seattle, wa.

Here We Go.

My uniform was a gift from my dear friend Michael

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The day had been planned for months. I had sold or given away my belongings--records, books, CDs, clothes. All I had was what I could pack on my bike and a couple of boxes to be shipped to me when I eventually reached New York.
Not sunny, but also not raining. An apt omen. I got ready to go, rode to my bike mechanic--the one last person I had not said goodbye to yet. Had a final lunch with a good friend, met my sister for a farewell, and set off.

From my journal:

Leaving Seattle was weird. None of it seems real.

port orchard, wa.

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A perfectly fine first stop. Not very far from Seattle, given that the first day was dominated by the process of actually extricating myself from Seattle. A beautiful and emotional ferry ride across the Sound to Bremerton (my old man's hometown). I chose to cross the Sound and go South on the Olympic Peninsula side in order to avoid the I-5 corridor.

I spent my evening watching a little league game, although I felt a little weird not being a parent or anything.

shelton, wa.

Fresh faced and naive

My poor KEXP sticker... It was not long for this world after this photo.

Nature calls.

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Mason County is gorgeous.

From my journal:

My body feels sore but not unbearably or unexpectedly so.

Towards the end of the day, my legs were suffering, so I pulled over and flopped down on some grass. I lay there for a while, trying to rest, but couldn't shake the uncomfortable sensation of phantom bugs crawling on my skin. I got up and noticed a long-dead and decaying bird exactly where my shoulder had been. It was crawling with the ugliest ants and spiders I've ever seen.

montesano, wa.

The powerful Leftist influence of Seattle decays not even 60 miles away.

tribute to our past

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Made a wrong turn early in the day and ended up 8 miles out of my way in Skokomish. As best as I can remember, that was the first and only time I had to backtrack a significant distance due to taking a wrong turn. The day was spent on bucolic 2-lane roads twisting through fields of flowers and farmland. I think this was the most beautiful region, maybe because I'm a biased Washingtonian or because it was so early in the trip, but I do consider this the area with the greatest natural beauty.

The roads here were all named in the same way. For instance, Matlock Brady Road was a road that went between the towns of (shocker!!) Matlock and Brady. I thought that was cute, if a little unimaginative.

Spent the night in Montesano, a town Kurt Cobain lived in as a child and where grunge band The Melvins are from. It got its name from a notably pious settler who wanted to name it Mount Zion. Another settler thought that was a little extra so they went with Montesano because it sounded better.

From my journal:

Today, I hit my groove. My legs were tired but never exhausted.

I saw a man with no legs lying on the side of the highway. I didn't know if he was taking a nap or dead. I think I would have stopped, but there was a cop there already.

south bend, wa.

This photo is strangely prophetic of the fear I was soon to experience.

The road from hell

My touring buddy, J.

My other buddies

Only 86 miles to Astoria. I thought I could do it.

Should have stayed on 101...

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This was perhaps one of the worst, best and weirdest days of the trip.

The first half of the day was fine. Was prepared for a long day, ready to get to Astoria. I kept thinking... I just need to get to Astoria. Stopped for lunch in South Bend, right on Willapa Bay, famous for their oysters. So I got a fried oyster sandwich--exactly the kind of small town cooking that I was so eager to experience. An incredible sandwich. I continued. My maps directed me towards a kind of off-road. I was uncertain, but trusted my directions. I followed the road until I came to a sign: "Paving Ends Ahead". The sign did not lie. Ahead of me lie a gravel road.

Being on a road bike, gravel is a surface I would typically wish to avoid. But if this was the fastest way to Astoria, it seemed the way I should go. My directions said the road name would change in a mile. So I thought... I can handle a mile of gravel. If it doesn't change, I'll turn back. This "road" was one of the most difficult of the entire journey. Not only was the coarse gravel tough, the incline was perilously steep. It was at times too difficult to bike so I had to get off and push. But I kept going and at some point, I had gone so far thinking "there can't be too much more of this" that it eventually became clear there was no end in sight. But I had come so far; it would make no sense to go back. So, after 4 miles of treacherous uphill gravel and no people, buildings, or civilization to speak of, I get a flat.

Exhausted and fed up with these conditions, I take my time to unload my stuff and fix the flat, having a snack and cursing this dumb idea. This road seems to be the middle of nowhere--no cars coming or going and deep forest on both sides of this gravel path. It was actually rather serene. Until I heard a menacing growl come from the woods.

A bear? A mountain lion? Bigfoot? To this day, I do not know if this growl was real or a product of my overactive imagination. Regardless, I have never reassembled my bike faster than I did in that moment. I was scared witless. Sweating, nervous, and with a racing heart, I pedaled furiously for another 1/4 mile before my tire was flat again. I was too rattled to take the time to fix it, so I pushed my bike another few miles before I reached the end of this godforsaken road.

On this exact same day, two bikers in the other Bend--North Bend, WA--were mauled and killed by a mountain lion. I am so grateful and aware of how easily it could have been me. Many people brought this news item to my attention over the following weeks, which I thought was a weird thing to say to someone like me.

I eventually emerged from the woods, relieved and exhausted but still remote from civilization. I continued to push my bike until I was greeted by two locals who were walking their dog. They were sympathetic and surprised that I had come from the way I did. They walked me toward the highway.

I was shaken, but not so shook that I didn't notice the scenery we walked through. This was the most beautiful place I have ever been. Full stop. We walked a road cutting through a marsh full of lush greenery, as if a sea around us. This sea was interrupted by islands of trees exploding from the surface, too many trees to fit on each little island, pushing each other out of the way, bounded and surrounded by the sea of low lying plants extending in every direction. I was too awed to even try to capture this scenery in a photograph. It looked exactly like a Studio Ghibli creation... Too beautiful and mystic to be real. This impression was compounded by the endorphins rushing through my bloodstream.

While we were walking through this incredible landscape, the sounds of another come from behind us. ?!?!? This place is so remote, these are the first people I've seen in hours, and here is another, but it's not just anyone--another bike tourer!! He had followed the same road I had, but with much beefier tires than mine and he had a great time. The odds seemed impossible. His name is Jonas. He was also from Seattle, but taking a much more leisurely pace than mine, having left Seattle a month ago.

The folks with the dog offered us their barn as a place to shelter for the night. So we stayed there. Jonas showed me how to forage for oyster mushrooms which we cooked up for dinner. Jonas is also a musician, so we jammed together, him on a mandolin he was carrying and me on the flute I was carrying. We camped the night together. It was great fun.

My mom said this story seemed too fake to be real, but to be sure, every word of it is true.

From my journal:

My heart is racing & I'm starting to panic. "This is how it ends," I am sure.

astoria, or.

The sort of tourist attractions to be found in Astoria, OR.

The Astoria bridge

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Astoria was the first goal of mine. I was planning to travel the Trans American Bike Route, which starts in Astoria. So this was Step #1. When I reached Astoria, I was finally on the trail. It felt good to get to another state. Made it seem like I had accomplished something.

