A long time coming

1000 miles from home, and another several hundred to go!

While in Oakland I got to thinking about the days to come, and after much hemming and hawing, decided that instead of biking clear to Arizona through days of farms and deserts, I would take the enjoyable alternative. This was to bike down the coast all the way as far as Los Angeles, and from there take a cheap train ride to Flagstaff. This decision was a great relief to me, who had been feeling a bit of time pressure, and was also not totally mentally prepared for going many days without a campsite or trees to hang a hammock, and also many miles at a time with no water.

The rest of my time in Oakland was a breeze. Visiting sweet infoshops and toyshops and coffeeshops, hearing some great music and partying on the beach in San Fran with my newly made Cuban friend Fredo and Jenny, an old friend newly moved to the bay. I also checked out Sacred Rose Tattoo, where my good friends house mate Amanda works, received my friend Helen for a few hours, and soaked up the mid november sun. On the last morning, Zach, Sadie, and James saw me off with a heaping breakfast meal before I headed on to the train out of the city.

My first day was a long, exciting, and ultimately challenging one. I went up along the skyline avenue south of S.F. towards Santa Cruz, and it was definately a big jump back into the saddle, reaching heights of 3000 ft elevation along some points in the trail after starting from sea level. I passed the original Alice's Restaurant (though I only learned it was the original many weeks later), and many beautiful lookouts over the bay and the sea. I was in kinda a weird head space, starting the very physical work after a week of rest, and also wrestling with some emotional issues associated with my break-up with my longtime girlfriend Jen. Nonetheless, the motion and adrenaline where a good distraction.

As the day wore on, I started to get a bit worried about reaching my intended destination by nightfall. About an hour from sunset I was still climbing, and peaked the hill with even less light left. I raced headlong back down the hill and covered 15 miles in about half an hour, but I was still about 10 miles from my camp when the light went away completely. I stopped at a little restaurant, figuring it was dark already, it didn't matter if I rested now or not, plus i thought the homecoming traffic might lessen. Over a traditional german sausage and Erdinger beer (thanks for the tip Andreas!) I chatted with a young bartender about life in Santa cruz, before recommencing my trip. I made it the several miles in the dark with just a little headlight, to the park, and after riding a mile into the entrance station, found that the actual campground was about 4 miles around the other side of the park. I headed back and around, and about two miles in encountered yet another ridiculous hill. About half-way up the hill I felt my back end wobbling more than it should, and stopped to find that a screw had come off holding my rack to the bike. So, in the dark on the side of the road I had a little freakout. I calmed a bit and fixed the issue with a thick piece of wire, then climbed back on and crawled the last mile or two to the campsite. Wouldn't ya know, it was closed for the season. Disregarding the rules never felt so good. I slept like a babe that night.

The next day I made it into Santa Cruz early and tootled around, saw a monarch cluster (not a big one) and enjoyed the town, before heading on down the road. A few miles in I got pulled over by a cop, who read me the riot act on not biking on the freeway, even though it was the same highway 1 which I had been on for hundreds of miles. Then he made me wait awhile for another car to come to give a sobriety test (why a long distance biker on a freeway would be in any way intoxicated is beyond me), and then when I passed with flying colors, apologetically gave me a ride off of the freeway and directions to get to my next camp.

The next day I fumbled around the Salinas valley, trying to find my way to Monterey while avoiding Hwy 1, which I now knew was not an option. I had intended to go the Aquarium, but the 30 dollar price tag was a bit too steep, and I continued on my way, entering Big Sur an hour before sunset. Here I had another ride in the dark for an hour after dark. In the campsite I met some excellent folks from Montreal, Antonie and Andree, who were biking from Vancouver BC to San Diego, the whole coast. I road with them for the next day, passing through the beautiful Big Sur area, which is similar in many ways to highway 1 around Fort Bragg, north of San Fran. It was interesting to be in Central California, and still be fifty miles either way to the nearest grocery store. The coastline here is just as dramatic as the northern parts, but it is easier because there are many more bridges, so that you don't have to roll in and out of the gullys. On the final day coming out of Big Sur, I passed a cool spot with hundreds of elephant seals lounging around, and was really happy to see these crazy big beasts.

