The End of the Beginning

I decided just now that it's somewhat hopeless to think that I'm ever going to get around to doing another full fleshed-out post. Then I decided it would be unfortunate to abandon the blog, leaving it as an unfinished sentence dwindling into silence while my mouth still desires to say so much more.

So I'm going to give an extremely concise overview of the last events of the trip before my inspiration passes.

[After having written my “extremely concise overview” I'd like to take this chance to warn you that it became anything but concise and is in fact the “full fleshed-out post” I thought would never happen. It's strange what can happen with inspiration. Also, I've begun to enjoy the process of writing and have decided I'll be writing a book about this which will probably encompass the last few years of well as the ones ahead. Some parts of this are fleshed out enough to where they could be used, but I know if I give the same treatment to all parts of this post that I did to them it will be a number of years before it'd be ready for presentation.]

I was sent out of the redwoods cursing my bike as I walked along with it beside me, traversing the ceaselessly turbulent hills. My derailleur had fallen completely apart and having attempted a makeshift repair its performance was anything but sufficient for the terrain. After a day passed slowly away my thumb was growing tired and I also grew weary as the cars passed by without slowing. Morning the next day I eventually found a ride into Arcata (two, in fact, both pulling off the road to pick me up at the same time). This town was a summit of sorts, a convergence of hippies, and around every turn was another head of dreadlocks. My ride into the town was a girl named Rachel who had worked in parks throughout the country. She was currently working in the redwood forest and she said she'd really wanted to take a trip as I was, but she was content with her life as it at the moment.

She dropped me off at one of the bike shops and after my repairs were finished I started wandering around the town and eventually found myself at the town square. There were a few other people bicycle touring and I now had a few new passing friends. We sat watched the free jazz under a pavilion, watched as a lady in her fifties danced alone, and as a man sat and sketched her forms. We spent some time learning about each other, shared some travel stories, and then we were shown to a nearby bird sanctuary where I listened to these people talk and learned about Hinduism and sadhus and saw a glimpse of what virtue a life of endless travels could hold through the words of a wizened man. He had a long-dangling beard of dull brown mixed with gray and a head of locks which were draped down the nape of his neck. As he spoke he gave definition to the nebulous current of ideas which had been running through my mind all throughout my journey. I realized through his words that I hadn't stepped into a new life when I set out my door but had set in stone who I was to become and had chosen one path which would continue beyond this journey. It seemed so long ago that I'd left.. This had been just a chapter in my life, but now I saw that the lines separating the chapters was bleeding and the sections merged together becoming a cohesive whole and the possibilities of what lay ahead became unveiled through the fact that I'd made a choice to go on this journey and that every choice which lie ahead of me had been made as well and now it was time to be at peace with each of those decisions knowing God's omnipotence and perpetual will always was.

They led me to the town's park, a solitary free green hill encircled with towering redwoods, who extended away, tall and thin into the sky, beyond the town. We settled at a table and cooked our dinners. A little girl with long blonde dreadlocks and a tiny frame draped in oversized clothing came to us and asked if anyone wanted sausages and she held out the package of meat. She passed it to us and the majority of us declined gratefully as we did not eat meat but she left them all the same and vanished, dancing like a tiny pixie into the vast forest. After eating, three of us took to the paths which led deeper into the thicket of trees away from those who might keep us from a peaceful sleep. One of my new friends had isolated himself for the past three days in these hills, and had descended down to the town today only to restock his provisions. The glory and penetrating vivacity of the redwoods was all around me again and being in the company of familiar souls its weight was heavier upon me now. We moved farther into the forest hills and I was glad to be in the company of others who shared a common disposition and consciousness of the forest's transcendence and I became encouraged as I saw they were as gratified by its being as I was.

Morning came and a mist hung throughout the forest. The leaves and the wood were damp underneath a layer of dew. We shared a little time together as we climbed out of our sleeping bags and tents and I turned and began to ride down the hill hearing “namaste!” called out after me. I bid them a final wish for peace and we separated as I went southward and they to the north.

I went forward into hills of dry grass, wild blackberries, and met more kids wandering and following a few day's travel I arrived at San Francisco's gate.