The road to Astoria was another bad idea. To get from Washington to Oregon, of course, you have to cross the Columbia River. There are a handful of places to do so. I was doing it on the Astoria bridge, a 4-mile monstrosity with no shoulder. The first stretch of it was perfectly flat but stressful--there's no taking a break; there's no wavering when a nonstop stream of cars is flying by inches from my left hand. And at the end, the stakes were raised when I was confronted with an aggressively vertical stretch that nearly took it out of me, speeding traffic on one side and a hundred foot drop to the water on the other. My deeply ingrained Catholicism emerged and I started to pray for my life.

From my journal:

...it almost killed me. I literally started saying the Hail Mary over and over to myself.

The Goonies was filmed in Astoria, and the city has a more than passing interest in the film. I stopped at the visitor center after surviving that bridge, adrenaline running, and they had Goonies playing on loop and the guy told me that bicyclists had just been involved in a fatal accident with a logger truck on that bridge, only a week or two ago. Once again, a great story to tell a guy who just biked the bridge. Eventually, I'd learn to be more careful, but I still don't think I was ever reckless, even on this terrible bridge.

Eager for music to accompany my trip, I bought a Diskman and a copy of Dylan's "Blonde on Blonde" from a store in Astoria called Bach 'n' Rock. The perfectly American album for my American trip. Once again I'll note my eagerness to define every aspect of this trip with symbolism and literary meaning.

portland, or.

Courtney Barnett got me through the hardest

Beautiful fresh new (fairly) indestructible tires

Times Sq... 2,443 miles.

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I wasn't planning on stopping in PDX. But I needed new tires. I got them checked out in Astoria, and the mechanic guessed they were possibly original to the bike (so, decades old). NOT fit to tour on. But my old bike had wheels that are no longer standard, so he didn't have tires to give me, "You'll have to go to Portland for that." I've never been one to turn down a visit to PDX.

I did all the things I love to do in PDX: stayed in my favorite hostel, went to Powell's, Everyday Music, Blue Star Donuts, my little sister's favorite falafel place. It was great.

The new tires? Nice. But I miss my old gumwalls.

salem, or.

Taco Bridge

Independence, OR

I would pass the 45th parallel again, many days later.

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Perhaps my first mundane day.

The road to Salem lead through mint fields. The scent of mint floated gently on the air, a beautiful experience, surreal. I started to hyperventilate trying to experience it fully.

I met two bicyclists from Quebec on the road. They were touring from Seattle to San Diego.

I had a great time in Salem. Ate at my older sister's favorite bagel place. My host for the night in Salem was absolutely incredible. My gratitude.

I had a great doppio in Salem at Archive Coffee, on my host's suggestion. It was divine.

corvallis, or.

Corvallis is the town where my mother went to college. It was kind of fun to hang around the town where my mother was when she was my age.

This is the moment in the journey where I start to have big-picture realizations about myself and the trip. This is the moment when I start to learn the lessons this journey had to teach me.

From my journal:

[I rode] Old Corvallis road, which wound through farm country. It was pretty, of course, but all of this scenery is starting to blur together.

This [ride] is a once-in-a-lifetime experience for me, and by that, I mean I only ever want to do it once in my lifetime. It's a tool of exploration and self-discovery which I am leveraging at an age when I can. It's a means to an end.

By this point, I am well aware that I am not riding my bicycle for the simple pleasure of riding a bicycle. There are people who are this way (hello, Wilsons!! Thank you :)) but I am not one. I am on this trip to challenge myself. To meet people and see new things and learn what I can and can't do. This is the moment of the trip when I started to become philosophical about it.

eugene, or. x2

a c h o o

Chest hives... cute.

Shouts outs

How could I not go

Eugene mood

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The first half of this day had easily the worst conditions of the trip. Having left beautiful Corvallis, there was a lengthy stretch through the Willamette Valley before I would come to another town with any services. And there was a gnarly headwind, making things tough.

The thing about headwinds is that they sap your energy, both physical and mental. And there is no reward for the difficulty. At least when struggling to go uphill, there might be a nice view and breezy downhill descent. With a headwind, there's no reward for the suffering. You just get to work extra hard to go extra slow.

So if that wasn't enough, my allergies kicked in with full force and no warning. Suddenly I'm pushing against this headwind and

My eyes were so dry and also shedding endless tears. My nose was unbearably stuffed and also running. And of course I didn't have kleenex or anything, so I had to [redacted due to graphic and unpleasant description].

I would have died for some antihistamines. My nose has never been so raw and sore. But the next pharmacy wasn't going to be for another 20 miles--20 miles of futile pedaling against stiff and unrelenting winds. I stopped at several houses (really more like farm houses out here) asking for something ... anything! but no luck.

The worst part was the sneezing fits. I was sneezing uncontrollably over and over and over while trying to ride a bicycle. I would sneeze, the bike would swerve and just as I'd correct course, another sneeze was throwing me askew again. This was one of a handful of situations that I'd like to be able to watch on a video. It was so silly! Panting and mouth breathing through the Oregon countryside, sneezing so hard I almost fell off my bike!

But it did nothing to diminish my spirits. I did eventually find a pharmacy, stumbling in looking like I've got the consumption. From my journal:

Looking back, it wasn't that bad. That's been a pattern. I'll be miserable and suffering, but in hindsight, the experience mellows out.

rainbow, or.

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sisters, or.

Castle at the summit of McKenzie pass

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The second most pivotal stop of the trip.

It was to be my first ascent, a climb to an elevation of over 5,000 feet at McKenzie Pass. I was nervous, unsure if I was physically prepared for it. My last Warmshowers hosts assured me I was, and yes, I was. I struggled up, no doubt, for many hours. The view from the top was stellar. There was a cool castle at the top. At this time of year, the road is closed to all cars and open to bikes only on the weekend. Eugene kids seem to like to drink and smoke themselves crosseyed and bike up, camp in the castle and ride down the next day. I enjoyed the frighteningly brisk descent.

I camped for the night in Sisters. And I felt done. I was finished. I did not want to continue another mile. Not because I was scared, or unsure, or worried, or anything. I was just done. I felt that I had seen what I had come to see. I had met great people, rode my bike hundreds of miles and biked my way over a freaking MOUNTAIN. What more could there be? I was tired. I was afraid after this point the returns would be so diminished that it wouldn't be worth continuing. I could not see the point of continuing.

I was fully prepared to go home.

From the beginning, I had a few rules to govern the trip. Most important--and set for this exact scenario--were the permissible reasons for throwing in the towel. I didn't want to tell all my friends and family that I was going to bike thousands of miles away from home and not even make it out of Oregon... at least not without a good excuse. So there were a handful of reasons that I would accept as valid for not continuing. One reason was bike theft. If my bike was stolen, I would not get another. I would accept that as a sign that I was not to continue.

And so I awoke in Sisters before dawn. I wanted nothing less than to put more miles on the road. I wanted to go home. Instead, I went to the town's diner. I propped my bike up on a pole and I did not lock it. I stood there looking at it intensely, my mind full of conflict and confusion. I set my helmet helpfully on top and angled the handlebars out, ready for any enterprising thief to hop on and take off. I repositioned it a few times to make it look more appealing. Then I went into the diner, sat with my back to the window and drank many cups of coffee.

I was so ready for my bike to be gone. I would have cried tears of relief if I turned around and saw that Nishi was gone--nowhere to be found. I was in that diner for hours. And when the host started refilling my cup more and more infrequently, I got up, turned around, and saw that damn bike exactly where I left it. With a deep sigh, I went out, got back in the saddle, and headed for the next town.

prineville, or.