The last couple days riding towards LA were pretty and uneventful. My knee started hurting really bad around San Luis Obispo, but i found just the correct muscle that was hurting, rubbed it intensely with my hands and tiger balm, and the next day I was pain free. I ran into a father/son team who had started in Portland, Ben and Tony from Pittsburgh, and wound up biking with them for a couple days, entering LA together. Otherwise, I just cruised and enjoyed the sun through the last days, through Santa Barbara, Malibu (the town that stretches for 20 some miles with no real center, just giant mansions), and finally into Santa Monica and Venice, where i met up with Deniz and Alex, my hosts in Portland and my hosts in LA!


In LA, I spent alot of time hanging out, and enjoyed a wonderful Thanksgiving with friends new and old, including all of the wonderful dishes that one should expect and so much warmth and cheer that it about made me explode with happiness. I also saw the fantastic Mr. Fox, which I have been waiting for years to see, and it was awesome, as well as visiting a really cool hippie hangout where Alex may or may not move in the hills near LA. Two days after Thanksgiving I got on a train to Flagstaff, and had a wonderful evening staring out at the passing Mojave desert in the moonlight, talking to a Swedish girl I met on the train. In Flag, we went together with a friend of hers to a sweet little coffeeshop and had a wonderful breakfast, at which point we parted with exchanged facebook information, and I gathered a few essentials before getting picked up by my new host Belle.

Thus concludes the current journey, but really only a leg of it. My life here is exciting and adventureful, and I will be sure to write soon with more info about it, as well as a host of pictures from the trip and after (as soon as I get my disposable camera developed)

Cheers, Larken

Post script: If any of you have been feeling blue lately, you are not alone. You may be experiencing a viral bummer, sent from Southern Montana, or an unfathomable bummer when contemplating the gyre in the North Pacific, or just thinking of the whole year of 2009 as one collassal bummer, but fear not. We hear at High-altitude gardens have begun work in our newly established BBTI (bummer blocker technologies institute) to research a new device called a bummer shield to block all of the potentially harmful bummer particles flowing through the ether. Look for new products arriving soon, in many pleasing colors that will be sure to keep you happy and bum free.

The Middle from the End

Blog post number the second.
Though I have now competed my southward journey, I have yet to relate it internet-wise, and so must return in my thoughts to an earlier time, long before the California border, in order to present a clear timeline of events. Though clarity and chronological story-telling are not my chief concern, I think that I will yet use them as a back bone on which to build a fully fleshed tale of travel.

While still in Portland, I gained a better appreciation of our lovely neighbor to the south. The bicycle scene is full-fledged and I was able to do repairs on the bike so that I was not in broke mode. I also found time to bar-hop a bit, check out a neat little anarchist info-shop where I picked up a few zines contra the police state, the 2010 olympics, and capitalism in various other forms. I also checked out Burnside skate park, rode around the city on bikes and trains and gondolas, and generally hooliganized. But in the end it was time to leave the town and get on with the trip.

I left on a bright sunny morning headed down Hwy 99 towards Eugene to stay with my friend Helen. The first day was fine, nice little towns and farms, though not a whole lot to see. I found a nice camping spot overlooking the road up a big hill and spent a pleasent evening, though not a particularly restful one because i was still on edge from the last time I camped out. That night it started raining, and continued through the morning. This was probably the worst day of the trip. I pedelled into corvallis all wet and went into a nice place to have a cup o' chocolate and a scone and warm up a bit. I was still wet though, and as I headed back out into the world again the wind picked up. For the next two hours I pounded into the rain with the wind in my face coming straight down the Willimette valley. I had to stop at a McDonalds for another cup of coffee, and I couldn't feel my fingers so I had to work the key to my bike lock with my palms, which is not an easy endeavor. Paying was also a difficult endeavor, and after my coffee was done I had a really hard time going back out. Nonetheless I did, and finally made it to Helen's.
There is nothing like a hot shower after five or six hours in the wind and rain.