It came all at once and through hours of furious effort I found my way onto the Golden Gate Bridge. I raised my head from the road in front of me and looking past the bridge, I saw the moon hung luminous and yellow just above the gathered buildings across the water and, as I stood transfixed by the sight, the vacant black silhouette of a barge, long, dark, and silent moved across the water between me and the city, outlined in points of light. The city's glow stretched into the night sky and dimmed the pinpoint stars which were thinly dispersed above. I rode over the bridge and waited in the cold coastal air for my friend and when he arrived, Kirk greeted me with a warm hug and then we drove down from the bridge and into the San Francisco night.

I spent a week in the luxury of his hotel room. There were free breakfasts too large for their own good, amber ales, pale ales, or Irish lagers (Kirk was the bartender and a generous one at that), complimentary donut holes available all day. Nights were filled with midnight donut runs and the best pizza I've ever had; days with fixed gear bikes and amplifiers. I saw the highway bridges stretched over city blocks which were filled with buildings upon buildings splayed upon the turbulent form of the land. The list goes on! Poets writing on typewriters for passersby, kids sewing clothes on street corners, cyclists clad in pink on pink bicycles, Hayte and Ashbury where should monuments, but instead stands a line of stops and shops.

After these new city experiences it was time to go and so I left. Riding in the city was difficult and though I tried to find my way through its streets, I slipped accidentally onto the Highway 101 again and for a mile or so experienced nothing short of deathly fear, as I was trapped between a solid wall and a four lane stream of violent city drivers. Eventually I safely found my way out of the Bay and back into the quieter places. The grass and the trees were a welcome and pleasant sight. Almost everything has its place, but cities grow tiring quickly.

West and through the orchards. Through the orchards and into the dryness, then up into the hills which rolled up into mountains. Water became more sparse the farther west I went and I stopped as often as possible to be sure I'd have enough. The sun was hot. Deathly hot, and I was riding nearly straight up. At the top of one of the most steep climbs jugs of water had been set out along the shoulder of the road, reading "H2O 4 U". I knew the water would be much too hot to drink without absolute necessity so I passed them by. I don't think they'd been set out for me specifically, but were obviously meant for people in my sort of situation.

After climbing half of the day I came upon a restaurant at the summit of a hill which had been temporarily closed for construction. The owner saw me while I was resting and invited me in. I was exhausted and he told me to take a cold drink from the refrigerator while I told him my story. Here I was within a days ride of Yosemite's borders and I still wasn't sure how I was going to get in. My plan had been to camp in the forest outside the entrance and wait until the rangers at the entrance left, which would happen around 11:00pm, then I'd slip in unnoticed and make camp inside its boundaries. When I told him this he warned me against this and told me the rangers held as much legal power as police officers and if I were caught I would be likely I'd be fined.

When I did finally arrive outside the door to Yosemite the next day I still wasn't sure what to do. The ride had not taken as long as I had expected and it was still only midday. I knew that I didn't have enough money to afford the fee but after sitting around for ten minutes or so I approached the gate and asked the girl in the booth how much it costs because, as I told her, "I don't have much" and she said, almost interrupting me mid-sentence, that she thought it ought to be a crime to charge someone riding a bicycle to enter a national park and freely wrote a receipt out asking me how many days I'd like to stay. God is good!

I entered and stopped outside the visitor's center to fill up on water and then sat down at a table to take a break and celebrate the unexpected victory with a meal. One of the employees at the visitor center came out on her break and sat at a nearby table. As I was walking down toward a trash can to throw away my garbage she struck up a conversation asking me about what I was doing exactly. I gave her a concise answer and she shared with me that she was traveling around the west working at the national parks and rock climbing during her time off (which national park she stayed at depended on the season). Her plan was that after Yosemite's climbing season ended she'd travel to down to Arizona where the weather would of course be temperate during the winter months. Before her break had finished she'd told me where the employees housed, drawing directions out on the map I'd been given at the entrance and she invited me to meet her there later that day and she'd show me around to places where I could clean up, do laundry, and cook.

Of course I made every effort to take advantage of this and ended up meeting some more kids. It was the last night being there for one of them and they had something of a goodbye party. Afterwards I embarked into the woods to set up camp.

Morning brought an onslaught of beauty. The sun's beams playing on the Yosemite's monumental faces is a sight which cannot be described with any accuracy by words. I spent this day journeying through the valley. I'm not going to attempt to describe it as this is something you truly need to see for yourself.