Smith Rock

AMEN

Deschutes River I think??

heyy ;)

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Prineville has the best McDonald's I've ever been to.

From my journal:

This side of the Cascades is beautifully austere--dry and sparse vegetation with dramatic rock structures cutting through the earth. I could see the mountains I had just crossed looming above at the beginning of the day. By the end, they had faded into the distance.

mitchell, or. x2

Pastor Pat & I

Jo @ Spoken 4 Hostel

Painted Hills

Black Butte

Black Butte Redux

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For as conflicted as I was only 2 days ago, making it to Mitchell more than made up for any misgivings I had.

Mitchell is a small town in central OR. Population around 130. It contains Pastor Pat. Pastor Pat is one of the kindest people I have ever met. He has a bigger heart than I can fathom.

Pat runs a hostel specifically for bicyclists because Mitchell is on the route of a big race, the TABR. He does it out of the generosity of his heart, having converted a doomed church in a small town into a refuge for travelers while taking care of the citizens of his town with more compassion than I have seen in anyone. This hostel, the "Spoke'n 4 Hostel" has everything a traveling cyclist could ever want: food, repair tools, Amish-handcrafted beds and nun-sewn quilts, two pianos, books and other materials, a straight razor shave, massage tools, etc, etc, etc. And it's in exchange for a suggested donation. Just a box in a corner, an invitation to pay what makes sense. I was so moved by the positive spirits here that I had to stay for another day. I had time to run chores with Pastor Pat around town and hear his unique perspective on the world. This was one of the most inspiring stops of my journey.

From my journal:

I usually like people who just ride bikes. I usually dislike people who just talk about bikes. People who do both can easily go either way.

john day, or. x2

Trees in Central Oregon inexplicably bear shoes instead of fruit.

And not just one tree... Numerous trees.

Picture Gorge

Skittish baby cows

Interesting dirt

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baker city, or.

A baby shoe tree.

So many summits... three in one day.

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Tough day.

Three mountain passes.

I bent my chain going over the first.

I bent it back well enough to keep going, and met Sean, another tourer from Seattle, while I fixed it. We rode on to Baker City together, over the other two passes.

Going into Baker city was a 10 mile road at the end of an otherwise tediously long day. The road was straight as an arrow, perfectly flat, and a strong wind was blowing against us. It might as well have been 30 miles. Uphill. We were glad to finally reach our destination. It's always easier to ride with a friend.

Fire danger today: Moderate

richland, or.

Only through the grace of God was I able to find a replacement chain. There were no open bike shops in town--the only shop was open 3 days a week--and I could not continue to ride with my busted chain. I thought I was going to be stranded in Baker City. But after a Sherlockian hunt through the city, chasing down a mystery shop and the one that would not be open for many days, I finally came to a new shop, not yet open for business. They were still building their furniture, butcher paper over the windows and no signs in sight. But they were kind enough to dig through their unpacked boxes of goods to find me a chain. What a godsend.

This is the first time that I notice the scenery is starting to be...different. It no longer looks like the lush greenery of the Great PNW. It looks arid, like a desert. Fields of dried up little shrubs as far as I can see.

I ride through "Hell's Canyon" which sounds like a really terrible place to ride a bicycle, but it was actually rather pleasant. I left my new friend in Baker City--he was waiting there to see his girlfriend who was driving over to see him. At this point, I'm getting really comfortable with my own company, discussing at length in my journal my opinions of the albums I'm listening to, the scenery, my inner dialogue.

I now see that this is really a sign that I've become...comfortable on the road. It's no longer novelty. I've passed the crisis point. I am now just...doing my thing. I am on a mission and I'm putting miles on the road, taking it for what it is and enjoying the trip.

I am very aware that this is my last day in beautiful Oregon. I am VERY ready to be in a new state. I have gotten the overwhelming idea of just how loooooong Oregon is. Little did I know how long Montana would be...

From my journal:

I overheard a bartender refer to a shovel as a "Mexican backhoe"

....yikes

woodhead park, id.

My thanks to campmaster Joe

you dip i dip we dip

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Made it to Idaho!! Easily the most disappointing and pathetic state border sign I've seen.

I started the morning tired and uninspired. I packed my things and went for breakfast at the local diner. They had a house special: Angie's Omelette. The description: olives, pepperoni and cheese. Okay... that is weird. I thought it might be one of those so-weird-it's-good things, like bacon maple bars or tahini jelly sandwiches, but no. It was just weird. Like pizza for breakfast except it isn't pizza. But it also wasn't bad. But I also probably wouldn't eat it again. But I also kinda liked it. This omelette inspired a variety of conflicting emotions.

I'm not feeling energized this morning, but nevertheless I hit the road. First thing is a ridiculous climb full of switchbacks and steep inclines. I have my pocket radio lashed to my handlebars for entertainment. And out here in the boonies, there are few radio stations to choose from. Reception is not great. But I am able to find an NPR station. So I'm trying to listen to NPR, but every few seconds, my already tenuous connection to Oregon Public Radio is interrupted by another station on the same band. And so as I agonize up this hill, pedaling with all I have in me, my one connection to people and sanity keeps switching back and forth between NPR (hot) and a Christian rock radio station (not).

*...we're here today with poet and playwright...and heeeee knowwwws and heeeee lovvvvves...who addresses issues of gender and race in her new...light touches my soul and I knowwwww...controversy when...in his handddddds and I kno...you I would like to say that...everydayyy I rememberrrr....*

Looking back I recognize how objectively funny this scenario is and chuckle over how deeply unfunny it was to me at the time

I had a lovely mid-day. Beautiful riding. Excited to get to the Idaho border. Getting to Idaho was an 8 mile stretch along the Snake River. I was getting hungry but I thought I would eat in Idaho. And so I kept going along, and kept going, and kept going. Telling myself I'd eat in Idaho. And then actually getting over the dam was a slog, a stupidly steep hill. And I thought--I'll eat in Idaho. This was a mistake.

"Bonk" was a word that I had heard among bikers but not understood. Today, I learned.

bonk (v.)

to neglect to eat the right amount at the right time and subsequently run entirely out of energy (usu.) when going up a hill

And I bonked.

There is no easy recovery from a bonk. Most people try to eat as much sugar as quickly as they can. Lunch at the top of the dam made the nausea go away, but there was no way I was going to be able to ride my bike any further! Especially since a significant mountain pass laid between me and any other point of civilization.

I was considering my options... I took the next turnoff which just HAPPENED to be a campground (yet another godsend) and as I studied my maps, trying to determine how far to the next town (too far), a man approached me and asked if I was lost. "No," I said, "just tired." Turns out he was the campmaster, Joe, and he offered me a spot, no charge. Great. The spot was a patch of gravel and a picnic table, but sometimes? You count your blessings. And really, gravel can be quite comfortable to sleep on actually. I took a shower and enjoyed the beautiful scenery around me.