I enjoyed my night in Eugene, and wished that I could have stayed longer, but Helen was leaving town so I was too. I headed out the next morning to the coast to meet up with Hwy 101 at Florence. This was probably the first really lovely day of the trip. Everything was sunny, and I traveled along a river for a good part of it, which was just incredible. I ate lunch along a carved rock river bank, and watched the water flow, slowly eating away the minerals to form naturally sculpted wonders. The trip was a little longer than I expected, and I got to the coast as sunset was approaching. I didn't feel like dealing with guerilla camping, so I stopped at a local state park, and was amazed to find that they had a camp site for bikers that was only 4 dollars a night. I felt like I had hit the Jackpot. In the camp was another girl from Australia who was traveling from Portland to San Francisco, and I learned that "Hike n' Bike" campsites were common along the coast; Double Jackpot! I decided that the 4 dollars was worth the peace of mind and comfort afforded by a real official campsite, and that I would do my best to stay in these sites for the rest of the trip.

The next several days were quite magnificent, with only a few negatives. The Southern Oregon coast is incredibly beautiful, with big rocks poking out of the water and incredible cliffs. The big spruce trees are hung with beautiful moss like the southern live oaks that I saw in Savannah. The twisty road hugging the cliffs affords panorama after panorama of the sea waves crashing and hidden coves accessible only by boats. My second day on the coast it rained again most of the day, but I was smart and wore more rain protection, and so stayed warm most of the day.

I reached California on the fourth day out of Eugene, and had a bit of a scare. As I was nearing the end of the day, A squeak started and proceeded to get louder and louder over the course of a mile or so. I had just gotten over celebrating reaching California, and now I had more problems. It was worse than anything I had heard yet, and I was very worried that my bottom bracket had given out, and resolved to stop as soon as possible and get to a bike shop early the next day. I made my way to a park that was a bit out of the way, and after following tiny signs for what seemed like forever I reached the park which was, to my extreme dismay, closed to camping. I had a moment of panic, as I was surrounded by farm land with no place to camp, and I made the snap decision to get a motel so that I could be close to town and get my bike fixed early the next day. I got in, got myself settled and started looking at my bike. Turns out it was just the wheels on my rear derailer, and I fixed it with a little well placed lube. I was very happy that I didn't need any more repairs.

California started off with a bang. After my panic on the first day, I felt happy starting the second day with a nice flat stretch. After about a mile this turned into the 2nd steepest and longest hill I was to climb in the whole trip. I crawled up it for an hour or two, into the Redwood National Park. This was followed by a rapid downhill descent over bumpy road, inches from trucks and giant RV's. I felt more alive than I had ever been, screaming down the hill, hooping and hollaring the whole way. The road went all the way back down to sea level, and was then followed by the 1st steepest and longest hill of the trip, reaching an altitude of 1500 ft. from sea level in a handful of miles. I was dubious of what was yet to come, but after this second hill it was easy riding to my campsite of the evening. The next day I made a brief stop at Humboldt State University to use the comps, then pushed on to Humboldt Redwoods State Park, which has the incredible Avenue of the Giants. I reached this an hour before dark, and slowely pedelled between these ancient monolithic trunks, craning my neck to see the tops and trying not to crash while enjoying their immensity.

To this point I had been pushing myself each day, and was suffering from strained tendons and strained patience. I would get very angry at the wind and the hills, and was causing myself to miss the most important part of the trip, which was the trip itself. Why ride your bike if you got angry at the unique challenges of bike riding? The slow ride through the Redwoods in the fading light was a inspirational and enlightening moment, when I realized that my surroundings required more than cursory attention, but actually my full attention. This realization changed the rest of the trip for the better, and I think that the following days were one of my more enjoyable periods of life in memory.

The following day I spent two hours on the Eel river between riding, basking in the sun and dipping in the river, watching the dragonflies land on my toe and the glint of the fish swimming through the reeds. I slowed my pace, moseying up hills instead of wrecking myself on them. I took a break day on Halloween and spent the day reading Frankenstein by the banks of the Eel, cooling my heels in the hold mountain water. The following day I followed the road over the hill to Hwy 1, and was again blown away by the magnificence of the coast line, similar to S. Oregon but new and beautiful in its own way. Along the Coast I stopped in tiny Mendocino, and wandered the sculpture garden as I ate my morning snack, regularly taken an hour and a half to two hours into the ride. I met a funny old guy who lived his life walking up and down Hwy 1 staying at the Hike n' Bike camps, and who was about to get both of this shoulders and both of his hips replaced as a cause of it. I guess that the life of a nomad can be damaging if taken to an extreme. I stayed at a property owned by a friends grandmother the next night, and felt a bit like I was guerrilla camping again, though I wasn't really trespassing.

