating the same syllable until the computer felt I had pronounced it adequately. I think it's safe to say that I am high in the running for the craziest person in this breakfast restaurant right now.
I asked the maitre d' if the restaurant had wireless internet, and she looked me up and down disapprovingly before saying that they did, but I could not stay for too long because they were very busy that morning. At first I was offended, but then I realized that my appearance closely mirrored that of a homeless person and that her reservation was at least understandable, albeit rude.
I shoved my backpack into the booth with me and got out my computer. I booted up my Rosetta Stone: Mandarin for Beginners, and started to do the Pronunciation Lesson that I couldn't do last night on the bus because it would have been too loud for the other passengers. I then realized that I was only fueling my already poor social image by staring gravely at my laptop and pronouncing the Mandarin word for "boy" one syllable at a time, often repeating the same syllable until the computer felt I had pronounced it adequately. I think it's safe to say that I am high in the running for the craziest person in this breakfast restaurant right now.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
My Dad mentioned yesterday that I did not write nearly as much for this tour as I had for my previous tour, even though I had Internet access just as often. I had noticed this myself, and the reason was perfectly clear for me; touring with other people is a lot more of a social event than a solo tour, which is more introspective. On a solo tour, I was constantly fussing over technical aspect of my bicycle, constantly poring over the map, and writing much more. With other people, I was more focused on enjoying my time with friends.
Touring alone has its benefits, as does touring with others. I think that part of the reason that I tried to write so much while I was touring back in 2008 was because I constantly wished that I could share the experience I had with others: to allow others to see what I saw, meet the people I met, etc. Even writing though cannot capture the absolute joy one feels when riding with a strong tailwind; the written description is nothing when compared with the sensation itself.
I think that may be why I didn't write so much this trip. I think that talking with Laura and Sam about the absolute simplicity and beauty of such a trip, being able to instantly laugh or scoff about some minute detail was the outlet I needed all along, and the reason the blog allowed me to go so far in the first place. Still, the Chronicle is a nice record that hopefully I can compile someday, and I will try to write down the various days of our trip before they escape my memory.
-TH
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Day Three
The first two days of this tour have gone perfectly; a strong wind out of the North pushed us further South on Highway 95 as the temperatures rose and the elevations dropped. We camped our first night in a culvert, had breakfast in Searchlight on the second day, and camped just North of Needles, CA on the second night.
Today has not been so lucky. The arm of my trailer broke off, apparently overstressed, poorly crafted metal on the new trailer. On top of that, my oversight in not doing constant repairs and diagnostics left me with very weakened spokes, along with the busted trailer. There are no bike shops in Needles, and very few bike shops would have the part I need anyway; we might be heading to the welder.
On the bright side, it is great to have Sam and Laura along. The pictures, as well as the company, is vastly improved. We're having a lot of fun playing Texas Hold'em with Rocks and night frisbee. Most, if not all, of the pictures I upload will be from Sam or Laura's camera.
-TH
Today has not been so lucky. The arm of my trailer broke off, apparently overstressed, poorly crafted metal on the new trailer. On top of that, my oversight in not doing constant repairs and diagnostics left me with very weakened spokes, along with the busted trailer. There are no bike shops in Needles, and very few bike shops would have the part I need anyway; we might be heading to the welder.
On the bright side, it is great to have Sam and Laura along. The pictures, as well as the company, is vastly improved. We're having a lot of fun playing Texas Hold'em with Rocks and night frisbee. Most, if not all, of the pictures I upload will be from Sam or Laura's camera.
-TH
Monday, January 3, 2011
Southern Winter Loop: Touring Again.
It's January 2011, and I'm finally using this Chronicle again to follow a bicycle trip: nothing makes me happier than to write those words. I'm poring over maps, counting tent stakes, and checking the weather like only an adventurer can, and with with the necessary importance of someone who lives at the mercy of the weather and his own preparation. It has been almost a year and a half since Eli and I rode down to Yosemite, and nearly two years since I left on the trip that would come to shape so much of who I am. I don't know what has taken me so long to get back into the saddle; maybe it took until now to find the strength, both mentally and physically, to embark on such a large adventure.
I am thrilled to report that I have two new recruits along with me: Sam Turman and Laura Reaney. We are going to head from my house in Las Vegas down to Lake Havasu, and continue South (hopefully) all the way to the Sultan Sea and Salvation Mountain. Frankly, I don't care where we go. We have three great bikes, three racks, and two trailers. I don't know how we are going exactly because there are no published maps for the route we plan to create. All I know is that I'm publishing on this Blog again, and with a vigor that I have not felt in quite some time. 11 is my lucky number, and 2011 is beginning to seem like it will be a lucky year. Here's to comebacks. Cheers to everyone, and thank you for following me.
-TH
January 3, 2011
I am thrilled to report that I have two new recruits along with me: Sam Turman and Laura Reaney. We are going to head from my house in Las Vegas down to Lake Havasu, and continue South (hopefully) all the way to the Sultan Sea and Salvation Mountain. Frankly, I don't care where we go. We have three great bikes, three racks, and two trailers. I don't know how we are going exactly because there are no published maps for the route we plan to create. All I know is that I'm publishing on this Blog again, and with a vigor that I have not felt in quite some time. 11 is my lucky number, and 2011 is beginning to seem like it will be a lucky year. Here's to comebacks. Cheers to everyone, and thank you for following me.
-TH
January 3, 2011
Thursday, May 27, 2010
La Llegada
Laura and I arrived late last night at the Airport in Leon, and took a cab to Guanajuato.
The more I walk around the city, the happier I am with my decision to come down this Summer. Until now my undergraduate degree in Spanish has always been almost a party trick for me, something that I could use if I wanted to but always with the option to return to English. Now I hear people in the streets speaking in Spanish, see signs in Spanish, and I am reminded that this was what I worked so hard for!
I cannot believe how beautiful the city is. The buildings wind around the hilly landscape in organized chaos, with streets snaking this way and that. The town was built before a time when builders would simply level a large mountain that was undesirable; the architects of Guanajuato needed to work with the hilly terrain, and the effect is remarkable. I will write again soon, as we are in the process of finding an apartment and a language school for Laura.
The more I walk around the city, the happier I am with my decision to come down this Summer. Until now my undergraduate degree in Spanish has always been almost a party trick for me, something that I could use if I wanted to but always with the option to return to English. Now I hear people in the streets speaking in Spanish, see signs in Spanish, and I am reminded that this was what I worked so hard for!
I cannot believe how beautiful the city is. The buildings wind around the hilly landscape in organized chaos, with streets snaking this way and that. The town was built before a time when builders would simply level a large mountain that was undesirable; the architects of Guanajuato needed to work with the hilly terrain, and the effect is remarkable. I will write again soon, as we are in the process of finding an apartment and a language school for Laura.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
