On the Shoulders of America

Thursday, July 18 - Champagne on the Golden Gate Bridge

2008-11-07T12:26:00.004-07:00

[My journal got wet and unfortunately I was writing with a felt-tip pen, so the majority of the ink bled and 50 percent of what I wrote is illegible. I'll do my best to decipher/elaborate on what needs to be elaborated upon. Note to self: never journal with a felt tip pen.]
Arrived yesterday in San Fransisco after a rewarding 80-mile push. A long day of anticipation and picking blackberries on the side of the highway lead up to the moment that finally came when Alan, Christian, Dan and I were braving the strong wind to slam down a bottle of Champagne at the Apex of the Golden Gate Bridge. Although it was ideal that we could all cross the bridge together--sharing our moment of final victory--Matt was already up ahead of us, and Kristen accidentally took a detour that put her about an hour behind. We had no clue where Shannon and Colleen were, and Lee had broken from the group to visit his Grandfather who lived just north of the Bay area.
Once we all got back together, we rolled into downtown San Fransisco and bid farewell. Matt extended his hospitality to Shannon and Colleen, who we planned to meet the following day, and Alan had a boat to catch in which he would sail down to San Diego. Kristen, Christian, Dan and I ended up getting ahold of Duncan, Georgia and Lee and we all pitched in ten bucks each for a little hotel room that Christian had pre-booked for himself. One bed, five bikes and seven bodies... yeah.
Lee met up with some friends and went to a show at the Fillmore, Kristen met up with some of her friends, and Christian, Dan and I got burgers before finally crashing out in our teeny hotel. I awoke early this morning to spend my last 70 bucks on a bus ticket down to Oceanside. It leaves tomorrow morning. Lee said that he'd spot me some cash if I kept riding with him, Kristen and Christian the rest of the way down to S.D., and Duncan and Georgia invited me to go out to Mammoth with them to visit Duncan's aunt, but I had already told my family that I'd meet them down in Oceanside. So many opportunities!
To pull me through the last day, I ended up chiding my mom into loaning me 80 dollars to live off of until I got back home. That's actually what I'm doing now--waiting in a bank for my mom to transfer some funds into my account. Then I'll go meet up with the rest of the crew and enjoy the last of their company... at least for now.

Wednesday, July 17 - Flat tires and a dead fawn

2008-11-06T21:28:00.008-07:00

Sorry that I haven't written since the fifteenth. These past two days have been so fast paced, I barely have time to stop and smell the sea.

Kristen's knees were bothering her yesterday so she ended up hitching a ride for about 10 miles to get back with us at the camp cite. Lee and I rode most of the day together. We wanted to see if we could catch a glimpse of the 2008 All-Star Game, but the day took a turn for the more exciting: We were riding on the shoulder when up ahead a packed little blue Corola pulls over. It turns out that the couple in the front seats were some of Lee's friends from Vancouver, Duncan and Georgia, who were doing a road-trip across the U.S. to Vermont. We coaxed them into stopping for the night at our next camp cite, and Lee and I met them there after going to the grocery store where we bought ingredients for a spaghetti dinner, eggs and vegetables for omelettes in the morning, and plenty of beers to celebrate.

On the way to the camp cite, Lee and I found a paralyzed fawn on the shoulder of the road who had obviously just been hit by a car. We debated wether or not we should kill it, but having not the courage to do it, we called local animal control instead.

When Lee and I finally got back, we had another great night huddled around a campfire, roasting s'mores, drinking cheap beer and wine and listening to Alan's bear stories. In the morning, Duncan pulled out his guitar and Georgia let Matt play her mandolin as Duncan, Matt and Alan plucked folk music as the crew loaded up their bikes.

Today, I got two flat tires. Luckly, Matt had let me borrow his patch kit and I was riding with Christian both times I got the flats. Anyhow, I gotta go--just stopped to eat and now I gotta get back on the road. San Fran tomorrow!

Monday, July 15, 2008 - Redwoods!

2008-10-31T16:01:00.003-06:00

After leaving Eureka, (On the 13th) we rode all day, 32 miles of which was through the Avenue of the Giants, famous for its eternal passageways through the Redwood trees. In the morning, I rode with Kristen. She got a flat which I helped her change out just before the Ave., and by ther, Lee had rode up on us and the rest of the day was Kristen, Lee and I riding. Lee and I shared some of our goodies from Arcata while we were out in the middle of the gigantic forest. Kristen took off ahead of us and we all separated for a couple of hours to enjoy our time with the majestic trees.

By the time we got into a town, it was getting dark, and again Lee helped me buy some food. After we ate, Alan rolled into town with a great big smile--he had found a small pool of water dug into a readwood and spent an hour swimming.

It was dark when we left the town to go find the state park where we would camp. We rode down a steep hill for a few miles before we finally figured out the way we needed to go.

We got to the campground and crashed out quick. The weather was nice enough, so Alan and I didn't even bother setting up our tents. We passed around our 'goodies' and all slept soundly.

Yesterday (the 14th) was a great day, too. We all got up early to get a quick start on Legett hill, the largest climb of the entire ride. Before the climb, Lee decided he'd get his beauty sleep... on the shoulder of highway one.

I rode the climb solo, as I thought that Christian, Alan and Lee were ahead of me, but when I stopped in Westport for lunch, they came filing in from behind. After a croissant and a chat with some bike-messengers from Seattle who are also doing a tour, Christian and I knocked out the last 13 miles to our camp just outside of Fort Bragg.

Last night we all got really really messed up. Alan and I were the last men standing, having made a vow to guzzle down the rest of the wine. Alan told more of his stories and was stumbling all over out campground. I awoke in the night to a light rain, stumbled some more around the site, put my electronics in a zip-lock and drank a nalgene full of water, hoping that it would provide relief in the morning.

This morning has actually been quite nice. Christian, Lee, Kristen and I rolled into Ft. Bragg while riding along a pleasant logging road that skirts the coast. What a beautiful morning. Only 3 more 60 mile days to San Fran. How sad. I don't know where I will stay when I get there, but I guess the worst case scenerio is that I'm awake all night, like my original plan when I went into Seattle. Who knows, maybe I'll luck out again and someone will let me crash out on their couch. I also need to figure out how the hell I'm going to get from San Fran to Oceanside. I guess I still have alot of adventure left, afterall... but I feel like the trip is really over when I get to Oceanside.

Sunday, July 14, 2008 - Humboldt County!!!! Wooo!

2008-10-31T15:02:00.007-06:00

If everything would have worked out on the Colorado Trail, I would be finishing it today. Instead, today I am climbing the highest and most steep hill of the trip, just south of Legett. Alan, Christian, Lee and I did some 'drafting' this morning, a technique used by group cyclists so that they can work less and ride faster due to less wind resistance on the group.

After a while, Christian and Alan took off ahead up a hill, and Lee and I stuck together for the rest of the day. The air was thick from the Northern California forest fires less than 75 miles east. We had the opportunity to see a herd of beautiful, massive elk that were grazing just off the highway.
When Lee and I got into Arcata, he spotted me 20 bucks to get something to eat and we downed a pitcher of beer and ate some incredible hamburgers. Now somewhat drunk, we wondered around town hunting for Humboldt County's finest. Lee went into a music store and bought a Neil Young album and the store clerk showed us where we could find Arcata's most popular export. After wondering around the city square for a little while, we finally found what we were looking for.

Not long after that, we ran into Katie, Kristen and Chris again. Apparently, Katie and Kristen had once again decided to change their plans. Katie was just going to go back home to Alabama and Kristen decided to tough it out with us boys all the way down to San Diego. Katie is renting a car, driving out to Sacramento, and then from there, she plans on flying back to Alabama.

Excited that Kristen was back in the game, we all rode out of Arcata satisfied.

When Kristen, Lee and I rolled into Eureka, Shannon and Colleen called and said they were getting a hotel because Colleen was feeling sick. Lee wanted a hotel as well, so I decided to join, too. Matt, Alan, and Christian had already made it to the destination of the day 20 miles ahead, so I felt bad.

We stayed at the Heritage Motel in Eureka. Shitty. Eureka is a typical meth town. Colleen and Shannon bought some beer and wine and we ordered pizza and played drinking games. We packed seven of us into the room, but I've never slept more comfortably on a hotel floor.

We didn't wake up until 10:30. We all pitched in for a breakfast of cereal, milk, bagels and cream cheese before we loaded up our bikes. The hotel manager wasn't happy to see the seven of us filing out of the room, but in Eureka, I'm sure the guy had bigger problems to worry about that a bunch of well-to-do college-age kids piling in his hotel room.

We left Eureka after hitting the grocery store. Lee spotted me some more cash since all the banks were closed, it being a Sunday. Then we began another long, hard day on the rolling hills of Northern California.