My final night before I got to the Bay Area I stayed in Bodega Dunes, near Bodega Bay, and spent a good twenty minutes looking out at the horizon, thinking about the trip and the near conclusion of it's longest leg. It had been a good trip and taught me a lot about myself, and about life. About how to slow down, appreciate what is around because no matter how important the destination, its never so important that you forget about the here and now.

I wrote a little piece about this when traveling two summers ago. I was going from Rio de Janiero to Paris, and counting two long distance busses, a plane, a 10 hour layover, another two planes, and a train, it took me in excess of 60 hours, not including the several hours running around Paris to find a room. I wrote this about 2/3 of the way through.

Thoughts while sitting:
The hours while away slowly
The need to sleep is delayed by the lack of a place
Like a form of torture, the designers of airports want to inflict upon us delirium through constant wakefulness
In motion or still, hours are measured the same
Time from when I last had a place to rest my head until the next place of comfort.
I don't even demand comfort
A carpet at least, or some grass
Not these interminable passages of marble and steel.
Modern travel consists of beared inconveniences,
beared because they only last so long

I would rather take my time, if it meant I could lay down once a day
when I'm tired
and rise again to continue,
rather than exist in this limbo,
waking coma
'til at last I arrive at the destination

Some famous person wrote that the journey is as important as the destination, and its attainment.
For me, as for many, there is no "final" destination,
So why do we rush to seek it

Perhaps by embracing the journey, the destination becomes less determined
I know where (what city) I will sleep next
If I was on foot I would sleep where I pleased.
I will fly, then taxi, finally to a hostel
On a boat, I could sleep on the go
or find a harbor or cove and cast anchor in the calm.
We are in such a hurry to get "there", we forget life isn't "there", it is "Here"!


I think I may have found my method of transportation, whereby I can experience "here" while still journeying towards a there, appreciating both for their own merits.

My last day of the leg I travelled through farm country which was gradually consumed by the suburbia of the Bay Area Metropolis. Traversing Petaluma, followed by a short bit of country in Sonoma Valley, and then true megalopolis starting with the city of Vallejo, over the Carquinez Bridge, and then through the contiguous cities of Rodeo, Pinole, El Sobrante, San Pablo, Richmond, El Cerrito, Albany, Berkeley, and finally my destination in North Oakland. It was quite a change from the wildness of the last several weeks, and I wasn't overly pleased. But my misgivings were erased when I arrived and was greeted with a wonderfully warm welcome. I was so happy to arrive having come just around 1000 miles since leaving Tacoma.

Beginning at the Middle

Well my friends, today we witness another step for mankind, or at least this kind of man. A non-directed communication, released into the void for the perusal of whomever may chance apon it in there random internet meanderings. Think not, ye, that this be the first electronic documentation of mine adventures into yonder wild world, but til this moment, each and every communication has been directed, and written with a specific set of recipients in mind. A page is turning, and my thoughts are no longer my own and those whom I choose, but the worlds.

I am beginning at the middle because I have had other adventures, and this is simply a continuation of a actions already set in motion, grinding on an imprecise path with unknown destination. Thus I will likely intersperse the new with the old, in an attempt to form a more complete picture of my experiences and what they mean. I hope this will be enlightening.

But as every experience has some deliniating features, separating it from previous experiences, my current conquest of the coast via bike commenced with a few hearty pedal strokes down the old roads, not more than 10 days ago. My plan was to go from tacoma to portland, portland to eugene, Eugene to the coast and on to San Francisco, and then on down the coast perhaps as far as L.A., at which point I will point my handlebars inland and follow a yet uncertain trail to central Arizona, to a farm outside the town of Cornville, where I will be learning the ins and outs of the seed farming business.

