Monday, July 8-Cycling!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.