Friday, July 12 - Climbing, exhaustion, and Sobriety

2008-10-31T14:55:00.004-06:00

Christian and I stuck together on the most difficult climb after leaving Crescent City, through the first of the Redwood trees. These trees are majestic. It was rewarding to coast down the hill after the climb. We stopped in Klamath on an indian reservation where we bought $5 sub sandwhiches. The natives were drinking tall-boys at the side of the gas station. We left Klamath for another large climb, and coasted downhill through more majestic Redwoods where we stopped to enjoy them and take some photographs before joining Matt, Alan and Lee at our camp site. Shannon and Colleen pulled into camp at sunset and it was our first night in four nights that we were alcohol-free. Alan told some bear stories, we ate dinner, and toasted with our marshmallows. We were all exhausted from the two harsh climbs and slept soundly, even without any beer ; )

It's morning now, and we have not yet begun to ride. I just decided (on the spot) after some talk with the x-smokers of the group that I will become one myself. I crumpled my 2 remaining cigarettes and tossed the pack in the fire pit and vowed to be finished. I don't have the money to spend on any more smokes.

Cheers

July 11, 2008 - Losing my Debit Card and Crossing the Border

2008-10-31T14:39:00.006-06:00

I'm exhausted, so this entry won't last long. Yesterday night, we rode to Harris Beach. Shortly after closing my last journal entry, Lee from Vancouver caught up with me and we rode together the rest of the way into camp, stopping at Arch Rock. We were first to arrive at camp and we pitched our tents before biking into town to pick up our groceries. Matt and Alan arrived and set up camp and then Lee and I went into Brookings and bought beer, wine, s'mores ingredients, chips and salsa, and some hotdogs. When we got back into camp, everyone else (Richard, Chris, Kristen, Katie, Shannon and Colled) had arrived and Kristen broke the news to us that her and Katie decided to rent a car to drive down to San Francisco. From there, they planned to ride down the rest of the way to San Diego. We figured we would be in San Diego around the same dates and would be able to hang out when they got there.

Chris, Richard, Katie and Kristen will all be taking an off day tomorrow, so this is really the last night with the entire group at its peak. We celebrated eachother's company over plenty of beer and wine, singing songs alongside Alan and his mandolin. A perfect but bittersweet ending to this wonderful group of travelers.

This morning, I woke up early and packed quick. I was out of the campground having already said good-bye to the off-dayers by 9:15 and I was on the road. The bike shop in Brookings wasn't open yet, so I took my chances with not buying a new spare tube nor patch kit until I Crescent City. Crossing the border felt good. They were checking to make sure that nobody was bringing in out-of-state fruit over the border.

I was the front-runner pulling into the city and had coffee and a breakfast bagel at this great little cafe. Called some family and relaxed for about an hour. When I was about to leave the cafe, Alan, Matt and Lee came into view from down the road. We went grocery shopping and ate more lunch on the beach. Matt, Alan and Lee went on as Christian led the way to the bike shop, where I realized that I had lost my debit card. I paid with what little cash I had for the tubes, and Christian covered the rest. I found a branch of my bank a few blocks away where I cancelled my card, ordered a new one, and was able to withdraw some cash.

Christian has become an amazing friend. He told me not to be afraid to ask him for more money if I needed it. I invited him later to hike a section of the Colorado Trail with my friend Dan and I in August, and it just might happen.

Anyways, I'm tired. More tomorrow. Goodnight.

There and Back- My first publication

2008-09-26T09:35:00.001-06:00

You can pick one up for free at the Auraria Campus, any Denver area REI, or visit www.thereandbackmagazine.com to learn how to order an inexpensive subscription. If you're outside of Colorado, e-mail me your address and I'll send you a copy.

Thursday, July 10- Ah! So this is life...

2008-09-18T20:46:00.003-06:00

These past few days have been filled with the moments that I live for. After riding problem-free the rest of the way from Bandon to Humbug State Park, we all decided to pitch in and save some money on two tent sites as oppesed to the Hiker/Biker section of the park. On the way in, a spectacular view of the roxky Oregon coast glimmered with the sun. I almost hitched beck to Port Orford to buy the beer for the evening, but Chris decided to treat us to a 24 pack of Busch, as he was already there.

Christian, Matt, Kristen and I decided we'd go for a dip in the ocean (Katie said that the tempurature and humidity here reminded her of back home in Alabama) and we were all screaming our asses off as the frigid waves would crash over our tired bodies. After hugs and pictures, we went back to camp to eat and greet Christ who just showed up with the beer.

After getting drunk, Lee gave me a tall-boy as a thanks for the night before. I have a feeling he and I are going to be getting along just fine. I also helped Lee figure out his new simmer-lite stove.

Christian is a crack up: throughout the night, he continued to eminate his Swedish humour. Timo, of Amsterdam, is incredibly kind and proper, declining alcohol and going to bed early. Timo even apologized when Christian's drunk-ass tripped over his tent.

Lee, Chris, Matt and I decided to go for a late-night walk to the beach. The cliffs bordered the bay and framed the moon which was beginning to set on the midnight horizon. Black waves tumbled to our toes and I found my peace, there on the beach, with a group of beautiful strangers who I could forevermore call my friends. The others joined us, and we all sat against a log as the moon sank into the black ocean. Connor, a kid heading North who we had just met, pointed out several sparkling constelations andsattelites while the rest of us relaxed and tasted the sea salt on our lips. I walked back to camp early with Katie and immediately fell asleep.

This morning, we were all slow to awaken and get moving. After two cigarettes, Christian and I rolled out of camp together. He is much more fit than I, so within three miles, he was ahead of me. I met back up with him and Alan, a newbie to the group from Missoula, Montana. We had a big climb, which was rewarding, because I must have hit 40 mph while decending down the opposite side. There is nothing better than crying because of the wind in your face when you're splitting down a hill.

Wednesday, July 9-Rum and Riding

2008-09-18T20:27:00.003-06:00

Last night was great. After leaving the Fox Hole, I rode the rest of the way to North Bend, passing by Susan and Eric and catching Katie and Kristen before the bridge that we had to walk over because of the strong wind. After breaking away from the girls, I hunted down the nearest liquor store, which was in Coos Bay, one mile south of North Bend, but 12 miles away from the night's campsite (Sunset Bay--which deserves it's name). I got a flat tire in Coos Bay, and am currently riding without any spare tubes (but with a patch kit that Matt gave me). I changed the flat, cleaned and greased my chain, and bought a handle of rum and 2 liters of coke that I hauled the remaining 12 miles to camp. We all had tons of fun; Hot showers, warm meals, a camp fire, and plenty of shots and cocktails. I smoked up with Matt and supplemented my state with plenty of rum.

We added two more to our number. Timo, from Amsterdam, and Lee from Vancouver. At camp, I learned that Chris got two flat tires and Shannon and Colleen had some problems and had to hitch hike to North Bend to fix their bikes.

This morning, I woke up hung-over to the sound of Jimi Hendrix and The Doors blaring from Shannon's tent across the site. It's hard to be annoyed when hanging out with such amazing people and being on such an incredible adventure. I rode with Matt most of the morning and I am now sitting in a Bakery/ Deli in Bandon, Oregon. Tomorrow, I should be crossing the border into California.

Tuesday, July 8- Tumbleweed

2008-09-18T19:59:00.004-06:00

The further south down the coast I've come, the less touristy it has become. Lincoln City is more like a real town with real people than Cannon Beach and Astoria.

Everyone here is more or less separate but we are all following the same route and are sleeping at the same sites. We are all getting along great and are having an awesome time. I stayed with this group last night and will do so again tonight. We stayed up late, cooked together, and my tired body took a shower and fell asleep. When I woke up, we all cooked breakfast together and left individually, (this now being yesterday, the 7th) and we all went at our own pace the next 60 miles to the next decided camp area, Honeyman State Park. The ride yesterday was gorgeous. I took it slow because I was still recouperating from the 110 miles from the day before. I saw a beautiful lighthouse, took plenty of pictures, and rode easily, problem-free. The wind in many areas was strong behind my back. Trees on the coast line were bent naturally in the direction of the wind. When I got to Honeyman, Matt was already there and talking with Lupe and Michael, two room-mates who were walking the Oregon coast to raise funds for Oregon State Parks. Gereat people. Here, our group picked up a few more members: we met Chris from Connecticul and Richard from Arizona. In florence, before Honeyman, I treated myself to a seafood dinner in the local tourist trap. I paid 25 bucks for a bunch of fried seafood and french fries. I could've eaten better at a McDonalds.

Across the street was a bike shop where a group of kids from the east were on a Church trip, cycling down the coast. One of them got a gust of wind and blew over the guard rail--only the bike got hurt.

Anyhow, back at Honeyman, Matt, Shannon, Colleen, Christian and I went to look at the Dunes. Later, the Canadians and I smoked some green and had quite the relaxing night. We also ran into some dreadlock kids from Brooklyn who were heading to Virginia.

