The Passage of A Pilgrimage

The morning ride out of Davis was spent on a bike path for a solid 10 or more miles. It's been strange being in large cities again because of the way I look. Obviously, when I'm in a small town, it's unlikely that I'm homeless because who would choose a small town of 100 to beg in? However, in Davis, I got lots of staring and when I nodded my head out of respect toward a person, it was usually met with a questionable glance. However, the ride was fairly lovely.

A few miles out of the city of Davis, I was met by two older men cycling past me.

"Where you coming from, buddy?" yelled Jim into my musical space.

I undid my headphones and turned toward the man, "What's that?"

"Where you coming from?" he repeated.

"New Jersey", I'll admit I said rather smugly.

"Holy Hell! That's a long way".

Jim and I would chitchat for the next mile or so as I accidentally neglected the other rider behind him. I tried to involve him on the conversation but the man, Jack, was rather an introvert. He had just met Jim a few minutes ago and it seemed like I knew Jim better than he did. Jim was a rather portly fellow at 73, and was a retired professor from California at Davis University. He asked if he could buy me a little snack at a local cyclist's hangout in the town of Winters. I agreed and a few miles up, we turned off onto a small bridge. Another bridge running parallel had netting attached to the bottom. Upon questioning its purpose to Jack, he told me the bridge was set for demolition within the year. Jim and I rode up to the cafe of "Steady Eddy's", while Jack briefly murmured something and disappeared. Jim waved it off.

We sat down and had an intriguing conversation about, the normal topics: religion, philosophy, and history. Jim graciously bought me a smoothie and a "puck", which is a small muffin-looking thing filled with carbohydrates. As I finished my smoothie and the conversation continued to venture into deeper materials, I reached for my bag of tobacco, rolled a cigarette and lit it. I noted the slight discomfort in Jim's face, and he turned toward a large group of cyclists across the road in a park.

"Uh, let's go catch these guys over here before they leave. I want to introduce you to them".

We walked over to the group with our bikes and Jim, rather awkwardly, made an "announcement".

"Hey everybody! This guy over here just cycled here from New Jersey".

I looked toward the ground sheepishly and drew another drag from my fix of nicotine. I was startled to see the whole group actually turn toward me with curiosity and interest gleaming in their eyes. I babbled about the distance, my plans for the future, and the fact I was finishing that very day.

"You smoke too?" one of the cyclists asked.

"Hey, we can't all be perfect".

Someone asked me what my last name was so that they could try to find my book. I responded saying that it wasn't out of the question. Quickly, no more than after 5 minutes, the group was on their way into the sunshine. Jim was out too but not after giving a firm handshake and friendly smile. I threw my cigarette away and went off in pursuit, my head still dizzy from the last puff. Back on the bridge, Jim was sitting idle on his phone. I got his e-mail, thanked him again, and set off joyously for my final destination.

Fresh out of Winters, I saw a few deer eating from the green grass and trees rising out of the nutritious earth. I was deep in the winery area of California (they're everywhere) and followed acres of grid-like farms for miles. About 10 miles out of Winters, to my absolute displeasure, I realized I'd left my wallet and Camelback in Winters... again. Desperate, I called the cafe and stupidly asked for them to send it in the mail to San Francisco. To my amazement, the one woman was willing to do it. I thanked her and kept on pedaling. A few miles later, I realized how silly the whole ultimatum was, and regrettably headed back toward Winters. The ride was rather miserable as I'm not used to seeing the same things in one day. It was still a lovely day and beautiful ride but the fact I had to travel back 10 miles, then 10 miles forward to get to the same location was maddening.

Back in Winters, I took the time to eat my last peanut butter sandwich, refill my water, and pump up my back tire, which has somehow been flat every single morning for the last week. Eventually, I was on the road again.