I stayed this night on the edge of a hill which overlooked the stretches of mountains to the south and all of the valleys that lay in between. The clouds and the sun worked in harmony together painting a picturesque wilderness. I love everything about Yosemite.

When I left the park through the south I stopped in Oakhurst's town park and stayed there among the bushes off to the side where I was somewhat hidden. I hadn't traveled far this day, but it had begun to rain and I welcomed the chance to reflect on what I'd seen.

The next morning while the rain continued I bundled up my tent and ran underneath a shelter which stood in the center of the park. I spread everything out on the concrete to dry as it could in the moist air and sat down beside it to read while I waited for the rain to stop. I had a fortunate meeting here which changed my course and my entire trip. A man who was walking his dog in the park stopped to have a few words which led into a conversation. I've never met so many interesting people as I met in California. He described for me, with the knowledge and perception that only a local could possess, all of the secrets of the land I was in. I was still tentative of my path, as I hadn't yet come to a conclusion about how to cross the deserts of southern California and so was open to his suggestions.

The first thing he informed me of was that I had not experienced Yosemite. He pressed me strongly to go back and take Tioga Pass and then follow the Sierra Nevadas along the eastern side. If I were to continue on the path I had planned I'd see the sequoias, but beyond that I'd only encounter a dismal dry land. If I were to go through Yosemite and come out on the other side I'd see what Yosemite really was, I'd see Mono Lake, the bristlecone pines, the Sierra Nevadas. He gave me an exhaustive list of things no one would notice without knowing where to find them and left me with no doubt that this would be the right direction to take.

California contains wonders beyond what I'd imagined while sitting at home in South Carolina thinking about what I might find here, and even now at this moment while I sat listening to his words I couldn't comprehend it. My mind attempted put images to what he described for me but it paled to the reality I found when I followed the path he'd suggested.

My return to Yosemite revealed its true glory to me, though I know I still don't have a full appreciation of it due to the time I spent there being only a few days and including few hikes. Seeing only the valley the day before I hadn't realized its overwhelming scope. Again words fall so short of describing the feeling it gives, the feeling which emanates from every single crevice and every rock and every living fiber which make this place what it is. It is a relentless flood of beauty and is the most enrapturing place I've ever experienced. The goodness of it is not the kind which competes with others; it is the type which enriches the beauty of all other natural places and instills you with a more honest appreciation of the natural and untamed world. From seeing this mesh of majestic mountain faces draped with trees, twisted and lively, I became more enamored with every place I had seen and was further excited for those things which lay ahead and unknown.

If you are spending your time reading this and you've believed anything I've written here believe this and allow yourself the time to go there and experience it for yourself. Spend as much time there as you're able, and be overwhelmed by its wonder. It will tell you the curious and amazing sonnet of the Earth!

Following Yosemite I encountered more mountains and roads and a canyon entrenched between the far-reaching feet of Yosemite's eastern mountains. The road, carved into the side of the canyon wall, led me farther and deeper into it extending downward toward the outlet. At the break in the towering walls of stone ahead of me I could see three layers of mountains, the uppermost being the peak which grows from the center of Mono Lake.

Mono Lake is a magical place, an oasis in the center of the dry landscape which surrounds it. Salt pillars reach upward from its waters, gulls feast on the masses of flies which swarm its borders, and the shrimp of the water feed on the newborn larvae growing under its surface. It is a completely self-contained ecosystem which is unfortunately at risk of destruction due to the stupid and selfish blundering of Los Angeles. The city extends its poisonous fingers beyond its own bounds and has sapped the lake's water supply over the years shrinking the lake which has created numerous threats to its well-being as well as the survival of its inhabitants.

From Mono Lake I began southward again, following the Sierra Nevadas along their eastern flank. As I went forest began to crop up and follow me on both sides and the mountains loomed to my side and ahead. I felt the descent. Midway between two towns I encountered a man named Ken. He trudged against the hills in the opposite direction, coming toward me, and as I descended a hill I saw ahead of me what I at first took to be someone in much need of help. He was pulling a very large trailer up the hill and farther down the hill was an unmanned tricycle with another trailer attached. It was a confusing sight until he explained to me that this was his method of travel. The hills had been giving him trouble for a while now, but he explained to me that it was just a part of the process. He'd pulled his life along in a trailer this way for more than 7,000 miles during his expansive travels around the West. Our time together was only an hour or two but I could feel his strength, passion, kindness, and his trusting spirit.