Right now, I'm writing this at 10 AM from a po-dunk bar on the side of the highway called "The Fox Hole", 20 miles south of Florence. All of us in the group met here for coffee and food. There's a vietnam vet here who is thumbing his way north to Astoria. Guy's name is 'Tumbleweed'. He keeps trying to talk to me as I'm trying to write this.

Today's destination is Sunset Bay, a little over 50 miles south of Honeyman. We're all taking it really easy today. We've got about 15 down, and 35 to go. The morning was calm; I was on the bike by 10, and have been happilly riding ever since. Can't wait for camp tonight--we're pitching on a bottle of whisky and are all ready for a rest and a good time.

Monday, July 8-Cycling!!!

2008-08-21T14:55:00.003-06:00

On the train from Seattle to Portland, I met Greg, who films professional snowboarding videos. He lives in Portland--really cool dude. When I got off the train in Portland, I blitzed over to catch my other bus to get back to Seaside so I could ride the rest of the way down the coast. On that bus, I met another cyclist who is an older guy from London. He was planning on riding all the way to Virginia.

I got off the bus at Seaside along with another guy from London (not the same guy riding to virginia) who was also planning to stay at the hostel. His name was Luke, and he was taking a year-and-a-half off of work in order to do a world tour. He said he's been to over 50 countries, and he's still got another year of traveling to go.

Once Luke and I got settled in at the hostel, he sent me on my bike to the nearest grocery store to pick up a 6-pack of "something local". When I got back, we paid the hostel $5 to have some home-made Vietnamese food cooked by the owner of the hostel's sister. Luke offered me a few beers with the meal, and when we were hanging out in the dining room, Nicholas came in to join. Luke and Nicholas got into an argument about the European time-zones, so Nick got pissed off once again and that was probably the last time I'll ever see him.

Luke and I had a great night without Nicholas's company. He gave me his information and told me that if I ever went to Europe, he could set up all sorts of places to stay. Really cool, really smart, all-around awesome guy. At around midnight, some Indian people from Seattle joined Luke and I in our dorm room. We shot the shit for an hour, I showered, and we all hit the sack.

The next morning (July 6th), I didn't get the early start I wanted. I was on the road by 9:30, and was dead set on hitting the 100 mile mark by the end of the day. Less than one mile into the ride, my left foot started to knock off the panier with my heel. The panier would get caught in my back spokes, bringing me to a screeching hault. Then I noticed the nuts that were holding my rack to the frame were loose, and that the rack was bent and crooked. I ended up tying down the left panier to the rack with some nylon cord, I tightened the nuts, and seing as how the crooked rack didn't seem to cause any problems, I let it be.

I rode all of 110 miles that day, pulling into Beverly Beach exactly 12 hours after leaving the hostel and a half an hour before the sun dropped into the sea. It was hell riding with all of the weight from the resupply package I'd recieved at the Seaside Hostel, so I tried to eat as much of the heavy/bulky stuff as I could. It was a beautiful ride, but I was more than happy to roll into Lincoln City, the 90 mile mark.

When I got to Beverly Beach just before sunset, I met six other cyclists who were also riding south down the coast. The first two faces I saw were Kristen Ragland and Christian Sojoerein, who were trying to build a fire. Kristen had set up the big logs in an awkward tee-pee shape, and with the help of Christian, she was finally able to get it started.

Kristen was travelling down the coast with her friend Katie, and they are both from Alabama. Katie teaches Freshman in high school about computers and Kristen does outdoor programs with disadvantaged adults out in Utah. These girls are hilarious. When I rolled up, Katie was on the edge of the camp-site trying to find that perfect spot to get cell-phone reception so she could talk to her brand new Mr. Charming back in Alabama--and as I already mentioned, Kristen was failing to light a pile of dry wood on fire.

I soon learned that Christian was born and raised in Sweden and lived there until he was twelve, when his family decided to move to Madrid, Spain, where he currently lives.

I also met Matt, a guy from San Fransisco who started in Astoria and is cycling back home. He's a bit older than the rest of the people, but he is great company, and knows alot about cycling. I also met Eric and Susan, two Portlandites who are riding down to San Diego and then flying out to Tuscon, Arizona for a Kung-Fu conference.

There was a Canadian couple who happened to be riding along the same route. Shannon and Colleen-- by far the most energetic and fun-loving people I think I've ever met.

Some of the people mentioned above happened to be camping at the same cites a day or two prior to my meeting them. Apparently, they had began to decide to stick together and last night, they invited me to ride with them. It might not be a bad idea, but it sounds like they only want to do a 60 mile-a-day average, as where if I ever want to make it down to San Diego, I'll need to average at least 100 per day. But today knocked me out. I don't know if it is going to be possible for me to make it down to San Diego by the 20th to meet my family.

Saturday, July 5th- The People that Make America Great

2008-08-21T14:25:00.004-06:00

The kindness I've fallen into here in Seattle is enough to make me want to cry. I spent last night with Jon and Melissa, who were adomant about not letting me pay for a thing. They paid for everything I drank, and on top of that, they let me sleep on their couch.
After calling them up yesterday, Jon and Melissa had me meet them and their friends Steve-O, Teresa, Chris, and Jason over at a bar called JuJu's, where where we hung out before going a block down to Shortys, then next door to The Whisky Bar, where Steve-O bought me another beer and two shots of Jager. After leaving the Whisky Bar, we took off to watch the fireworks above Lake Union. After a great display, we went to one more bar where we could get beer and tamales, which again, was completely paid for by Jon and Melissa.
We left the bars and went over to Beth's, a local breakfast cafe/ Denny's type of place. Steve-O paid for my meal and drove me over to Jon and Melissa's condo on the north side of the city.
This morning, when I woke up, I looked in the handle bar bag on my bike and Steve-O slipped an envelope into it that read "Tattoo/Road Money". Inside was sixty-two bucks. What a crazy kid, Steve-O.
Right now, I'm sitting on Melissa and Jon's balcony, enjoying my last morning in Seattle. They're still asleep, and I would love to go out to buy some coffee for them, but there's no way I could get back into the building.

I couldn't have asked for a better fourth of July. I watched fireworks with all of my great new friends, whose faces shine bright enough to pierce through these overcast Seattle skies. I've never felt more encouraged, never felt more respected and wanted and loved in my entire life. Jon, Melissa, and Steve-O, you guys were like older brothers to me. You paid my way (and then some!), gave me the d.l. on the city, and treated me like family. I'm already looking forward to the next time we all can get together (Denver, maybe?) and share a drink. Thanks guys--you're a true credit to humanity.

Friday, July 4- Sex, Drugs, and Seattle

2008-08-21T11:48:00.007-06:00

It rained the night of July 2nd when we were on the fringe of the golf course, and when Josh and I woke up, we packed our gear and rode a little while in a calm drizzle. It got really hot later in the day, and I ended up riding shirtless into Bremerton. While riding into the city on the side of a buisy 6-lane highway, I was screwing around with my camera when the battery door fell open and sent my batteries careening across the thoroughfare. Needless to say, I was not able to take a photograph of this intense highway I was riding on.

While on the ferry from Bremerton into Seattle, I saw Ron Ortiz, a guy who taught history at my high school and chaperoned the "Guitar Club" that I played drums for. He was doing a motorcycle tour of the Pacific Coast with some of his friends.

Josh and I rode our bikes off of the ferry and into downtown Seattle. After riding around the city and seeing our fill of Pike's Place Market (including the very first Starbucks), I called my friend Anna who used to live in Seattle, and she told me about The Rosebud, a bar she used to work at on Capitol Hill. Josh and I showed up, and after a drink, we parted ways. He was leaving to go meet his girlfriend at Sea-Tac airport, and they're going to spend the fourth of July weekend together before Josh loops around and starts to head south to Albaquerque. We hugged, exchanged numbers, and I was once again alone, for the first time in weeks.

It's difficult to give the chronological order of what happened next. I ordered another drink, and met some people out on the back patio of The Rosebud. All it took was five minutes of small talk for a guy named Chuck to invite me to sleep on an airmatress at his house.

But the wonderful opportunity to sleep for free on Chuck's couch came at a price. To say the least, my friend Chuck is one of the craziest/generous guys I've ever met.

We left The Rosebud and went back to Chuck's place. After snorting lines of coke on the back cover of a Rolling Stone Magazine, Chuck and his friends lit a joint and passed it around. And then another. And one more. More coke. Okay, now off to the bars, says Chuck.

When we were still in Chuck's driveway, a guy we were hanging out with named Brian kissed me. On the lips. And I'm not talking a peck--this dude full on kissed me. He put his hand on the back of my head, and flew at my face full force. I was speechless. He did the same thing to another guy later on in the night who ended up throwing his fist into Brian's face. Poor Brian-- mabye he should learn not to kiss-rape random dudes.