A little before sunset, I had my things laid out and was milling about. Then a STORM came through, from NOWHERE. The wind came from the blue and sent my sleeping bag (still rolled up) flying across the campground. I chased it down, looking like one of the three stooges, and tried to grab anything that was loose and secure it. Then the rain started. Great, hard, wet rain. I slinked into my bivy sack, ready to wait out the night and the storm. But then 20 minutes later, the rain stopped as suddenly as it had come. So I got out of my sack and milled about a bit longer.

cambridge, id.

A Mormon Cricket

A muffin from a friendly stranger

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So I woke up on the gravel in my bivy, well rested. I was bitter that I had no coffee and no prospects for finding coffee.

Then this guy who had said "hi" last night came over to talk to me and see what I was up to. I told him, and he invited me into his RV for coffee and toast. Seeing as I was eager to be murdered, I happily followed.

Not really. He was very kind and I had a nice morning with him and his wife, drinking coffee and eating cinnamon-sugar and butter white bread. They wished me well and warned me about the Mormon Crickets on the other side of the pass. As if they were a dangerous hill people in the area.

Now, how do you respond to a vague warning about Mormon Crickets? There is no good response, I think, and I just said, "Oh, yeah ok. Thanks."

But then I got to the top of the pass and on the descent, I learned what a Mormon Cricket was.

As I descended, I started to see some bugs on the road, straight chillin. They were in packs of a few to a dozen and I thought, "Ah, the famous Mormon Cricket."

They were big, fat, juicy bugs and I had no problem avoiding them, weaving in and out. Then I'd go a quarter mile or so before seeing another patch of them. And so I continued, but the patches got denser and thicker as I went on. To the point were I could no longer avoid them--they were teeming by the hundreds, thousands! and the surface of the road was out of sight, covered by a thick blanket of these obese bugs. I had no choice but to plow over them, feeling them squish as I crunched each one. And they JUMP! As I got close, they would JUMP! But they would jump whichever way they were facing, as often towards me as away. And they would SMACK into my exposed legs, up onto my arms, even into my face, thousands of these fat nasty bugs at a time.

I closed my eyes, screwed up my face and raised up my legs as far away from these Mormon Crickets as I could get, flying down the steep decline, feeling my tires slip back and forth over the bugs.

I am just grateful that I was going quickly downhill and not slowly uphill in the company of these bugs. Apparently they pose a traffic danger. They gather by the thousands on roads during their swarming season and trucks smush them into a slick goo that can cause cars to lose control.

I felt like I was in the midst of Exodus.

A really lovely fact about Mormon Crickets: they swarm to seek nutrients, protein and salt, but also to avoid the cannibalistic crickets behind them in the swarm. If the leaders of the pack do not march forward towards food, they will be eaten by the pack behind them.

Poison is an effective defense because it will kill the bugs and then kill the other bugs that eat the poisoned dead.

Another tactic to keep the bugs away: Some farmers play Loud Rock 'n' Roll to deter these infernal creatures.

In Elco City, NV, they have brought in snow plows to clear the residue of squished Mormon Crickets from the road.

A really lovely bug that I was happy to be acquainted with.

new meadows, id.

Whoops

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I saw a sign out here:

If you can read this, thank your teacher. If you can read this in English, thank your military.

white bird, id.

Kind strangers and surprising accommodations.

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Another microscopic town. I lucked into some great lodging, a cabin with a kitchen and everything! So I took the opportunity to make some weird burritos with what I could find in the local "grocery" store--the only things for sale that wasn't in a can were some onions and a few green apples. There is not an abundance of fresh food out here. The only radio reception I could get was a single station with a scratchy Native Music thing that turned into a Hip-Hop Hour. Did not think I'd find a Hip-Hop hour in White Bird, ID.

White Bird is named after a Nee Me Poo (Nez Perce) chief who won a resounding defeat at a pivotal battle against the US Government in the hills here. Riding those hills out of White Bird was incredible. I passed actual, honest-to-god cowboys on horses with hats and doggies rounding up cattle into trucks.

kooskia, id.

Pronounced koos-key.

I met two people today from the greater Seattle area:

One guy I met in Grangeville, ID. He told me he had had his head cut open several times to remove a brain tumor, showing me the scars and everything. I thought this was an odd conversation topic to bring up within minutes of meeting a stranger, but ok. He then told me his favorite thing about living in this area was being able to drive his ATV where ever he liked without a helmet. I guess he is eager to have his head opened a fourth time?

The other guy was my Warmshowers host, Jim, the patriarch of a rural family numbering double digits. I really appreciate the values he instills in his family and the guests from abroad who live with him. They live close to the Earth with respect for the world and others in it. He fired up the sauna he built himself on his property and we did that for a while. He runs a gun parts company for a living and lives a 2nd Amendment lifestyle. I had never shot a gun in my life, being a Seattle Snowflake, so I expressed interest and he showed me how to safely handle a gun. I had the opportunity to shoot both an assault rifle and a hand gun. I had respect for the way he respects guns. It was an educational experience.

lolo, mt.

HEEEELLLLOOOOOO MONTANA!!!

Montana has these white crosses on the side of the road wherever there has been an auto fatality. Some of the the poles will have three or four crosses on them. It's an eerie sight. They are shockingly frequent.

missoula, mt. x3

I was told by a Harley Biker not to "chicken out" of this trip or else I'd regret it for the rest of my life. This was pretty good motivation

My kid sister drove over from Spokane, Wash, to hang out with me for a while in Missoula, Mont.

The NBA Finals had just wrapped up, but we were able to catch the more important TV event of the season: Wests vs. Kardashians Family Feud.

One thing I liked about Missoula is that they had voter registration boxes in places like the movie theater and bookstores. Register and Vote!

hamilton, mt.

A Hamiltonian told me Hamilton is to Toronto as Brooklyn is to Manhattan. I think this is true.

I had the most AMAZING stay at a Warmshowers in Hamilton. So good, I couldn't resist staying another day. I almost won a game of Baby Boomer Trivial Pursuit with my hosts.

darby, mt.

A beautiful conversation I overheard while eating in Darby:

Guy 1: ...they made a grammatical error and..
Guy 2: What's that?
Guy 1: What's what?
Guy 2: What's a grammatical error?
Guy 1: Oh... uh, the words were wrong.
Guy 2: Mm ok.

wisdom, mt.

Friendly people...more or less...but more more than less

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Apparently kids are allowed in bars here. This IS NOT the case in Seattle, where there is separate seating for minors. This IS the case in most of the country however. I would marvel over this fact in many states to the future and people would look at me like "well of COURSE kids are allowed in bars, where else would they go?" Hmmm. Life is easier for an alcoholic 6 year old in Montana.

The reason for this, I learned, is because so many towns are so small that they can't afford to support both a bar AND a family establishment, so people bring their kids to the bar. I chewed over this while eating a chicken sandwich and watching two prepubescents shoot pool in a smoky bar.

Reminded me of the scene in Airplane! where two girl scouts beat each other bloody in a GI bar.

dillon, mt. x3

So Many Friends In Dillon Montana

SO MANY

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Dillon was the pivotal crossroads of the entire journey.

Up to now, since Astoria, OR, I had been closely following the Trans Am Bike Trail. Dillon was a day and a half away from Yellowstone, the next milestone on the route.