The ride went up and down but not as drastically as the erratic geography of Western California. Surrounded on both sides by huge hills for much of the last 15 miles to the town of Fairfield, the winds became magnum. Fairfield was a strange town, looking like a utopia with bright, freshly mowed grass next to the gigantic sidewalks that doubled as bike paths... or I used them as such. There was a plethora of planted trees equally spaced from one another and appearing at the apex of their lives. I left the town and stepped back into the real world. I pulled out my map as I looked to see what street I took next amongst the labyrinth of choices. That would be the last time I grasped that map. Less than half a mile later, I realized it was gone but only 20 miles out of Vallejo, I added it to my rather large casualty list.

From Fairfield to Vallejo, I navigated my own way, stopping frequently, looking around with confusion, and becoming lost more than once. I didn't mind. Everything was more than okay today.

Eventually, streets became more crowded, different neighborhoods started to formulate, and I could sense I was closing in on the bay. As opposed to speeding up with urgency, I slowed up and began to really take my time. It was all coming to a close right on the shoulder of that busy intersection.

Before I knew it, I had purchased a ticket on the ferry, which was leaving in approximately 7 minutes. I attempted to get a discount with my story but the lady simply said, "Oh, congratulations! Another cyclist!" So I wasn't very special, huh? I boarded the ferry and promptly fell asleep. Suddenly, the ferry ride was over and I had basically missed the entire thing. I took my time, got my things together on board and stepped out into the frigid, dark, overcast city of San Francisco.

Upon walking out with my bike (and flat tire), I was utterly disoriented. There were thousands of people crowding the little boardwalk and a myriad of different languages echoing out into the bay. I walked toward wherever I thought there might be a beach. I found one, took off my shoes and looked for someone to snap a picture of me. I found two younger looking guys wearing college sweaters and told them what I'd done, and the favor I needed. They were pretty cool about the whole thing.

I walked over to the water and to my surprise, it didn't seem very cold. Still shivering, however, I bent over my bike and looked up toward the two young guys.

"Alright, I'm gonna attempt to lift this behemoth up but I'm not really sure I have the strength. As soon as I get this thing even remotely off the ground, snap that picture."

They laughed and raised the camera. I breathed in and out for my little snapshot of accomplishment. I gave a shout, wrapped both hands around the frame and lifted. The weight distribution immediately shifted, the front wheel turned and the frame dug into my right hand. Grimacing still, I smiled? The picture was taken and I was assured it was a good one. The two men walked away.

I sat down on the wooden stairs leading down to the beach with my shoes still sitting in the sand. I pulled out a cigarette and lit it, searching for some kind of awakening, some kind of... something. It didn't come. I stared out into the bay, and eyed the Golden Gate Bridge, shrouded in the rolling mist. It was a dark day. In a sense, I'd already learned and changed on the journey. As I'd told myself before, this was just a place. Sure it was my "destination" but I'd already gone through the transition as a person on the road. This was just the place where I stopped biking. I took one last drag of my cigarette, snubbed it out, picked up my shoes, and disappeared into the funnel of people on the sidewalk.    

A bridge absolutely covered on every facet with graffiti. Very cool to ride over. Fresh out of Davis.

Literally, as soon as I took this picture, Jim and Jack came up to me from behind.

Jim leading the way, signaling a left hand turn at the bridge. Jack following silently behind.

On a path running parallel to a major interstate. The wind really started here, outside Fairfield, and wouldn't stop until the ferry.

San Francisco.

Half cheering, half grimacing, but triumphant. 

Now what?

The day after my expedition was over, I went for a victory lap over the Golden Gate bridge. Whom from the Bike the US for MS team did I rendezvous with, you ask? Keep scrolling to find out.

My good friend, biking companion, and exploring buddy: Duncan Moore. The two of us biked up an overlook across the bridge, trespassed into abandoned pillboxes/bunkers from time's past, and got dinner at an In N Out. It was truly a joy to see this rugged dude again. We have plans for checking out UC Berkeley on Thursday.

Sketching a fire truck. Big kudos to Duncan for capturing the moment as it happened.