Anyhow, we went over to the Beacon Hill neighborhood where we went to the Beacon Hill Pub for more drinks. This is where I met Jon and Melissa, THE raddest people in all of Seattle. They weren't near as maniacle as Chuck, and it was nice to have a down-to-earth conversation in the middle of all the mayhem. After another few bars, (I can't remember which ones... Comet, I think was one of them) I got in the car with Chuck and had the most exhillerating three minutes of my entire life. I shit you not--Chuck's driving could easily have rivaled Nick Cage's in Gone in Sixty Seconds. Picture us fishtailing so bad that we come within inches of parked cars. Picture us blowing red lights. Picture going 70 in a 25. Now picture the long-haired tweeker driving the car. You have just pictured the most intense 3 minutes of my life.

When we stumbled out alive onto Chuck's driveway, we clambered into his house and drank more beer. Chuck and his buddies pulled out some tinfoil and plastic straws to smoke Oxycodone. More lines of coke. More Oxycodone.

Regardless of the drugs, Chuck was great. He was an entertainer, and an incredible host. He blew up a king-sized air matress just for me, pulled out some clean sheets and blankets, offered me a bowl of Trix in the morning, and did everything he possibly could to make sure I was comfortable. If you ever read this, Chuck, I owe you one, man.

The thing about Seattle that makes it Seattle isn't it's lively/artsy/cultured down-town area, but it's surrounding neighborhoods and the people within them. I'm writing this from Mama's Pizza in Capitol Hill.

So I am EXHAUSTED. I am hung over and running on 5 hours of sleep. Seattle is beginning to overwhelm me. The only reason is because again, tonight I don't have a place to sleep lined up. I've figured that the worst case senario is that I'm up all night and I'll wonder around the city until tomorrow afternoon when I can catch my train to Portland where I'll be able to sleep. I thought about staying at the Green Tortoise Hostel tonight, but all that is available is a queen sized bed for $37, which is worthless to me, because I'll be in a hostel wasting money tomorrow night back in Seaside.

Jon and Melissa gave me their phone number last night back at the pub. They told me to give them a call if I wasn't doing anything for the fourth, which I think is exactly what I'm about to do.
Happy fourth, everybody.

Wednesday, July 2- Clear Cutting and Shelton the Shit-hole

2008-08-21T11:11:00.007-06:00

Another 64 miles today. Josh and I are currently just north of Shelton, a little shithole town less than 34 miles from Port Orchard and Bremerton, which are both just a quick Ferry ride away from Seattle.

This morning was great. I awoke to the condensation gethering on the roof of my tent and a thick fog that capped the tops of the trees just outside my door. I'm a little sore from riding, but I'm mostly just tired.

The logging here is depressing and makes the ride through Washington a total downer. At first I was completely disgusted, but after thinking about it, I realize that everyone in America (including myself) has become so dependant on this industry, that to say it is awful would be extremely hypocritical of me. I do know that I take too many things (furniture, housing, shops, etc.) for granted, which are all things that I really don't need. The industry itself seems to do an okay job at re-harvesting formerly logged areas, but I think the bottom line is that I am too unknowledgable about these things to build an accurate and justified opinion. Afterall, this is the ever-expanding, all-encompassing America. Gotta have wood! (but not really).

I really ought to start eating healthier on the days that I ride--I had four doughnuts and a liter of milk for a 'snack' today, smoked a ciggarette after, and felt like shit for the next 10 miles. And to prove that I didn't learn my lesson, I binged on disgusting fast food when Josh and I got into Shelton.

The people we met in Shelton were the most unfriendly people I've met on this trip. A guy honked at me when I was riding today (I guess I was in the middle of the lane, but still) so I got pissed off, gave him the finger and he rolled down his window and bitched me out, which of course, I returned. There was a cop two cars back who didn't even seem to notice us.

Josh said a hooker tried to call after him, and after we ate dinner, there were a handfull of kids that were leaning out of the window of a pickup to yell at us. We got out of Shelton as fast as we could.

Right now, Josh and I are camping on the edge of a golf course. Earlier, a guy hit a ball over here and came to look for it--I don't think he saw us, but I can't be sure. If he did, then he obviously didn't report us, because we're still here.

My legs look like pizza crust and have been pillaged by the armies of mosquitoes that thrive in this region.
My mom's birthday was today. She was glad when I called her up--it was nice to hear her voice. I miss everyone in Denver, especially the family, very much. I hope they all are doing well and are enjoying the summer.

Seattle tomorrow! I'm anxious. So much to see and do, but no where to sleep when I get there. Onward ho!

Tuesday, July 1- Big Bridges and Logging Trucks

2008-08-21T10:51:00.005-06:00

I finally escaped Ft. Stevens today. Woke up at 6:15 and hit the road with Josh. We got a $4 pancake breakfast at the KOA across from the park and then made our way north across the daunting 4 and-a-half mile long Astoria bridge that crosses the Columbia River into Washington. The bridge had only a foot-wide shoulder--this factor combined with the semi's and SUV's racing by at 50 mph made the bridge horrifying.

We rode 64 miles today, and are now 50 miles deep into the beautiful state of Washington. The evergreen trees are incredible. Josh and I just set up camp on a service road right off of highway 101, beneath some powerlines and behind some trees. We're just north of Raymond and plan on passing through Sheldon tomorrow night.

The worst part about cycling in Washington are the logging trucks that pass by every five minutes. The only thing good about them is that they bring fresh gusts of sweet smelling pine and sap; but even this can be quite an ugly sensation, as the aroma is usually intertwined with plumes of exhaust.

Monday, June 30- Nick Gets Grumpy and My New Decision

2008-08-20T17:10:00.007-06:00

What a day. I'd like to say it was hell, but I think bad days on the Oregon Coast are non-existant.

The first half of the day, I was stagnant and craving a smoke. I felt stuck. I was hoping my package would come today so I could get the hell out of here, but it didn't. In hind-sight, I think I should have kept heading north and then picked up the package on my way back down the coast instead of killing time here at Ft. Stevens by waiting 5 days. So earlier today, I basically felt like shit.

Then Josh invited me to ride up to Seattle with him, with our arrival being the 4th of July, and after mulling over my options, my decision to join him broke alot of my uneasiness and settled my stress. I'm so glad about this decision. I've always wanted to see Seattle, and what better way than on a bike.

I bought a train ticket that leaves Seattle on the 5th, which will bring me back to Portland where I'll get on a bus back to Astoria and tackle the coast South-bound from there. So much to see, so little time, but I finally feel good about my choice.

I mailed a bunch of my backpacking stuff back to Denver today. After that, I hit the library and bought the aforementioned tickets.

When I got back to camp, Nicholas and Josh were fixing dinner. When Nick and I sat down to eat, Nick started yelling at Josh to get the hell out of the campsite so Nick could "eat in peace". Poor Josh left the camp and moved his tent to the other side of the camp ground.

Nicholas was pleasant the rest of the night (probably because he realized that he was an asshole earler and wanted to prove to himself that he really wasn't) and he gave me one of the five trout that he caught in a near-by lake.

The rest of the night, Nick tried to convince me to stay and camp with him instead of riding up to Seattle. Poor guy. I think he gets really lonesome. He's a travelling war veteran who lives off of his pension. No family, nothing. I told him I'd stop in at the Seaside Hostel to pick up my package and stay a night when I get back from Seattle. He said he'd be waiting to see how it went.

Anyhow, I've got to be up at 6:00 tomorrow to ride 60 miles north into Washington. Good night.

Sunday, June 29- Josh, my new best friend

2008-08-20T16:39:00.006-06:00

Another great day. It has now been over 2 weeks since I have embarked upon this journey, and every day I learn something new. Today, I rode back into Astoria with our camp neighbor, Josh. Josh is from San Fransisco, originally from Albaqueque. By the looks of him, I wouldn't have guessed that he was on a bike tour. He rode here all the way from San Fran, plans on meeting his girlfriend in Seattle, and from there, he will ride across the cascades and turn south through Idaho, Wyoming, and Colorado and meet his family back in Albaqueque. He has already taught me so many things about bicycle mechanics and maintanence that I would have been screwed without. It is to Josh that I will owe the success of my trip when I complete it.

Tensions were flaring between Nicholas and I earlier tonight. Even Josh called Nick out on his grumpy attitude.

I am more than ready to get the hell out of Ft. Stevens. I hope to God that the package Sonny sent is in the mail by Tuesday. I'm growing weary of my stagnation. A week ago, I was on foot and on the move. Although the coastline is beautiful, my feet (and wheels!) are growing restless. Especially now that I have everything I need to ride down the coast.

I've been thinking about Home alot tonight. It seems so distant. The security and the routine--such a horrible thing to be caught up in. I don't miss it at all; it's just weird not having that anymore. I've started to look forward to the coming semester of school, and with it in mind, I'm depressed about how little I've read this summer. Not one book--and I'm a damn English major. But on the more positive side of this, when I get back, I'm going to have so much to write about and with so much FERVOR!!! So in a sense, what I am doing now is far better than reading. In every sense--THIS is better than reading!!!!