Bad weather had chased me into Dillon. Just as I began the monumental descent, the clouds broke and doused me with the most torrential rain I have ever ridden in. No visibility; no traction; completely soaked and uncomfortable. There was nothing I could do but put on my rain jacket--a joke in the face of these rains--and put my head down and pedal into Dillon. My Warmshowers hosts, Larry and Lori, were the kindest, most knowledgeable, and friendly people I could hope for.

They took me in, fed me, let me shower, and gave me a room in the smaller house next to their bigger house, which they had built themselves.

Larry was keeping a close eye on the weather radar, tracking the rains that had pummeled me and were currently roiling Yellowstone. Yellowstone, my next destination, was flooding under unprecedented conditions. I was stuck. So I waited it out.

And yet Mother nature wins the battle of patience. I sheltered in place at my Warmshowers (at my hosts' great generosity) and the rain was not passing. It looked like I might get a small window of one clear day, but the forecast changed to a week or more of untenable weather.

I felt I had no choice. "If only I could go around," I mused out loud. Larry looked at me, "Well of course you can go around!"

My bike maps were tightly dictated. They spelled out the route, and only the route. Few to no alternatives. But Larry pulled out a plain old road map and showed me other, better ways. I love it. Great. Sign me up.

And while while I'm at it, there's a better route around another obstacle down the road... and another... and another. There is a wealth of better scenery to go through and better roads to travel on. I hadn't realized it, but I had been trapped by my maps. I was traveling this famous, allegedly great trail across America. It didn't occur to me until then that I could, or even should, forge my own trail across America.

This was the great breakthrough. I was following these maps because they were a lifeline, telling me exactly where to go and where I could stop. But at this point I had followed the lines for a full quarter of the way across the country. I got a good idea of what the deal was and now I was free to make my own way.

whitehall, mt.

A lil dirty

Pretty dirty actually

uhhh really dirty

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I rode most of the day with two new riding partners, a chainsmoking Indian fellow and a geriatric chatterbox who were holding strong at last and second-to in the Trans-Am race. They were great company. We eventually parted ways as they turned towards Yellowstone and I rode into the depths of Montana, a suspiciously large state.

Rain all day. I had been scared of riding in the rain, but I guess no longer. Amazing how fear evaporates in the face of lived experience. However, there was major road construction for some dozen miles going into Whitehall. This meant miles of dirt roads. Miles of dirt roads that had been rained on all day. It was absolutely filthy. I would have paid any price to clean myself of the dirt and mud caked onto every uncovered surface of my body, as well as a number of surfaces that had been covered. And at the end of the day it looked I wasn't going to be able to find a shower, but luckily one came through at the last moment at a Holiday Inn.

This was ultimately the last day of life for my Nike sneakers. The mud and wet was too much for them. RIP.

For dinner, I had the region's famous signature dish, a pork chop sandwich, invented in nearby Butte, Montana. Ok. Pretty good actually.

bozeman, mt. x2

:(

Thought I arrived early!!!

Loves Labors Lost Shakespeare in the Park courtesy of MSU

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I passed a billboard with a depressed woman looking into the shadows:

Ask me how the gun went off

Well ok. That's weird. I was intrigued. How did the gun go off? This billboard was not offering any answers to this Raymond Chandleresque question. By the time I got much closer, I could see the small text in the corner: Sponsored by the Montana Meth Project. ....Oh. I see.

Bozeman is a wildly gentrified town. There are wine bars next to wine bars across the street from wine bars. Talking to locals, the area is well known as among the best in the world for snow sports and hunting. Retired or near-retired lawyers and doctors are moving here in droves, building massive properties for the outdoors proximity.

A well-established mood that I have encountered over and over again, through central Oregon, Idaho, and now here in Montana is a sharp distaste for Californians... Californians coming with their money, buying up land, putting up fences, building secluded houses. The locals feel taken advantage of by rich Californians. It's always Californians. They are the bogeymen in the hills here. People love to look in the distance and talk about how something or other has been spoiled by Californians.

It is exactly how I would look into the distance and talk about how Seattle has been spoiled by Amazon tech bros.

I was eating lunch and a group noticed the patches and buttons on my vest. An old woman in the group asked if I was a boy scout.

I went into a local bookstore and found a book of Robert Frost's poetry. Inside was a poem with 2 lines that struck me then and stuck with me for the rest of the trip. He writes about how he would like to just wonder off in to the woods, with no direction or purpose but to get away. And should anyone come to find him,

They would not find me changed from him they knew
Only more sure of all I thought was true

livingston, mt.

Icecube-size hail--ow!

Refuge in the bear habitat

My brother had a baby

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Before even leaving town, I was encountering rain, sun, I thought that I was going through it all, but little did I know... Not far down the highway, I began to feel the

HAIL

It was too dangerous to ride, this hail was the size of ice cubes. I always thought "golf ball size hail" was an exaggeration, but here it was! Hail the size of GOLF BALLS. And It Hurt!! I ducked under an overpass to wait it out. I was joined by several cars that also though this weather was too extreme to drive in. They checked in to see if I was ok--"good thing you have a helmet!!" I had never seen such weather in my life. And checking the radar (a tip I picked up from Larry in Dillon) I could see that there was to be no relief.

There seemed to be a break in the weather, so I left the shelter of the overpass to keep going. But this was just the start. There was a ferocious storm coming and I saw it in the sky and I saw it on the radar. I was traveling along a major highway and there seemed to be no hope in sight: bad storm coming and no place to shelter. So I was desperate for a place to take refuge from the storm that I knew was coming. This refuge was the Montana Grizzly Encounter, a refuge for grizzly bears, home to a relatively famous grizzly, Brutus, who's been in movies and has even been the best man in a wedding.

I sheltered in place--the storm blew over and they had to bring the bears into shelter and the humans sheltered in the gift shop. I was there for three hours while I waited for this incredible storm to pass--wind, rain, hail, and clouds like I've never seen. So by the time it passed, I set off again for the next town, but it was late so I didn't go far before retiring for the day. I went to the theater to see the Incredibles 2 in the very cool town of Livingston, MT.

On this evening, my brother's first child, Connor, was born.

columbus, mt.

In Columbus, MT., a woman old enough to be my grandmother drunkenly tried to sit on my lap and then asked me if I knew Bob Seger.

billings, mt.

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Deviating from the Trans-Am has proven to be an excellent decision. I feel better, and even my mother noticed that I sound better on the phone.

I bought a proper camera at a pawn shop that was having a 40% off everything sale.

I went to a bookstore that was also a coop. Big store, thin selection.

I went to HuHot Mongolian Grill.

The Mariners are on TV, beating Boston 6-0. That makes me happy.

I was given two free pizzas.

I met a woman named Jordan. I offered one of my pizzas. She turned it down, having just come from a wedding.

custer, mt.

MAKE YOUR CHOICE!

Pompeys pillar. A rock with William Clarks signature carved in it, some of the only lasting evidence of the Oregon Trail.

Willie Clarks John Hancock

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In Custer, MT, a "Census-designated place in Montana" (a CDP i.e. not even big enough to qualify as a township), I spent one dollar to hear Prince's "Kiss" on the jukebox at the town's restaurant/motel/bar (the facility combination due not to extravagance but rather the exact opposite). I watched as one Montana tough guy turned to another: "Now whas that?" The other said "Ah yeh thas Prince from Back in th' day." The other nodded: "Mmmm" and took a long drink.