When I'd reached Big Pine I decided I was too near the oldest living things on the planet to pass by. The only bristlecone pine forest in the world stood at the top of the peaks to my east, but standing between the forest and I was an abrupt 7,000 foot climb. I filled up on water in Big Pine and began to attempt the effort. The descent in elevation had brought a rise in temperature and it was hotter now than I was accustomed to, and that, combined with the steepest climb I'd encountered so far dehydrated my body rapidly and within the first few miles I'd already consumed over half of my water supply and was feeling sick. Within an hour of riding I'd given up and, panting in the sun, walked my bike upward, extending my left arm and raising my thumb whenever a vehicle ventured by.

After ten minutes or so the park's director happened to drive by and he pulled his truck off the the side of the road ahead of me. He helped me lift my bike into the bed of the truck and then we set off toward the top. The slope continued to become more severe as we went up and we began to talk about things mostly revolving around the state of the world and the threat that people posed against nature. His view seemed dark but through his speech I could see he had a deep love for natural things which perhaps overwhelmed what love he had for mankind. His words were spoken with strong opinion and his perspective on humanity, always seeing the town below from the height of the mountains, had obviously deteriorated what value he placed on humanity as a species. The borders of the town had slowly but vastly grown from when he'd first seen it and I was quickly infected with his wish to see the valley before people had infringed upon its quiet beauty.

He took me to the top of the peaks and showed me to the entrance of the mile-long trail wrapping itself around the side of the western flank of the forest. The trail and all of the land around me was rocky and brittle. This thin forest had seen the stones crumble at their feet and the strength of the mountain quail. Their forms had become twisted and gnarled, and the surface of most had been stripped bare in the perpetually shifting weather as they waited patiently and, it seemed to me, indifferently as time washed over them and withered away. Theirs is a life with such scale in time it must be measured in millennia. For life to continue in such a thing for such a span fills me with humbling respect.

A short distance from the forest was a looking point. A short trail led from a small parking lot out to a bench which was perched on the very edge of this arm of the mountain, allowing a panoramic view of the surrounding range. The clear air let the layering of ranges beyond the vast distance impose themselves fully on my senses. The land all about me pressed its incredible measure upon me and I could see it as it stretched away across the globe past the horizon and could feel its immensity and then I raised my eyes to the sky and felt a shrinking understanding of the world and the truth of what I was a part of. I looked down upon the town from the height of the summit and it resembled a scar on otherwise pure skin, an uninvited blemish on the valley's rugged face. There was movement along the roads; tiny cars in a segmented line moving on the same roads that I'd traveled to get to where I found myself now and I felt an awakened shame in the back of my mind for being a part of it.

I didn't know how I was going to get through the desert (unavoidable if I planned to go to Phoenix) and the park ranger had suggested that I pass over these mountains and go east into Nevada where I'd find the elevation was higher than if I were to continue south in California. I was still unsure of what I should do and the weight of the decision was becoming very heavy as I knew I was presently at a crux.

Then I continued down the hill, deciding to turn to the east. As he'd suggested.

The descending mountains led me into a deep barren valley. I spent a few hours riding through it and could see my exit crawling toward me at a snails pace. Nevada's roads are long, straight, and flat. It was peaceful and utterly silent in the desert. No wind and no leaves to rustle in it, only dirt and rock and dry mountains shrouded in the dust curled up by the winds which move without rest, unhindered. When I arrived at the highway the riding became stressful and deadly. The road had two lanes and did not consider the possibility of bicycles. I was limited to about 12 inches of pavement in which a rumble strip had been carved, leaving me with only a few inches to ride on for days.

The smoke from the forest fires in California had blown over Nevada's western half leaving the sun in its sets and rises as a glowing red ball which became more sharp and yet more dim as it descended to the horizon. It was a beautiful thing to behold as the sky around it acted as a matte filling everything with the hue of earthy orange.

By my second day in Nevada I'd run out of water and the temperature was sweltering. I could look into the distance ahead and see that there was nothing for miles. Looking to my right I could see Death Valley with cyclones of dust spinning in the distance.