To everyone that followed this adventure, I thank you deeply for staying in touch. This was an absolutely intricate and important aspect of my adventure. I don't know how I would have done it without this outlet. Sorry for some of my offensive language, and such... but not really. This was more a journal than something I wrote for people to read. It became more and more difficult to keep that in mind as I went on but I tried to keep that thought in check. So... thank you. This is the final post of "Into the Mystic". 

This Is It.

Dawn came and went. I stirred and left the cemetery around 9. I had some lovely descents and more painful climbs. The trees and dirt gave way to homes and restaurants. I was back in well populated territory. I ate at a Subway and smoked a cigarette with a homeless man attempting to sell his tent for $17 to catch a bus to Lake Tahoe. He eventually found some takers who sympathized with the poor, old man and gave him a ride to Lake Tahoe.

I continued onward. 

My 4th flat tire of the entire trip emitted air out into the sweltering Saturday afternoon. I cursed and went off to the side of the road. This tube had gotten a hole in it before but I had bandaged it shut with some special tire glue. I put another bandage over the second leak, pumped it full of air and continued upward.

I stopped in the towns of Folsom and Placerville, wandering. I went to a library in Folsom and attempted to find a couchsurfer for the night in Sacramento. On such short notice, I thought I would have to camp again but I surprisingly got several responses. One of them was Jack Cogs. 

After an incredibly beautiful, scenic and slow 15 miles on a bike path into Sacramento, I left nature to find Jack's apartment downtown. There was a bike lane; I liked California already. Eventually, I met Jack and his buddy Boyd outside his apartment complex. I couldn't have asked for two more welcoming gentleman. Long story short, the night ended up with me passed out, sitting up, on Jack's couch. In the morning, I found Justin sleeping across from me on a chair. Jack treated the two of us to breakfast at "Bacon and Butter", which was as delicious as the name implied. 

The night was loads of fun but the true pleasure was getting to know Justin, Jack and Boyd. My memory is a bit fuzzy but the feelings aren't. These guys took me in off the street and treated me like family, hell, even better than family. I was treated cold beers all night long. I felt like a freeloader but it was amazing. People never cease to utterly amaze me with their kindness. I have fond memories of Sacramento.

Jack actually went to college in Carbondale, IL. He was living in an apartment one floor above Boyd who was one floor above a bar. Boyd just moved in a few days ago and had hit it off with Jack. Jack works as an insurance fraud investigator at home for Geico. It seemed like a pretty sweet job. We have plans to possibly meet up in San Francisco. Speaking of which, I'm only 40 miles away. Tis the end... or is it the beginning?

I was lazy today. I got halfway out of Sacramento and realized I'd forgotten my Camelback and wallet at "Bacon and Butter". They were holding it for me. The ride back was nice and I really enjoyed meandering back through the city in the bike lanes. Currently, I'm in a hotel in Davis for my last hurrah. 

There was a bike path that ran parallel to the busy highway into Davis. Along the path, while listening to music and seeing a clear distance ahead of over 20 miles in length, I suddenly felt a pang in my stomach. Without warning, my eyes started watering and my body got goosebumps. I was overcome with emotion. My mind drifted out of my body and I seemed to glide along, feeling so joyous, so... free. There was no feeling of sadness, just a profound happiness. I'd come so far, met so many wonderful souls, seen so many beautiful things. I was at total peace... 

It's all coming to a head. The days of wandering the road are almost at an end. I can't wait to see what the future holds in store for me. The world is a wonderful place and this journey has spelled that out plainly to me. I'm ready for it.

Enough with the sentimental ish. Here's how I felt about my flat tire.

The bike path on the way to Sacramento from Folsom.

I stopped by the Sacramento River for a brief moment of calm.

Sacramento

Boyd, me, and Jack... the beginning of the end.

        The Sacramento city capital?

My sudden, intense feeling of oneness. 

Cemetery Solitude.

I stayed in bed for a lengthy amount of time as Monica and Annika got their things together. When they were set, I rolled out of bed and into their car. Up we went back to my hidden bicycle. 

I said goodbye to my friends.