The name of this tiny and insignificant town comes from General Custer who lost the Battle of Little Bighorn nearby.

On the way, I stopped to visit the top of Pompey's Pillar, a local landmark for Lewis & Clark. One thing that really struck me in this region is how OBSESSED locals are with Lewis & Clark. They love them!! They are rock stars to the people who live here. Montanans cannot get enough of good ol' L&C, reading books, reading their notes, reading novelizations of their notes. Signs explaining that L&C might have been here maybe for a day litter the sides of the local highways. People talk about them all the time in great reverence.. "oh you know Lewis and Clark probably ate the bark of this tree to survive." And then they would eat that same tree bark because they thought that was pretty cool.

miles city, mt. x2

Weird.

At this exact moment in time, I was listening to Terry Gross discuss the Flint water crisis.

Miles City... Called that, I think, because it is literally ten thousand miles away from anything else

Pretty Dirty. As you can see, I can not fully extend my ring finger on my left hand. This is a side effect that that would only get worse with time.

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One of the all-time difficult days. I won't rehash the details, but it was a case of getting within 5 miles of my destination, getting a flat, quickly and carelessly replacing the tube, getting another flat, and later yet another.

The day was 85 miles on 100% interstate shoulder which is comparable to uphill riding for stress to the body and mind. Additionally, there were many uphill stretches, so like... double uphill.

It's interesting how, with my bike fully deconstructed on the side of the road, tools strewn about, obviously in a moment of distress and crisis, no cars will pull aside to ask if I could use help or a lift. A classic good Samaritan story, sans Samaritan. But earlier in the very same day, at a rest stop where I was safe, content, and relaxing, parades of people went by asking if I needed help, food, water. At the moment when I least need help is when people most often offered it. And in the moments of most dire need, there was no one but myself.

baker, mt.

The Ultimate Answer to Life, the Universe & Everything

You ride for long enough, eventually the dirt starts to look interesting. Sometimes, it is actually interesting

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At this moment, I am far removed from my initial route, the Trans-Am. And at this moment, I am getting satisfaction from looking at the Instagrams of people I've met so far who stuck with the Trans-Am--I'm getting satisfaction from witnessing the unprecedented weather they're facing, rain and snow and record heat waves. They are struggling and I am having a jolly time on this Northern US route I'm making day-by-day.

For dinner, I was served a salad with fried onion rings on top. I can feel the Great Midwest approaching...

bowman, nd.

I was SO happy to finally get out of MT.

Amen for Harold

It was shocking to see these small-time oil rigs on the side of the road... so weird. Locals call them Dinosaurs

More interesting dirt

Natural wildlife

Artificial wildlife

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The temperature today breached the 90s. I wasn't really bothered. In fact, I hardly noticed. This was an oft-repeated question: isn't it too hot to be riding your bike?? Really, I never actually noticed. Even sweating it uphill I have a bit of a breeze. More air circulation than I could ask for. And working hard and sweating... the heat was never an issue. I NEVER noticed but people would CONTINUE to comment on and ask about this.

I was writing my thoughts in my journal (the source of all these memories and experiences) at the local dive and I was approached by the exceptionally outgoing citizens of Bowman, ND. One person asked me how the golfing was. ??? What golfing??? He had seen my (bike) glove tan and thought it was a (golf) glove tan. He thought I had "Golfer Hand". I showed him that it wasn't golfer hand because I, in fact, had it on both hands, not just my left. An old dude in a veterans cap approached me and asked what I was writing. I told him I was recording my thoughts and experiences. He thought for a minute and asked if this was going to be recorded, meaning our conversation. I thought for a minute, and said "I suppose so. If it's a notable event, I'll write it down." By asking, his question became a self-fulfilling one. Sure enough, I wrote down our experience.

That night, I truly experienced the power of a great Midwest storm. It was the most colossal war in the skies I had ever seen. We were at the intersection of two great storms converging and a friendly trucker introduced me to the Midwest hobby of "Storm Watchin'"... just as foreign to me as their fondness for "Road Trippin'" and "Rabbit Shootin'". But Storm Watchin' is truly a spectacle, better than television. The strength and magnitude of these storms as they roll over the great flat expanse of the Midwest, picking up steam and shaking the Earth with their strength... truly a humbling hobby. I'd like try it again.

mobridge, sd. x2

Ran into my buddy Matt from Seattle in South Dakota like WHAT??

Chillin in South Dakota

Life is Good in South Dakota

A cowboy riding a fish in South Dakota

Sitting Bull (allegedly) buried here in South Dakota

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I was plugging along on US Route 12 when I was about halfway through my day, stopped on the side of the road, considering whether or not to turn into a town for lunch. I was trying to gauge if it was a big enough town to support a restaurant when my buddy MATT who I have known for YEARS back in SEATTLE pulled up in his car.

He and his sister and brother-in-law were Road Trippin' to South Dakota (their origin) for an annual family reunion. Matt had told them about me and my endeavor, and so as they were driving, Matt's sister, Jolie said--"Hey! is that your friend over there??" seeing me parked on the highway shoulder. "Uh.. yes that is my friend," says Matt. They pull up and ask me: "Would you like a ride??" I said I would not say no to that and Jolie saw the relief in my eyes. We disassembled and loaded my bike into the back, helping me cruise through what I later realized would be the most barren and deserted stretch of my entire trip, "West River" South Dakota (a racially charged term).

I thoroughly enjoyed being the resident non-family member at their family reunion. I was given an originally gruff greeting by Matt's war vet old man due to a failed joke and miscommunication--he thought I was literally a vagrant found on the road, not an old friend. After the confusion, I was given a spot at the table and enjoyed spending time with the extended family of a friend of mine. A truly weird and treasured experience.

I enjoyed hanging out with Mike, the brother-in-law and fellow outsider. He set me up with a place to stay in Milwaukee for which I was so grateful.

selby, sd.

My grandmother is from Selby, SD, and by sheer accident, I ended up going through Selby. There's not much in Selby.

I scoured both of the cemeteries in town looking for a familiar last name, but no luck.

Selby doesn't have much other than a decommissioned opera house and Mr. Bob's Drive-Inn. My lunch at Mr. Bob's was depressing. A piece of dry chicken on a bun and a "strawberry milkshake" which I guess they took to mean a "strawberry smoothie". Not the same. Honestly, I'm not surprised my grandmother skipped town.

aberdeen, sd.

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My grandfather is from Aberdeen, SD, and again, by sheer accident, I ended up going through Aberdeen. Aberdeen is a bit more exiting than Selby.

I was inspired on this day to take the time to record how my body was feeling. I'll let my journal speak for itself:

My muscles never ache. My thighs, calves, whatever other muscles in my legs, all fine. All of the ache and pain is in my joints. My knees ache so much. My elbows are suffering. Aside from that, my butt is so sore. Today, it started peeling. My hands have gone numb. Some of my fingers, centered around the ring finger of each hand, are constantly tingling. I cannot fully close my hands. My grip strength is pathetic. I keep my money and ID etc. in a binder clip. I can no longer open the binder clip with my fingers. If I buy something, I have to put the clip on the counter and press it down with my palm.