I don't miss anyone from back in Denver. I know it sounds awful--and I would probably argue different if I were lonesome, but I'm not--I truly am content with the company I have. Although Nick is sometimes an asshole, his knowledge of the world and his odd North-Eastern personality is both entertaining and fascinating. I have already met so many incredible people by now that I am convinced that the traveler is never alone.

Astoria was beautiful today. Josh dragged me along with him to all the tourist attractions: the Astoria Column, the Goonies house, etc.

I've spent the last hour staring into the camp fire-- Nicholas always calls it 'television'. I'm ready for a good sleep. Tomorrow will be another big day, and I can't wait to see what it holds.

Saturday, June 28- Changing plans, and drinking with hicks

2008-08-20T16:13:00.007-06:00

This is day three here at Ft. Stevens, and I am growing restless. I woke up to my food spread out all over camp: another coon. I remember now why I like to travel alone. Nicholas, although interesting, has become another anchor to me. At least the package will be here soon. Maybe Tuesday or Wednesday. The beach is beautiful, but I'm ready to move on.

I'll apologize in advance: I'm sorry for being drunk. I met some people on the beach today who just gave me 4 beers. They also fed me fresh crab and shrimp. It was great. They were the self dubbed "hicks from the sticks," and every single one of them were absolutely wonderful--probably the most generous people I've met so far.

I made a huge decision when I was in Astoria today. I've been thinking alot about getting rid of my backpack and buying saddle bags for my bike. Although I really want to explore Seattle along with the rest of Washington, I really think that it would be great to travel along the Pacific Coast by bike and meet my family down in San Diego. Then I could catch a ride back to Denver with them, instead of paying for a bus ticket.

I called my dad. I usually call him when I make big decisions, and I think this one was big enough. It was good to hear of him--he's a great man, I have alot of respect for him and I love to talk to him about the things I am doing. I didn't mention anything about riding down the coast, but just talking to him calmed me down enough to approach my decision with a clear head.

I went to the bike shop where I spent a few hours picking out and attatching my new saddle bags. The guys there were really friendly; one of them gave me a used helmet for free and the other helped me attach the rack to my bike. After leaving the shop with all my new bike stuff, I bummed a cigarette and celebrated my decision to ride down to San Diego. I really shouldn't be smoking before starting the 1400 mile trip to San Diego, but fuck, I'm on vacation. I've been smoking about half a pack a day since the Colorado Trail.

ANYWAYS, I rode home, met some other cyclists at the camp site, and took off across the park to eat and drink with the hicks I'd met on the beach earlier in the day. Another day in paradise.

Friday, June 27-Fort Stevens State Park

2008-08-20T15:32:00.007-06:00

Right after I closed this notebook when I was done with my last entry, the owner of the hostel pulled me out of my pouting and invited me to a local bon-fire at the beach. It was a pot-luck, so in exchange for a delicios vietnamese rice dish, a hot dog, chips, grape-juice, and smores for desert, I brought some cheese and summer sausage I had bought in Cannon Beach. The meal was fantastic, and I met a lot of interesting locals. A woman moved to Seaside from Colorado, and another guy I met is the one who gave Keiko (the Free Willy whale) his memorial service. This man got teary-eyed just talking about Keiko.

We all watched another beautiful Pacific sunset and afterward, I walked back to the hostel with Nicholas.

I slept solid and awoke to eat a bowl of oatmeal in the community kitchen. 3 cups of coffee later, I was talking to Nicholas again about him traveling north with me along the coast to do some camping. His siberian-blue eyes lit up. He abandoned his plans to travel down to Sacramento, and together we hopped on a bus that brough us 20 miles north to Ft. Stevens State Park, just west of Astoria, which is where I write this from.

We got here, each paid our four dollars, and pitched our camp. He needed to get settled with his amenities, so we took the bus back into town to a Fred Myers, (basically a Wal-Mart disguised under a different name). While we were there, we met Angela from Vancouver--the city just north of Portland, not Vancouver Canada-- who was also camping at Ft. Stevens, who ended up giving us a ride back into the state park so we wouldn't have to pay for another bus fare.

After we got dropped off in camp, we took a walk to the lake and then to the ocean where we lounged about for a while before heading back to camp. After eating, we went to Angela's camp ground. She was with her 2 kids, and we discovered that she was having some serious problems with her husband. She got me drunk off of her last 4 beers and gave Nicholas and I the last of her firewood.

We got back to camp in the dark, and not even 5 minutes after laying down in our separate tents, we heard a coon getting into some meat we left in out in a cooler made from a milk jug. Nicholas threw his shoes out at the coon when he realized that there was also a skunk roaming around camp, so we got out of our tents until the critters got tired of Nicholas throwing camping gear at them.

Nick woke me at around 9:00 this morning, and we made our oatmeal and I called Sonny to have her send me out my re-supply box. Apparently, Fed-Ex wanted to charge $130 for my little package, so she took it to the post office, where they sent it out to the Seaside Hostel for only $25. So it looks like I'm stuck here at Ft. Stevens until at least the 1st.

I rode my bike out to the mouth of the Columbia river today. Went to the corner store and bought Nick a pack of smokes. I came back to camp and met Tim, our camp neighbor, who is 22 years old and biked here from Virginia. Very cool kid. I talked to him alot about backpackintg and ultra-light philosophy, as he did the entire Appilachian Trail in 3 and a half months.

Tim hit the sack and Nicholas and I spent another night watching the embers pop and flare in the fire pit.

I hope the package gets here soon....

Wednesday, June 25- Maybe it's Just the Weather...

2008-08-12T16:45:00.007-06:00

Cannon Beach is a resort constructed for the rich. The locals here in Seaside agree. I'm at the Seaside International Hostel righ now, and I feel like shit. My throat is raw (probably because I've been smoking rolled cigarettes) and I'm feeling down. Maybe it's the overcast weather here, I don't know.

Other than the yuppie-ness of Cannon Beach, the beach itself is quite nice. Haystack Rock is enormous; I was shadowed in it's massive presence just as the sun sank into the Pacific.

From there, I hiked into Ecola State Park, a few miles north, where I bedded down in a place that was close to an overlook of the shore. Camping wasn't allowed in the park, but I didn't care; it was forested enough to make for a perfect hide-out, and I woke up early enough to tear down camp before I could get either reported or caught.

After eating a bowl of Grape-Nuts while staring out into the sea, hiked back to the road where I rode my bike back into Cannon Beach. When I was on the bus from Portland, I noticed that my back-pack had started to tear, so I bought a needle and some thread and did what I could to repair it.

After a shoddy stitch-job, I got onto Highway 101 north-bound and arrived here in Seaside 8 miles later. I checked in, had a shower, and crashed out for an hour.

Nicholas, one of my dorm-mates, is an old 65-year-old man who looks like Hemingway. I also met an older Australian couple who are going to cycle from here all the way to the Atlantic.

I'm starting to miss Denver. Not necessarily the city--just the connotations of home that the city brings me. For example, my friends. My family. Or snuggling up on the couch infront of a good film after a delicious, hot meal.

I don't miss work. I don't miss school. I don't miss most of the people back home, either. I guess what I miss most is feeling secure. I'm low on cash for the type of trip I'm doing, and it sucks not knowing where I'm going to sleep tomorrow night, and knowing that when I get home, I'm going to be dead broke. But I have so much time off! What do I do with all of it? To go back to work is out of the question. To sit around at home in Denver would be drab.

Like I said... maybe it's just the weather.

Tuesday, June 24- Life as a Street Kid

2008-08-12T16:00:00.004-06:00

It's 6:30 PM, and I'm on the bus, riding out to Cannon Beach. I have a splitting headache--I guess that's what I get for drinking a 'space-bag' of cheap wine with Tag, Radar and Jeramiah.

I became a Portland street kid. After Tag and I went on a short ride around town on our bikes, he took me to "the 420 tree" where we met Radar and his daughter. We headed back to their camp where Jeramiah, the well-respected ring-leader of the crew almost got in a fight with Dark Horse, another kid who apparently made the big mistake of calling Jeramiah a 'punk-ass white boy' when they were downtown earlier in the week.

Snake, the camp dog, got incredibly sick. It was probably from eating whatever the hell these kids had spread all over their camp: beer bottles, candy wrappers, cigarette butts--molding crusts of bread. Snake's owner, Jessica, borrowed my head-lamp so she could doctor her dog in the darkness.

Two hours later, I got my headlamp back and was finally able to set up my tent and crash out.

I didn't wake up until 1:00 this afternoon. When I crawled out of my tent, they were passing a pipe around the pic-nic table that they had stolen from Washington Park. I pulled out my Pepsi-can stove and made myself some oat-meal, and they were all impressed by how convenient it was to have a stove for a hot meal. I promised to make them one when I come back.

After packing up and getting ready to walk back into town to do more exploring, Jeremiah came back to camp with some more pot, and by the time 3:00 in the afternoon rolled around, I decided that I needed to leave to do more exploring around the city.

The rest of the day, I lived as a tourist. I rode my bike around and took plenty of pictures. I also treated myself to some delicious Portland coffee from a local shop.