The steep climb up Carson Pass had been delayed but the moment was back, its time had come. I was prepared. The 9 miles took some time as I stopped frequently, relishing my final mountain. The views were plenty, the birds were bountiful... and the cars continued streaming past like a broken levee. Soon, the summit came into view like a sunrise.

I had conquered my final mountain... or so I thought. The numerous acquaintences I met that had told me the downhill wasn't quite downhill proved to ring true. I flew like a bird for much of the 8000 feet back to sea level but there were steep uphills that greeted me like an old friend. The erratic geography reminded me of the Appalachians. I coasted on Highway 88 for a long time before a turn onto a quiet, lonely and broken road. 

I was heading for Fair Play, a small town up in the mountains at 4500 ft. There was a mythical campground there for cyclists. However, nobody I encountered knew of the place and the number was out of service. 

I rolled into Fair Play around 5 and followed the vague directions to the intersection where it was supposedly around. I buzzed the gate of a man living around the area.

A middle-aged man without a shirt came walking out from his establishment, followed step by step by a precious little girl in a bathing suit. She was holding her ice cream watching me curiously with her screaming blue eyes; no more than 4 years old. She silently lapped at her treat as she stood solemnly, directly next to her caretaker.

"Hey man, what's up?" the smoke-addled voice croaked.

"I'm looking for Idlewild Campground? My map says it's somewhere around here?"

He turned and looked down the road curiously. I noted a marijuana leaf tattooed on the back of his left calf. 

"The only campground around here is Big Bear and that's about 2 miles down the road."

"Huh. Well, this map's old. Perhaps, it just went outta business or something."

"Yeah man, sorry I couldn't be of more help."

"No worries, I'll figure it out."

The man turned and his young companion followed closely behind nearly tripping him. I turned back in the opposite direction. There was an old cemetary I had noted in case the campground was, in fact, a myth. I headed there.

The path wound around a bend and up a small hill. It was gated and far enough off the road that I decided it would be a good place. I set up camp. I took a nap and read for a good, long while. Its been lovely to hear the rustling of the leaves in the trees since Nevada. I ate my military meal from Sheriff Derek and went into my tent as the sun slowly fluttered behind the trees. I continued reading.

I felt an ant crawling on my leg and allowed him to wander. Then, I felt another... and another. Suddenly, I wasn't so fond of the little explorers. I smushed 3 or 4 with my pointer finger. I soon realized there were more than 3 or 4; Fort Johnson was under assault. I couldn't locate the area of infiltration and after shining my light, I realized I was overrun. I surrendered the tent to the army and retreated with my sleeping bag under a tree on the grave of Aldus Williams. I thanked the man for his charitability and after smacking a few ants and finishing my book, The Divine Arsonist, I fell asleep.

I added these beautiful little flowers to my bouquet. 

Unaware, This was less than 100 yards from the summit. I thought I still had lots of upward biking to go.

                   Ohhh yeaahhh. Stopped and got water here. The rangers were awfully surprised to learn I'd ridden my bike from New Jersey. They also noted it wasn't quite all downhill from that point on.

Sacramento Dreez

The last post was two days old. I'll catcha up tomorrow. 

What Kindred Souls You Have

Yesterday, things started off grandly. First, I went to a local donut shop owned by a Japanese family that was so friendly. So friendly, in fact, that I went back the next morning just to see the cashier's smile again. It really was a positive impact. After indulging in some delicious and cheap donuts, I went to a bike shop that my host, Jenny, had recommended.

It took me a little bit of time to find the correct direction toward "Bike Smith's Bike Shop" but when I did, I couldn't have been happier with the results. The owner, Jimmy, readjusted both wheelsto spin correctly (they weren't "true"), fixed my front brake, and just as I was leaving, they screwed my little biking bell back in. The thing had been loose for about a month and I hadn't heard it tinkle since Illinois. I was ecstatic about that part the most. BUT, the most wonderful part of the whole ordeal, was that Jimmy did all this for free. I couldn't believe it. I shook the man's hand several times before leaving, unsure how to truly express my gratitude. 