In Aberdeen, you can have a magnificent steak dinner for less than ten dollars, including, a salad, loaf of bread, baked potato, texas toast etc. I felt like a king.

waubay, sd.

Thanks, Pete, for lunch

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The wind in South Dakota is gross.

A wonderful man in Bristol bought me lunch. He was also an adventurer, having through-hiked the Appalachian Trail. Meeting him was a little bit of "Trail Magic"

benson, mn.

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MINNESOTA!!!

My Mother said Minnesota was the first state that sounded really far away.

The people of Benson were very nice to me. I was shown great hospitality and kindness. A man named Mike did me a great favor with only the request that I pay it forward. They gave me a camo trucker cap and told me, "Don't forget Benson."

st cloud, mn.

Crossing the Mississippi was a HUGE deal!

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I can no longer be the best thing West of the Mississippi. Because I am no longer West of the Mississippi.

I saw a fox eat a bunny rabbit. The roadkill in this area is ... turtles.

A woman in this area was concerned for my safety and gave me pepper spray. I would carry it with me until it was later confiscated at the Canadian border.

minneapolis, mn. x3

I never meant to cause you any sorrow... I never meant to cause you any pain

Cause baby Im a star

She saw me walking the streets of your fine city

There is a park that is known for the faces that it attracts

Im not a woman/Im not a man/I am something that youll never understand

I just cant believe all the things people say

Dr. Mambos Combo feat. Sonny T, Chance Howard

You might not know it now

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st paul, mn.

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It's hard to bike out of a city. It's twice as hard to bike out of twin cities.

menomonie, wi.

am i not turtly enuff for the turtle club ?

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WISCONSIN!!!

At this point, the states are just flying by.

eau claire, wi. x2

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Had to take a Zero Day in Eau Claire

millston, wi.

Unbelievable light and hospitality

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The Tour de France has been going on for a little while. I've found that I now enjoy watching it on TV. I think I've found a new appreciation for it.

I spent the night in Millston, an unincorporated township, which I've come to learn just means a remarkably small town.

I spent the evening at the 300 Club, where I ordered a mushroom and swiss sandwich. I guess they think "sandwich" means "burger" here because it was just a mushroom and swiss burger.

There was live music, a band that plays both kinds of music: country and western. A bunch of old women were square dancing (??? I think??) and so after a couple rounds, I got up and joined them, doing the moves with a bunch of geriatric women. It was fun.

Two Harley dudes in Millston were talking to me. I mentioned that I keep a journal. They said I should write about them, "two funny old guys I met in Millston." So, Gene and Pete, I did write about you.

wisconsin dells, wi.

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Wisconsin Dells.... more like Wisconsin Hells.

I have no further comments.

madison, wi. x2

Bucky Badger!

So. Much. Corn.

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Leaving the Dalles, I had a heck of a time getting out, and once I got to the road I was planning to take, I was opposed (for the first time) by a sign explicitly banning bicycles. The signs were too large, obvious, and numerous to claim ignorance. And they forced me down a much more dangerous and miserable road. So, the Dalles were the pits, beginning, middle, and end.

But coming into Madison, I caught a lovely free ferry with another biker and enjoyed the hills, which I had not had the pleasure of for at least a few flat states. Wisconsin looks quite reminiscent of Washington.

I stayed for a day at the hostel sharing a room with a nut named Charlie who was convinced his father was the Buddha. I thoroughly enjoyed State St. in downtown Madison. This is a place I'd like to live.

milwaukee, wi. x2

My sole source of entertainment for thousands of miles

Action Shot!

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The entire way from Madison to Milwaukee was on an amazing (tolled?!?!) bike trail. Some parts were full of happy people, and some stretches I would go for dozen of miles without seeing another human, except for one car that followed me and really creeped me out.

Coming into Milwaukee was rocky. I lost my notebook and shoes from the back of my bike.

But I had a connection here! My friend Mike, who was the other outsider at the South Dakota family reunion, had a musician friend who could put me up. So I stayed in the gracious company of Matt and Julia and their school age daughter. They thought I was arriving on a motorcycle bicycle and so were confused by my timeframes (how could it take him 3 hours from there??) but were incredibly welcoming. I decided to head to Chicago for a few days while they hold my stuff. (Taking the train from Milwaukee because biking through city sprawl is the worst.)

chicago, il. x3

Picasso

Beethoven in Gehry

Syd tha Kid

I camped early to be in the front for the Courtney Barnett Pitchfork show... 5th time seeing her live <3

CB @ P4K

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I loved Chicago. To my mind, Chicago is the city of Obama, David Sedaris, the Blues Brothers, Kanye West. It is of course that and much more. I loved the feeling and mood of this big old city. The Chicago Art Institute is one of the best museums I've seen, with easily the greatest Modern Art collection I've ever seen. They had an embarrassment of Picassos. Almost too much if I'm being honest. Their surrealist pieces were especially strong, with some of Magritte's greatest work.

I went to the Green Mill, a famous jazz club that was a favorite haunt of Al Capone. I saw the exact booth he liked to sit in -- his back would not have been exposed and it was near the exit.

From my journal (after spending time in a beautiful Chicago library):

Public libraries in major American cities attract the world's preeminent thinkers on & practitioners of weirdness. These are the elite laboratories for challenging acceptable societal norms & behaviors.

I went to the Pitchfork Music Festival (lucky timing) because Courtney Barnett was on the billing. I managed to sneak into a talk she had much earlier in the day with a P4K editor. I managed to be at the absolute front of her stage when she went on to perform (only a couple hours of waiting in place). Her latest album came out days after I started my journey and that CD is one of the 5 I carried. It was great to see her... yet again. Always a great performer

Chicago was fantastic. Yet another Midwest city that I could see myself living in.

muskegon, mi. x3

Goodbye, Milwaukee

Look out!!

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Caught a late ferry through Lake Michigan storms. People were getting sick and having a terrible time. Made it to Muskegon late at night and found my way to the unexpected (but welcome) hostel. As far as I can tell, there are only two in the state: Muskegon and Detroit. Regardless, welcome to Michigan. The woman who runs the hostel, Faith, stayed up to let me in and then gave me some curry rice. Very generous. Faith also gave me a homemade candy bar.

Crossing the time zone over the lake, arriving so late, and being in such a cool spot made it an easy choice to take a Zero Day.

I was the only one around, and so impressed by the bookshelf, I spent the day reading Hemingway's "Old Man and the Sea". Not his best work, but it was an important parable for me to read at this time in my life. Sometimes, a book meets you just when you need it. This was the case here.

I was on my way out after 1 day rest, and after a late start (accidentally locked up my gloves), I was on my way out. Barely a few miles down the lovely paved bike path, I got unexpectedly hit by a car!!! The only collision of the entire trip. It was a blind corner for us both, a driveway vs. a bike path. Since I am such a defensive rider, she hit only my bags and rear wheel, not me. It was such a low speed collision, I could have just kept riding if the hit hadn't "taco'd" my rear wheel, causing it to catch, throwing me to the ground. I was fine, except for a bruised hip and a shaken feeling. I took my bike to a shop just in case and decided to stay put for another day.

greenville, mi.