Eventually I came upon a trailer park and made a stop there in hopes that I'd find someone who could supply me with water. A retired couple saw me approaching from their window and came out to greet and welcome me. The man told me I'd stopped just in time as he'd just finished making hot jambalaya for an early dinner. They helped me fill my empty bottles with water and he went back into the trailer and when he came back out offered me a serving of the food in a styrofoam cup and handed me a metal spoon. He'd been a chef for 40 years and the meal was delicious, if a little hot for my present condition. They replenished what water I drank and showed me to a spot where I could wait out the peak of the sun in the shade.

After the sun had fallen a bit lower in the sky and many long miles of fearful riding alongside the skinny highway I arrived outside the first casino town I'd come upon. I set up my tent and spent the night just outside the entrance to the town next to an RV and a semi-truck which had both pulled off the road for the night.

When morning came I found the RV and semi-truck had gone and I was in plain view of the road. A retired couple who were on their way back from California pulled over in their truck and the man struck up a conversation with me from a distance. Once they learned that I was riding in the shoulder of the highway they offered to give me a ride to the town they lived in which was near Las Vegas. Apparently the road after their town had ample space for bicycles and in fact the shoulder was designated as an actual bike lane. I knew that trying to ride on these roads another day would be far from wise so I unhesitatingly accepted. The previous day's ride and the threat of hotter weather as I came farther south had me considering asking my parents to pick me up at Las Vegas if they'd be willing and so I called them to let me know I'd gotten a ride and would be there soon. I was becoming tired again.

As the couple drove along they pointed out the local brothels and landmarks as we passed. They dropped me off when we'd arrived in Pahrump and I set off on the roads again, but now I found, as they'd told me, there was more than sufficient space to ride. It was mostly flat until the grade began to increased as did the temperature when midday approached. With nothing to use as cover during the hottest time of day, the only trees being joshuas which are far from useful for shade, I stopped when I saw a water pipe which passed underneath the road. Moving the rocks and tumbleweeds which had built up around it out of the way, I slid inside and dozed for an hour or so until I'd cooled off a bit and the sun passed had its zenith.

I continued and saw my path follow the description of the couple who'd given me the ride. The grade built and led me farther up until I came to a tourist attraction which had almost become a town of its own on the peak of the mountain whose pass was the high point before the land fell in toward Las Vegas. As I was riding up the hill leading to this peak one car came nearly to a stop in the road and the passenger passed me a bottle of cold water from their window, leaving me with kind shouts of encouragement. When I arrived at the top I called my parents to let them know I was just a few hours from Las Vegas and they should start on their way.

It was a downhill ride toward Las Vegas and I followed the directions the retired couple had written for me and made my way through Redrock Canyon.

Amber rock walls, towers and hills gathered together creating a rift between the sin and muck of Las Vegas and all else. I wandered the road through the canyon and watched the plain of joshua trees and shrubs reached out toward the stone wall which abruptly protruded from the ground as if a solid ground itself which laid dormant all around had awakened and risen in form to keep watch and protect its surroundings. I went along in the shoulder with a southerly wind beating my shoulder as I followed the loop of the road, riding westward, the road ahead bending toward the south. A line of sports cars, Lamborghinis, Firarris, Jaguars, passed next to me as I pedaled my bike slowly along. The stones in the distance became a deeper red as I approached Las Vegas, almost as if a deeply held rage had boiled to the surface. Smoke from the fires enveloped the mountains now in the distance behind me and darkened and dimmed the city ahead as I was led now southward, seeing as I turned that the sun had become sharply defined against the haze of enveloping everything else. To my left the red rocks became dull as the veil of smoke fell thick upon them and I kept riding steadily forward with the wind now behind me. My parents were approaching and the end of this journey which seemed at the moment to have lasted so long had nearly arrived. Slowly pulling up the last rise in the land I looked down at the pavement before me and noticed that I'd hit a staple which had lain face up on the ground and saw the air quickly escape from my front tire. I walked a little farther with my bike, stopped and turned on my flashing light to signal my parents as they'd soon be coming up over that final hill, and then I sat down on a small rock in the dirt and watched as the perfect circular figure of the sun fell out of the sky.