I slept great, had fun cooking, and was quite peaceful off in the woods. But when the rain persisted and the job list consisted of things to “keep me busy” I knew this wasn’t the farming I was looking for. The moldy room and shower coupled with spider bites and boredom told me it was time to boogie.
I made a nice breakfast and slowly packed up the bike. Before escaping into the morning rain, I checked in with the boss. It wasn’t the Hilton but the WWOOF world is supposed to operate on a form of quid-pro-quo. I turned down his offer to carry wood through poison oak and elected to weed wack his paths. I turned a bed of soil, made some rows, planted some spinach seeds and said adios.
The roads were clear, the sky blue-ish, and lunch was served in a large orange. There were 10 built in the late 40s to sell fresh juice along old highway 99, before the interstate took over. The same interstate that makes my journey into Oregon such a challenge. Both the I-5 and the railway do their best to cut through the valley of these monstrous beauties that rise around us. Leaving little bicyclists a more arduous meandering along backroads.
In 1895, when George T. Loher rode his single speed, wooden-wheeled, Yellow Fellow from San Francisco to New York, he followed the only path he could find. For the most part, he trundled along the railroad tracks. He found sand, gravel, and the occasional wagon road between towns.
My journey is much less intense. Each of us take 65 days to get across, but I have 120 days to play with. I have a tent, stove, gears, and friendly farms to stop at along the way. When the mountains arrive in front of me, I call a friend with a suv. We’ll carpool into Oregon. Cheat a bit. I want this trip to be life-changing, not life-ending. Which isn’t to say I couldn’t make it through four days of 50 miles and 5,000 ft of climbing, but it seems unlikely that I’d love it. Especially with this gobsmacking May weather!
Last week, it was 95. This week it’s raining and 50. When the sun breaks through cloud the warmth is palpable and strong. Thermals pour through valley and wood. Each warm and cold gust brings joy.
And still, I pass more people at their bottom. Walkers, sitters, eyes to the floor, lungs to the sky. Strike me down, they say. Please god, they say. Help, they shout. Help cannot be found.
The houseless population, smoking culture, gambling and booze consumption, all things that compile around me. Unsustainable food production and consumption, absolute reliance on convenience, a few of the troublesome signs that we all need help. And also the only reason I can make this voyage so easily. I may be “alone” but I am fully supported. Gas stations, taco trucks, trains and more—all things that allow me to travel on the fly. A system designed for those who can manipulate it.
So that’s where I am; offering a bit of the truth and a little insight into what my next few days look like: dodging snow storms and mountaintops. For tonight, I book a hotel to wash off the spiders. Tomorrow, I have a beautiful day of laundry, bike maintenance, and museum exploration.
This trip ain’t perfectly planned. It never has been. All I have exists in a few deadlines that I can’t miss. Other than that, I’m here to explore, find what makes life better and get some strong legs. If learning to say no is something I need to do, then thank goodness I’m starting to figure it out.
It’s a hard world to wander through. My inability to support every hurting hand weighs heavy. The lack of options for all in this land of plenty seems skewed in favor of the few. None of this is new. While I wish it were bigger, the only revolution I’m a part of occurs in the cyclical pattern of my driveshaft and these grinding gears. No matter. What starts in the heart enters the world. May we all find peace. We all deserve a holiday.
IsIt5am 
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