I made contact with Annika (couchsurfing buddy from Cedar City, UT) and we arranged to meet up at Fuji Park. I hung out there for about half an hour before they pulled up. 

There was no shortage of happy conversation on the drive up to Lake Tahoe. We recounted our trips since the last time we'd seen each other while slowly ascending the 2000 ft. to our destination. When the lake came into view, the air in my lungs came rushing out as I saw its true vastness. Surrounded on all sides by mountains; the largest lake (2nd deepest) in the United States did not dissapoint. We found an overlook and parked amongst the circus of tourists.

We spent the entire day laying down on the rocky shore, soaking up the sun. The water was crystal clear. Leaping from the rocks, the clearness gave the appearance that the rocky lake floor was much closer than it was. I remember at one moment, I was laying down on my stomach looking at Annika with her eyes closed. Beyond her head, the mountains stretched far above the glimmering water and the sun beat down on our bodies. I could hear the water lapping the rocks, meticulously sculpting, carving, and eroding the hard structures into curious figures. Every now and again, the water would smash at an angle into the rock and spray the three of us. I remember looking and thinking, "Is this a dream? This is far too beautiful, too perfect".

We stayed there over 4 hours, doing nothing in particular.

Upon returning to Carson City, I got spaghetti and meatballs to cook for Jenny. She'd been at work since 8 and didn't feel comfortable with anyone being in the house until she returned at 7. So, I came home when she did and promptly got to cooking. We feasted. Afterward, I went into a food coma. I went to bed early around 9 and woke up early around 7.

I made hot cocoa and got my stuff together. Coincidentally, the post office was directly next door and I got my packages; one awesome letter from my sister and the tent poles! I was ready for the road.

The day's ride followed a scenic route through Genoa; the oldest settlement in Nevada (1851), founded by who else? The pioneers of the West, those adventurous Mormans. Genoa also boasted having the oldest "thirst parlour" in Nevada. I had to get a beer and check it out. 

Well, I was almost like a C-list celebrity there and I got a couple drinks from the owner, Willie and a good man named Javier. I learned lots about the town from both men. Did you know the animal that kills the most people every year is a deer? Anyway, I got pretty good and buzzed before beginning the looming climb of Carson Pass. I just started the celebration a tad early.

The evening before, I had spoken to Annika and came to find that Carson Pass is less than 10 miles from their couchsurfing host. So, we arranged to meet up at an old, dirt road at an intersection.

It was a looong, painful climb of only 12 miles or so but it felt like an eternity. The vast array of cars that came speeding past me didn't help things and I was still fighting strong headwinds. Eventually, I made it to the road, hid my bike, and laid down by the entrance to read and await Annika and Monica.

Annika and Monica picked me up about an hour later. We sped to their couchsurfing house but the host was at work. In the meantime, we unwound with a movie and some beers. As it got dark and we got restless, went to meet up with one of the four hosts, Nick. 

Nick worked at a German-themed bar named Himmel Haus. There was some kind of event occuring there supporting local art. I stuck out like a sore thumb in my homeless sweatshirt and basketball shorts. Apparenty it fit the art theme though because the photographer seemed to keep flashing pictures of me. Amongst all the fancy people, it was also apparent that Annika, Monica, and I were having the most fun. It seemed like everyone else was doing their best to appear suave and cool.

Nick was awesome! He was around my age and had been moving all over the West Coast for awhile. He'd been in South Lake Tahoe for a few months but he really enjoyed the slowness to it. We talked for a long time outside the bar.

Eventually, it came time to leave the bar. Annika and Monica needed to get their rental car back to San Francisco by 3 the next day. So, after some downtime with Nick and the other host Jerry at the house, we all went to bed.

                      Lake Tahoe

              Leaving Carson City

Genoa had deer everywhere. I attempted to get close to them, then later learned ominously of their vicious bloodlust.

Oh yeah, I crossed the border into Cali.

Ughh, beginning the climb of Carson Pass.