Tonight, I plan on staying in a state park near cannon beach. I should be getting into town at sunset, and I'll enjoy the coast until last light before night riding to a camping spot up north.

Present Update #2

2008-08-11T15:11:00.005-06:00

Hey everyone--

Sorry for no entries in the past week, things have been crazy. Last week, I was working on the article for There and Back (great mag, you should all pick up a copy, and I'm not just saying that because I write for it), yesterday I went on a bike ride up Mt. Evans, and today was my first day back to school.

Anyways, the ride up Mt. Evans was incredible. My friend Brendan and I left from our door-steps in downtown Denver at a grogy 6:30 in the morning and rode out to Golden where we met Dave and Nick, two of Brendan's friends from school who came along in order to train for their bike tour down to Panama.

From left to right: Nick, Me, Brendan, and Dave at the summit of Evans

Once we got to Echo Lake, about 15 miles from the summit of Evans, I wasn't sure that I could go on any further. My lungs felt like they were already going to collapse, and my quads were torched. Thanks to Brendan, who reminded me to live without regret, I decided to ride the last 15 miles and conquer the highest road in North America.

I fell asleep in class today. I guess after a summer of non-stop adventure, you get de-sensitized to exciting things like the history of the English language and British literature.

I plan on getting more of my summer journal entries and photographs on here soon, so keep an eye out.

PRESENT UPDATE

2008-08-05T10:31:00.003-06:00

Hello everyone,

First of all, thank you for reading my blog. I wanted to let you know that I will be taking a little time off from updating this blog in order to spend some quality time working on an article for the local Colorado magazine There and Back. The article is about my experience on the Colorado Trail, and I'll be sure to post it when it's complete.

I may or may not update this blog before Friday, but be sure to check back next week.

In other news, I've been talking to Christian, the Swedish guy I met while cycling down the coast, (he has not yet been introduced in this blog) and we are planning on hiking the last 100 miles or so of the Colorado trail the week of the Democratic National Convention. He's bought his plane ticket for Denver, and we both couldn't be more excited to continue our journey together.

Thanks again for reading,

Gavin

Monday, June 23- Tag and the Street Kids

2008-08-05T07:20:00.010-06:00

So much has happened in just the last two days, which doesn't leave a whole lot of time for writing. Here's the scoop:

I got off of the light-rail and walked over to Lindsey's (and my) apartment. She helped me reload my backpack, and because I decided to take my bike on the Greyhound, we broke it down together and stuffed it in a bike box. I brought the bike because I wanted to make sure I'd be able to get around up in the North West without the hassle of bus schedules and bus fares.

Lindsey walked me to the Greyhound station, and we said goodbye for the second time, which was just as hard as the first. I plan on being back on the 15th of July so I could see her before she moves to California. After that, I'm going to Oceanside, California for a family vacation the 18th through the 27th of July. Hopefully we'll be able to meet somewhere out in California, too.

The bus ride from Denver to Portland was long but fun. I was on the bus for a total of 31 hours. After leaving the Denver station two and a half hours late at 2:15 AM, I got settled in and started talking with an older black guy named Randy who was headed to his step-father's funeral in Sacramento. After small talk, we both curled into our seats and tried to sleep. One row up, a mother failed to diffuse her wound up toddlers who ran up and down the isle of the bus, screaming and singing songs until the sun came up.

When we stopped for breakfast in Evanston, Wyoming, Randy motioned me out of view from the bus and pulled out a stone pipe for some early morning 'tea'. Needless to say, I was finally able to sleep for a few hours.

I met a 50 year old woman who was on her way to fulfill her life-long dream of going to truck-driving school in Salt Lake City. I met Beau, a guy who's headed home to Seattle who wants to go hiking in the Cascades with me. Getting off in Portland with me was Mariel, an 18-year old expecting mother. The most interesting person I met on the bus was Five, a pony-tailed, healthy-looking hippy in his late forties. His birth name is literally 'Five', and he works for a company who pays him to hitch-hike around the states to pick up cars for delivery. He owns multiple vehicles, is world-traveled, smokes a lot of pot, and makes enough money to build his own earth-friendly 'green' house off of his hitch-hiking job and his own business renting out Jeeps. I've always wanted to hitch-hike across the country, and Five gave me plenty of pointers. He also told me about the Rainbow Gathering-a modern day, non-electric Woodstock that is held every year in a different national park.

When we stopped for a stretch break in Bend, I met my new friend, Tag. I met him when I was trying to bum a smoke, and after he sold me a cigarette, we got along great. Tag was headed back home to Portland after visiting his daughter in Bend. He is currently studying information technology at a school in Portland, but has no home. He spends his nights illegally camping with his friends at a camp-site they cleared out themselves in a well-hidden grove in Washington Park, which is walking distance from down town. Tag invited me to stay with them as long as I would like, so I think I'll stay tonight and head out to the coast tomorrow.

I got into Portland at about 6:00 this morning, and had been on the bus for 31 hours. After pulling the pieces of my bike out of the bike box and putting them back together, I wished Mariele good luck with her new baby, said goodbye, and went with Beau and Tag to Denny's where we ate breakfast. Beau had to hurry back to the station to get on the bus to Seattle, and Tag and I set off through the city as he taught me its basic geography and layout.

Portland is more beautiful and scenic than any other city I've ever been in. The Willamette River cuts through the center, dividing Portland into east and west, and Burnside St. along with the Burnside Bridge divides the city between north and south. Enormous green, leafy trees are intertwined throughout the city's high-rises, public art brightens up the streets, and strangers are never afraid to offer a 'hello'.

After walking across the Pearl District, China Town, and Old Town, Tag led us to the Burnside Skate Park, a famous park beneath a bridge that is featured in the original Tony Hawk video game. It was 8:00 on a misty Portland morning, and the skate park was empty. Tag dropped in and wove in and out of the park's massive pools, and I watched, happy to be breathing in the air of a city other than Denver.

After a stop at a bike shop so I could pick up some gear, Tag brought me back to the camp, which turned out to be more of a small commune than anything else. Apparently, Tag and his friends have all been squatting there for over four months now, and have no plans on leaving.

After getting his bike from the camp, Tag led me back into the city where he introduced me to some of the other street kids. It was about noon when they began to gather money for their supply of green for the rest of the day, and I told them I'd meet them back at the camp after going to the library to buy an online bus ticket so I could head to the coast the next day.

When I left the library, I decided to do some exploration on my own. Portland is an easy city to navigate. Mom-n-Pop places decorate Portland. The odd-ball public artwork gives the city an air of intellect, and the people here are generous with their courtesy. Recycling bins are every half-block, there are as many bike lanes as there are roads, and there is a net of electrical lines that is woven throughought the city to harbor an incredible public transportation system.

As for today, my exploration is finished and now I think I'll head back to 'the camp'. I'm so happy right now- a feeling that I haven't had for so damn long.

"Freedom's just another word for nothing left to loose" -Janis Joplin, "Me and Bobby McGee"

Saturday, June 21- The New Game Plan

2008-08-01T17:40:00.005-06:00

I spent yesterday making phone calls back to Denver, sitting on the internet in the Frisco Library, and riding around town on the free local bus.

Here's the new game plan: I am about to get picked up from the condo by Travis and Barbara, who have offered to give me a ride back to Denver. After a quick trip to R.E.I., dinner with friends and a re-evaluation of my gear, I'm going to catch a Greyhound Bus where I will ride to Portland, Oregon, arriving at 5:45 Monday morning. I've always wanted to go to the Pacific Northwest, and I can think of no better time.

Other than what is outlined above, I have no plan. Barbara and Travis reccommended the relaxing Cannon Beach, Oregon, where I can catch a beautiful sunset, and the San Juan Islands where I can explore beautiful forests in the middle of the sea. I've read about the only rainforest in America and the treacherous, rocky ocean fronts of the Olympic Peninsula. The Northern Cascades are filled with wildlife and beautiful scenery, not to mention, the northern tip of the Pacific Crest Trail.

Travis and Barbara are here. Time to roll.

Later that day:

When Travis and Barbara dropped me off in Denver, I started walking across town to the REI. On the Mall Ride, I met two nice, beautiful, young ladies, Elaine (Left) and Pat (Right), who needed help finding Union Station. They were in town from Cincinatti, Ohio for a nephew's wedding, and were taking a break from the family. After showing them the way, they invited me to have lunch with them, their treat, at a resturant of my choice. Truly wonderful women.

Anyhow, I just ate dinner with Mom and Dad out in Aurora, and now I'm on the light-rail headed to my old apartment to see Lindsey. I picked up my re-supply boxes from my parents, as they were going to bring me my box of pre-bought food and supplies on specific dates at certain places when I was out on the Colorado Trail. I'm planning on having Lindsey send them out to me when I'm up in the North-West.