Was chased by a dog just after this photo

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I met kind bikers on the trail who bought me lunch and stayed with generous hosts at night with impeccable hospitality and interesting stories. These sort of encounters would have blown me away a couple months ago. I would have been in awe, grateful and embarrassed, but at this point... it's almost commonplace. I never took it for granted, but it has become routine. Almost mundane. Interesting thoughts that I don't care to unpack and analyze here.

lansing, mi.

From my journal:

Michigan feels like living on the moon after they figured out the biodome and long after it has lost its luster, like when living on the moon is about on interesting as living in Oregon.

Another great host: Emily, a state politics journalist. Thanks!!

durand, mi.

Flint

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At this point, I'm looking back and forward. I predict in my notebook that there are 2 weeks left on the road, a prediction close--but short by 2 days. I am wondering if this was actually the best route for me, or if I should have stuck to the Trans-Am. My feeling then and now is that I did make the right choices.

port huron, mi.

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My last stop before crossing the border tomorrow into Canada. Michigan was a quick and easy state. At this point, I've got things pretty much figured out.

sarnia, on.

Their stupid monopoly money

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Crossing the border was exhausting. There was a bridge to cross over the water into Ontario (one of three connecting Michigan to Canada). At first I was told I'd probably be turned away. Then I was told that it was fine. Then I was told to wait. It was all very weird. Eventually an officer drove me over the bridge. It all seemed a little unnecessary as there was a perfectly good pedestrian path going alongside the length of the bridge, but I was told that pedestrians were not allowed to travel it, not since 9/11.

Once IN Canada, border patrol searched my entire bike and all my bags, pulling out my food, first aid kit, tent, and everything else, searching it all rather thoroughly. It seemed all so weird--searching me, a kid on a bike, so diligently and invasively, as countless cars cruised by with barely a glance. But apparently I passed muster and they didn't find anything too bad. They did, however, confiscate the pepper spray that a lovely woman had given me at the Mississippi River for my own protection. But this was fine with me; I didn't really like traveling with it anyway but did so out of respect for the gift.

Canada was strange. The first things I noticed were how slippery their money is and also that there was a Walmart with a McDonald's in it.

I spent the rest of the day watching the new Mission Impossible film.

london, on.

In the morning I ate at Tim Hortons, which I felt was a proper Canadian thing to do. I liked the vibe; they played Elvis Costello and Nirvana. I notice that I've affected a bit of a breezy and confident air, almost a swagger, now that I approach my destination. I feel like the bulk of the trip is behind me and now I am just tying up loose ends.

I ate lunch at a place that was pretty much a woman's kitchen. As in... she was pulling things out of various tupperware containers to prepare my meal. She made herself a sandwich and ate it while I waited for a check. It was fantastic.

waterloo, on.

I've gotten deep enough into Canada to hear their distinct speech patterns, the classic "sorry"s and "eh"s are accurate. I love how they twist their vowels.

I had taken this moment to capture some thoughts that I hadn't had a chance to write down yet:

• Back in the boonies of Minnesota, power line poles had signs posted: "Do not climb! High voltage." And I thought to myself, only in a place like this would a sign like that be necessary! Of course these people would try to climb those poles.
• When I first came into Canada, power line poles had signs posted: "Caution! Look Up! Power Lines Above." And I thought to myself, how tall are these Canadians??
• Michigan has super lax booze laws. Convenience stores are lined with enormous walls of liquor. Canada is the opposite--alcohol is unavailable in stores. You have to go to a "Beer Store" for beer and I don't even know where they keep the liquor.
• I passed through a town in Michigan and below the welcome sign was the town's two claims to fame. The second of these was "2010 Girls Bowling Runners Up". What a strange claim to fame... they weren't even the 2010 Girls Bowling champs. Later in the day I went through a town that similarly displayed their accomplishments: "2012 Girls Bowling Champions". Girls Bowling must be unbelievably competitive in Michigan.
• In Canada, I biked past a sign: "Blind Person Area". I wonder if the blind person is aware that the sign is there. Later I saw a "Deaf Child Area" sign. Canadians are a thoughtful people.

toronto, on. x2

Graffiti Alley

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Whoever it was who went around the world in 80 days... In the same time I only made it to Toronto. Lol.

I had a great time in the 6ix. A woman asked me where my accent was from. I watched a guy snort a line of coke off a McDonald's table at 10am. I walked Graffiti Alley. I ate poutine. Toronto feels like a different world. A great place to run through with my woes.

I heard later that there is a Canadian saying:

Canadians hate Ontario; Ontarians hate Toronto; Torontians hate Bay St.

I walked Bay St., so I guess I've seen the absolute pits of Canada.

hamilton, on. x2

A Hamiltonian told me Hamilton is to Toronto as Brooklyn is to Manhattan. I think this is true.

I had the most AMAZING stay at a Warmshowers in Hamilton. So good, I couldn't resist staying another day. I almost won a game of Baby Boomer Trivial Pursuit with my hosts.

niagara falls, on.

Slooooowwwly I turned.... Step By Step.... Inch By Inch...

Glove tan

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Leaving Canada! Enjoyed seeing Niagara Falls from both countries. So Many Tourists. It is an amazing thing to see. Inspired some high quality vaudeville and brought back memories of watching the Stooges with my Dad.

albion, ny.

EMPIRE STATE

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Apparently I stumbled upon the ACA Northern Tier, another established bike route, because I was approached by other bikers, though it took me a while to realize because they were in plainclothes. If anything, it reinforced that I am happy to have forged my own path.

rochester, ny. x2

Literal obstacles

Rochester friends

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Had a broken spoke but got it fixed. A fallen tree blocked the path and I climbed over it. At this point, obstacles like this are old hat. Two months ago, they would have been my entire day.

My Dad had connections in Rochester so I checked it out. Went to the bar owned by the friend of his friend. Headed to the bathroom first and the handful of regular patrons had obviously made a few jokes at my expense while I was in the bathroom. I came out and sat at the bar and the keep checked my ID. "Washington State, what are you doing here?" I said that I had ridden my bike here. At this, he blinks, turns to the other patrons and says, "Shut the f*** up! Shut the g****** f*** up. This guy has ridden his f****n bike from f****n Washington state and you all need to shut up." This profanity laden disbelief continued for a while and they were all very impressed, by far more impressed than anyone I had encountered so far. It was all very entertaining. One of them insisted on signing my bicycle.

weedsport, ny.

This feels like the Champs-Élysées stage of my journey--everything is behind me and now I'm just cruising to the finish line.

utica, ny.

Neat.

Neat.

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Passed a sign like:

C omplete
A uto
R epair, Inc
S

schenectady, ny. x2

Wowww

Gross. Cant wait to cut it off.

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Last stop before NYC!!!

The journey is effectively over. From here, I ship my bike home, get rid of the stuff I don't need, and take a train into the city. Yet another helpful and kind host.

new york, ny.

Here in NYC

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The very first thing I did in this city was get a cut and a shave just outside Grand Central Station.

From my journal:

In New York, I feel like I'm home. It feels like just the right fit. I have a lot to do and learn in this city; I am ready and excited. I am absolutely done with this trip. It doesn't even feel like an achievement right now, just a silly thing I did...but I do not regret doing it in any way.