I am currently in Portland, visiting a friend and just now completing necessary bike repair. I am only a few days of actual riding into my journey, yet I already have adventures to relate. After having left my home on the previous sunday, I biked for a number of hours and was nearing Centralia on 507 as dark was approaching. I had planned on camping the whole way, and this was my inagaural night. I road until I saw an undistrubed patch of forest near the road, pulled to the side, waited until no cars were nearby, and quickly jumped through the bushes. I carried bike and bags in seperate trips to a nice moss lined clearing a hundred yards or so from the road. I had my dinner, set up my hammock, hung my food, and bedded down for the night, happy get some rest after my long hard day. I decided to read a bit before sleep, and started with the Rubaiyat by Omar Khayyam. Just a few pages in, I looked up to the sound of a car pulling over on the road. New thing I hear is "HEY BUDDY, I SEE YOU IN THERE. I HOPE YOU REALIZE YOU'RE TRESPASSING ON PRIVATE LAND! YOU BETTER GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE, I ALREADY CALLED THE COPS."
I tried to reply that I was simply passing through and would leave early in the morning, but the man was not interested in talking with me. He simply kept telling me, in other words not so kind, to beat a hasty retreat before the johnny law arrived.
What could I do? I quickly packed all my things, not wanting to get harrassed by cops while getting everything together. I then planned to go to the side of the road and wait for the cops, to explain that there were no posted "NO TRESPASSING" signs and ask where I would be able to camp. Well, between retreiving my food, packing my bags, and making doubly sure that I hadn't left anything, it took about 20 minutes to get ready. No cops. Then I frog hopped my bags and bike in short segments so that I wouldn't lose them in the dark towards the road, coming close to the road in about 15 more minutes. No cops. I then decided to sit for awhile, just out of veiw of traffic, and wait. After an hour of half-meditative, half-conscious sitting, I decided that I would brave it and go back into the woulds with the bare camping essentials. I finally got bedded again about three hours after I had initially, much more tired and somewhat wary, leading to a night of poorer sleep than I would have wanted.

The next adventure was not long in coming. The previous day I had heard a ping sound from my rear wheel, and after inspecting it visually I came to the conclusion that it had been a spoke loosening after my truing the day before. I had meant to try to true it the next morning, but since I had wanted to leave that particular camp site early, I wound up putting it off. Well, that was a mistake, because as I was coming up a hill near Longview, I heard a rapid serious of pings, and looked down to find my wheel royally fucked up. I made it to a driveway on the side of the road, and inspected the wheel to find 5 spokes broken. well, really lame, but I was prepared. I sat down to replace the spokes, and found that I couldn't quite get the replacement into the spoke nipple. I tried loosening the other side several times, thinking that this would allow the spoke to get closer to the threads, but this was to no avail. I finally started getting frustrated, and thought I would check to make sure I had the right spoke. I compared the broken spoke to the new and voila, the replacement was a a good centimeter too short, which is like a mile for spokes. This after going to the one shop in Tacoma that can cut spokes to size, and who should know how to freakin measure a stupid spoke length. note, Bike Tech can suck it.
Well, with no other options I decided to stash my stuff and hitchhike into Longview to get good replacement spokes. after my 45 minutes of walking and thumbing, a great guy with a giant truck and CAT on a trailer pulled over, and seeing that I just had a wheel, offered to drive back and get my bike and stuff. I was overjoyed. We got the stuff and made it into town in time to get my new spokes, but it was too late to fix the bike and make it back outside of town to find a camping spot, so I had to spring for a motel. In the motel I spent the evening putting on the new spokes and truing using a jury-rigged stand consisting of two chairs side by side and my eyeballs.
The next morning I went in to the bike shop and the man kindly trued it straight so that my brakes didn't rub before sending me on my way. I made it over the most intense bridge I have ever crossed, over the Colombia, and continued up hwy 30. All was going fine until I went over a ledge on the side of the road, and though I did not fall, and looked down to see my wheel way out of true again. I did my best to true using the brake pads as guides, and did an alright job. I got back on the road and prayed to the bike gods that I could just make it to Portland Please! It was a very nervous last 30 miles, but I made it and was so happy!

I have spent the last week trying to get a new wheel figured out, and as of three hours ago have a newly hand built wheel on an excellent rim, which I hope will carry me for many miles. I am hoping to leave either tomarrow or thursday, depending on the whether and that this wheel doesn't need any more adjustments. That puts me in Eugene on thursday or friday, and on to the biggest leg of the trip on saturday or sunday! Wish me luck!