I'm looking out the train window at my last Rocky Mountain sunset for the next three weeks. It's a great view from aboard the light-rail. The Colorado Trail already feels more like a dream than it does a reality. I was expecting it to last for so much longer, so I rushed through the trail too quickly to actually experience it. I never truly smelled that sweet pine, I never honestly tasted that cool, refreshing water from the streams. It's like swallowing a meal whole; no savoring, no tasting; I didn't give myself the chance to 'suck the marrow out of life'. I didn't simmer long enough in the magic of the moment. At least now I know.

It's 7:45 PM. Four hours until I leave for Portland. I'm getting that feeling in my stomach again--that one I get every time before I leave on a trip. I would call it excitement, but that word doesn't seem to be enough.

Friday, June 20- New Friends and Closed Doors

2008-08-01T13:41:00.008-06:00

I woke up yesterday morning on the North Fork of the Swan River. I pulled myself out of my sleeping bag, and stumbled over to the stream to get some water for oatmeal. I light the stove, cook up my breakfast, and I hear two hikers coming down the trail heading west from Georgia Pass. Both of the hikers, Travis (pictured left) and Dan (pictured right), were part of a Colorado Trail online message board I had joined before leaving for the trip. I met Travis while he was working at REI who initially invited me onto the message board, and Dan was his co-worker who I hadn't previously met. They left the day before I did, and I somehow passed them on the 18th when I hiked the 3 miles down the ATV trail. I knew that I would eventually catch them, but I didn't know when, and I had a bit of a hunch that it was their footprints I was following the day before.

I packed up camp and hiked the rest of the day with Dan and Travis. Because of Travis' ankle, we went at a calm pace. We had plenty of time to talk and to catch up on each-other's hike. It was great to see Travis' familiar face. Unfortunately for him, Travis couldn't continue with the hike because he had sprained his ankle on the 18th when he was trudging through the snow drifts. He post-holed and his ankle twisted on a hidden rock. Dan's trip was over as well; he'd only planned on getting into Breckenridge, and had to be at work on Monday morning.

Now for the bad news: Travis and Dan had told me about a guy they met who was apparently a seasoned hiker who said that the next section of the trail leading into Copper Mountain was impassable. He said that anything above10,500 feet was still blanketed in snow; much worse than Georgia Pass. Silverton, 300 miles south-west, recently received over a foot of snow. Dan, Travis and I agreed that it would be stupid of me to make a solo attempt, especially after seing Travis' injury and the trouble he would have been in had he been solo and had the injury been much worse.I hiked into Breckenridge with Dan and Travis, taking the last steps of a 105 mile journey on the Colorado Trail.

Last night, Travis, Dan and I met up with Travis' wife Barbara and went out to eat at Moose Jaw, a local burger joint in Frisco. After eating, Travis and Barbara went back to their hotel room while Dan and I went back to my Grandmother's condo and got cleaned up. We sat in the hot-tub and passed a plastic canteen filled with Jameson back and forth until we both decided it was time to walk over to the Loaf-n-Jug for some chocolate dough-nuts and greasy toquitos. I bought a pack of celebration cigarettes, and Dan and I stumbled back to the condo to hit the sack.

I woke up early this morning to wake Dan up, as he had to be back in Denver to his job selling tents at REI by 9:45. Currently, I'm sitting outside of the Rocky Mountain Coffee Roaster's in Frisco for a cup of the best coffee in Summit County.

Now what the hell am I going to do?

Wednesday, June 18- Cold, Wet, and Lost

2008-08-01T09:41:00.011-06:00

Approx. 9:00 AM:
After rolling out of my sweaty sleeping bag into the crisp mountain air, I pulled the maps out of my backpack and realized that Copper Mountain was only two days away. I need a city. I need a conversation. I could care less about a bed and a warm shower, give me human interaction.

If I can cruise through Georgia Pass today (God willing there be no snow) then I will do about 19.5 miles, which will put me in Frisco by Friday night where I plan on staying the night and picking up my re-supply package at my Grandma's condo.

That Afternoon:
I just got over Georgia Pass. Had it been any worse, I would have had to hike back to I-285 and catch a ride back to Denver. I did not expect having to trudge through waist-deep snow. At one point, I was crossing a drift near the climax of the pass that must have been no less than 10 feet deep. I changed into my waterproof gear and carefully traversed the solid crust that had formed on top. Had it given way, I could easily have been buried. It looks like this western side of the pass is slightly less chaotic, but I spoke with some hikers coming from Breckenridge earlier today who said that the western side is much worse. I'm already well past the point of no return. Copper Mountain or bust.

That Night:
It is by no force of my own that I am alive to write this right now. I have made decisions today that no hiker should ever make. I thought I whisked away all of my stupidity after the dehydration incident--nope.

The snow drifts grew deeper the further down I hiked from Georgia Pass. Sections of the drifts were solid enough to walk on, but more often than not, I would post-hole and sink past my waist line.

The snow had masked the trail, and what used to be a worn path of rock and dirt in the middle of a burnt desert became a snowed-out, wooded wasteland. I began to follow a set of footprints that seemed to know the direction of the trail, but before long, the footprints began to lead strait down the side of the mountain, and the owner of the prints obviously had lost the trail as well. This is when I realized that I was following not one set of prints, but two. I knew that if I continued to follow the tracks, I would be fine. The worst, most exaggerated and unlikely case scenerio would be that I would find two frozen bodies. I was hoping that the tracks would lead me to the more probable outcomes: to the owners, or to another trail or road. After another two miles of following the footprints down the mountain, the snow began to thin out and finding the tracks grew more and more difficult. There would be wide gaps of bare land where I would be stuck for 20 minutes at a time, circling the perimeter for any sign of the direction of the dual hikers.

I followed the tracks into a small stream, and on the other side was an ATV road. I tromped onto the road and pulled off my wet shoes and soaked socks so I could get them to dry while the sun was still shining. The ATV road was as silent as the Colorado Trail, and just as scarce. I took out my maps and a cheap key-chain compass so I could try to triangulate my position. The points of tall pines and the spines of hills and ridgelines blocked my view of any recognizable landmarks, so the maps and compass didn't do me a damn bit of good. But I knew that Breckenridge was directly west, and that was all I needed to know. After a pemmican bar, I put on a dry pair of socks, tied my bandana back across my forehead, and began walking west down the ATV road.

It wasn't long before I heard the faint sound of a gasoline engine growing louder. Like a savior, the beast itself came ripping around the corner. I flagged down the driver, a local named Scott who looked no older than 50, and asked if he knew how I could get back onto the Colorado Trail. He dug into the canvas sack he'd strapped onto the back of the ATV and handed me a detailed map of Summit County, and the CT was marked in bright red ink. I discovered that I was only three miles away from my original destination--the North Fork of the Swan River. I thanked Scott, and power-hiked my way down the ATV road, and was able to get back on the trail at the Swan River by nightfall.

Tuesday, June 17- Depression

2008-08-01T07:29:00.008-06:00

I need to start writing in the morning. Come nightfall, I'm so exhausted that all I want to do is pass out.

Back to where I left off. Hiking solo at night is terrifying. All I could hear was the crunching of sticks and pine needles beneath my feet, and instead of seeing the trail markers posted on the trees, all I saw were sap-bleeding claw marks, which meant bears were close. It would have been an easier hike had I been in an open meadow where the moon's light could relieve the darkness, but in the middle of the thick wood, even my headlamp could not pierce the silent black night.

Today I'm ready for whatever the trail will bring. I hiked 19 miles yesterday, so I'll be taking it easy today and will be hiking only 14 to get into Kenosha Pass. I am consistently impressed by my body's ability to recouperate after a day of arduous hiking.

I talked to an ambitious older woman this morning who is also thru-hiking the trail. She said that Georgia Pass (10 miles after Kenosha Pass), right before Breckenridge, was still impassable due to snow. Maybe it will be impassable for her, but I'm not worried about it.

I've been taking the morning really slow. Spent some time cleaning my dishes and doing some laundry over in the creek, which was actually incredibly enjoyable. I cleaned some gear, packed up, ate a slow breakfast and now I'm journaling. For the first time on this trip, I feel relaxed. I've grown so accustomed to the grind of city life that I've forgotten how to be still. Even out here, I've been cramming my days with high-milage hikes instead of taking my time to enjoy the peace that thrives in this mountain air.

There are times during the day that I begin to feel lonely. I believe this will pass. I think that my loneliness is nothing more than a phase-a response to a change in lifestyle. I think it was Thoreau who said that 'one is never alone when in nature'.

Later that night:

Today has been very introspective. The trail was lonesome, but it gave me an opportunity to clear my head.

The forest is fascinating. The recyclability of the earth is incredible. Trees take root, grow, thrive, and then fall, decomposing into billions of microscopic nutrients that enrich the soil to nourish other plant life. Animals are born and use these same trees for food, shelter, and other utilities. In death, their bodies are recycled into the ground, and they too enrich the soil. The beauty and self-sustaining quality of ecosystems is unbelievable.

There's a guy named Jesse camping here at Kenosha Pass who is riding his bike all the way from New York City to San Fransisco to visit his brother. He said he's been on the road about a month and he's got about another month to go. He's towing a little bike trailer and everything. I didn't even know that a ride like that was possible. It was nice to talk to Jesse.

From where I am camping, I can hear the cars rush past on I-285. This is not a complaint; it reminds me of home, and I feel much more safe and much less alone.

I felt like giving up today, but I knew I couldn't. I feel bored and lonely. But here are my options: I continue on the trail, hopefully learn/experience something all the while remaining bored and lonely, or I could head back to Denver, back to my nine-to-five, back to smoking, back to drinking. I've been down that road, I know what waits. I find no virtue nor happiness in hedonism, and I can't fathom the shame I'd feel, having returned as a failure.

Beautiful views today. Too bad a) I was too depressed to take good photos and b)I suck at photography, and CAN'T take good photos. I've been thinking alot about God and spirituality lately. And I've been nibbling at Walden. More on these later.

Monday, June 16- Rusty Piss and Wet Feet

2008-07-30T07:59:00.010-06:00

I had every intention of journaling yesterday, but after headaches, muscle pains, and rust-colored piss, I was too fatigued to pick up my pencil.

Yesterday morning, after stumbling out of my sleeping bag, I used half of my remaining water to cook up some oatmeal and the other half to drink, do dishes, and brush my teeth. By the time I started to hike, my bottles were dry. I had 13 miles through South Platte Canyon to go until the next water source.

The canyon was a fire pit. The area is still scarred from a fire that happened over 5 years ago. Trees were chared and toppled over, and the tallest flora were yucca plants whose blades rose no higher than my waist. This meant no shade. I overestimated my mileage on day one, and after hiking sans-water for 8 miles, I figured out that I still had five more to go before hitting a seasonal stream. The tempurature was 80 degrees and rising, along with my light headedness and jolts of pain splitting through my muscles.

After emerging from the burn area and with three miles to go until water, the extremely remote trail intersected a parking lot where cyclists were loading and unloading their bikes off and on their SUVs. I knew that someone must have had an extra pint of water. I stumbled over to a father and son who had dumped half-a-bag of ice into a cooler. They gave me the other half. Within five minutes, I had melted down the ice with my stove and sucked in a liter of water like a dry rag. I was still thursty, but it was enough to hold me over until I got to the stream, where I sat for an hour, purifying liter after liter of fresh water with tablets of iodine.

I learned my lesson. The next water source was another five miles away, which is where I set up camp. After pitching my tent and laying out my bag, I went to dip my bottle in the rushing stream to gather water for dinner. I lost my balance and sank both feet into the ice-cold run-off. I built a small fire to dry my shoes and socks, and hit the sack before I did anything else that was stupid. In the morning, I was gathering more water for breakfast when I slipped on a rock and fell in again in a second time.

I just got done doctoring some blisters. I highly discourage hiking 21 and a half miles with wet feet.

After I was finished screwing around in the water, I packed up camp and moved along. The morning was nice; it's a Monday, so I'm guessing all the biker guys went back to work. I didn't see a face until about 5:00 this afternoon when I came upon a trail mantenance crew. There were about 10 volunteers, drinking beer and preparing dinner. They offered to me to stay for dinner, and after a beer with some sweet potatoes, ham, and casserole, I hiked on into the dark. After five miles of night-hiking, I finally found some flat ground where I pitched my tent and set up camp.

I'm dead tired. I'll finish this entry tomorrow.

Saturday, June 14th- Biker Dick and Pretty Flowers

2008-07-29T12:45:00.010-06:00

Day one has been a reminder of how I take so many things for granted. For example: running water. Right now, I have 12 ounces of water to pull me through tomorrow's breakfast and the first half of tomorrow's hike. According to my maps, the nearest water is a questionable creek about 8 miles away. My original plan was to stay the night down by the South Platte River so I could have access to plenty of water, but by the time I reached it at the 16 mile mark, my legs still felt fresh, and I had plenty of daylight left. I hiked another five miles, and found a nice piece of flat ground about 10 yards off of the trail where there was a thick bed of comfortable pine needles.

Today I saw my first ever Colorado Columbine. I counted over 10 different wild-flowers today, most of which I have seen before, and a few that I haven't. Before today, I have never understood the satisfaction that comes from walking among wild flowers. It is incredible how something so gorgeous is able to sustain itself. No pre-nourished soil from a plastic bag. No garden hose. No human intervention, no manufactured beauty. Just the sky above and the earth below.

I wasn't very far into the hike when I realized that mountain bikers are the bacteria of the Colorado Trail. They're everywhere. And it doesn't help that it's a Saturday. I was hiking the first six miles of the trail with Mom this morning when one of the motherfuckers yelled and told us to get to the right side of the trail. If any of you have ever been to Waterton Canyon, then you would know that this section of the 'trail' is more like a dirt highway than it is anything else. I hope Biker Dick eats shit on some loose gravel.

Saying goodbye to Mom this morning was hard. I hate to see her cry. After watching her hike back down the trail, I turned to the woods, and with the exception of about 10-billion cyclists, I was alone. But by 5:00 P.M. the trail was silent; I imagine all the biker guys go home to iron their slacks, catch the latest episode of whatever the hell is popular on T.V., send Jimmy to bed and hit the sack with their soccer-mom wives. ANYWAYS, the trail was alot more quiet than I thought it would be. I saw about one face every two hours, and a cute granola couple who are at a camp site about 100 yards away from mine. I stopped for a quick little 'chit-chat' as I passed, but the couple obviously wanted me gone. Not that they were being rude or anything--if I were isolated in a forest with a significant other, I'd want the intruding hiker to keep hiking his ass down the the trail so I could have wild, unashamed forest-sex, too.

Friday, June 13th- Omens

2008-07-29T12:12:00.006-06:00

It's Friday the 13th, and I couldn't be any more ready to leave. Saw the sunset earlier tonight, and despite the superstition, the golden rays shooting out from behind purple peaks felt like a good omen. Mom did a tarot reading for me the other day. Not that I believe in tarot, (I don't believe in much of anything) but everything came out positive. I guess the upside-down devil card is not as threatening as he appears.

Hardest part about leaving town is saying good-bye to my ex-girlfriend, Lindsey. Getting drunk together last night wasn't a good idea. We fight when we're drunk. Nothing unusual, I guess. Anyways, we wrote it off this morning when we went to breakfast. We spent our last moments together in a little cafe down town over stuffed french toast and orange juice.

Spent some time with the room mates, Jeff and Pablo. When Lindsey and I broke up at the end of March, they were generous enough to let me crash on their living-room couch for three months, rent-free. Lindsey and I had signed a lease together, and I agreed to help her out with rent while living with Jeff and Pablo. By the time I get back from the trip, she'll have moved to California to live with her parents, leaving the apartment for me to live in until the lease is up. I'm going to miss her, but I'm not going to let myself dwell on this.

I'm scared. Mostly just of becoming... bored. Or lonely. I need to stay focused. By 'focused' I mean completely open and accepting of the world around me. This focus will be my saving grace.

Now I'm just writing because I'm nervous. I do that. I babble. Time to stop babbling.

INTRODUCTION

2008-07-28T11:35:00.011-06:00

It's my first day back on the job, and right now, I'm sitting in my cubicle listining to Weezer and waiting for the bossman to call and give me the next stack of faceless files to alphabetize and stash away in an attourney's filing cabinet down the hall. My feet are sweating within my old thrift-store dress shoes, and my puke-green 'dress-pants' are fraying both at the zipper and at the bottom of the pant legs. It's no secret that I don't want to be here.

There is a map of the Colorado Trail on a bullitin board infront of me that I pinned up before I left. Back then, the Colorado Trail was a dream; now, its a fragmented memory.

Which brings me to the reason why I've created this blog in the first place. Last semester, I wrote an essay for a comp class that was about my motives for writing. I was trying to be impressive, so I did this whole extended metaphor thing where I explain how writing is like going into war, and how I like to write for the thrill, and how I want to win the 'war of writing' and be famous and all that kind of crap. I have a confession: I was full of shit. I don't get an adrenaline rush when I write, and to say it gives me a real thrill would be like saying that I love watching grass grow, or even worse, golf. I write because I can immortalize a moment. I write because saying 'been there, done that' just isn't enough. Life is full of too many delicate intricacies and facinating details to rely on memory to recall all of the beautiful particulars. I write because one day, we are all going to die, and every moment not shared and recorded may as well have not existed at all.

I've kept a journal the entire six weeks of the trip, most of which I will be sharing with you. Feel free to comment or email me; I'd love to hear your thoughts.

ANYWAYS, thanks for checking out my blog. I'll be updating this page as fast as my fingers can type, so be on the lookout.

By the way, I'm dead-fucking-broke right now, so if anyone wants to buy a T.V., bed, some comic books, or a sex-slave, I'm your guy.

Cheers,

Gavin