Homecoming (part II)

Finally got some time to read something other than a guide book









In front of our Palapa with the local dogs (Mentira y Chisto) who adopted us while in Bahia de Los Angeles





Jumpin' up to touch the Boojum Tree








Drew paddling on a rare glassy day in the Sea of Cortez









A Sea Turtle at the rehabilitation center









Waking up to one of the spectacular sunrises











The Baja 1,000 Baby! Oh yeah!






I swap out the gear in my bike trailer with my costume box and Clark, Dai, Pablo, Me, Mel, and Igor close out the trip the way it started, with a ride in Critical Mass




Back Home
I have been home a little under two weeks now. Already I am settled in at my house, back teaching, and had my welcome home party. It is amazing how quick and easy the transition back into this part of my life has been. Time with friends and family, sleeping in my own bed, and intellectual challenges that extend beyond my own personal logistics of self propelled movement have all been rewarding beyond what I had hoped for while still on the odyssey.
Some times it feels dream like...did I really spend the past five months traveling up and down the coast from Juneau through Baja? If so, did I really travel that much of it on a bike and in a kayak? There are little moments when I am able to divert from the day to day, teaching classes, sorting through stuff and reflect or talk about where I have traveled, what I have been through, what I have and continue to learn. Sometimes it even becomes real again, I get so excited, I can't stop talking. It feels indulgent to allow myself to drift off to a magical world of Whales, Bears, Rainbows, Wolves, Salmon, Dolphins, Sea Turtles, wide open spaces, the simplicity of movement, and living in close concert with the Earth and its systems, patterns, and flow.
I have one real goal right now (well actually two, there is only so much time that I can spend either alone or with just other dudes), which is to bring the beauty, power, joy, pace, and presence of my trip back into this aspect of my life. Why do we work ourselves into stressful fits? Boast to each other about how busy we are? Multitask ourselves right out of the present? Gift others our time, but not ourselves? Choose to complain over celebrate? It is not that I am perfect in any of these arenas, but I have had some powerful glimpses over the past months and hope to expand upon them in my own life.

Getting out of the Eddy
Like a powerful river eddy, I am caught in the grasp of the bay area. Slow days which begin and end in the same place, relaxing, slow, and enjoyable in between. Reminiscent of trying to break free of Port Townsend, I finally gather myself for the final leg. Each section of the journey has commenced with a thorough sorting of gear and planning for at least the first few days ahead (though each successive leg the organization and planning has given way to a little more just winging it and getting out there). This last leg to Baja has been the least planned. The food I bring is whatever I have left over from Alaska and biking, the gear is everything minus rain gear. I just don't have the energy any more for careful planning.
I sort, organize, and prepare a little more as I stop in Santa Barbara to see my brother Brian, then in La Jolla to see my Godmother Gigi. When I pick my other brother Drew up at the airport in San Diego, I am ready to call the preparation, good enough. Drew has been strapped trying to get his work done in order to get out of town and arrives pretty spent. We cross the border and drive five hours south, past all the party destinations that span from the border down to Ensenada, and arrive in a little town called San Quintin (chances are you have eaten tomatoes grown in one of the many greenhouses here). There we sleep at a beach campground. It is quiet, and wrapped in a blanket of fog we sleep deeply for many hours. Our morning is leisurely, we stretch, eat, drink tea, walk on the beach...now we are ready for Baja.

The Land of Dr. Seuss
The Baja peninsula is some 1,000 miles long, a desert landscape jutting southward into the Pacific where it is bordered on the west and the Sea of Cortez (aka The Gulf of California) to the east. With the exception of a few overrun tourist destinations, Baja is sparsely populated. There is just about every variety of dominant desert plant that I know of down there, and some, like the Boojum Tree, that only grow in Baja. Traveling through there, I can see Theodor Geisel's inspiration every where I look.
The five hour drive from San Quintin to Bahia de Los Angeles takes us east from the cool, foggy coast to the warmer, arid desert side. Along the way I notice that there are more off road vehicles than I remember from previous trips down. At the junction to the bay, we spot a Swiss man who is solo bike touring down hwy 1 (the main route down the peninsula, a precipitous two lane road with no shoulders which they only finished paving in the 70's). We stop to chat with him alongside some of the dirt bikers. They warn him that the Baja 1,000 is coming up in a few days and that he doesn't want to be on the road for a couple of days (more to come about the Baja 1,000). We wish him safe travels and make our way down to the Sea of Cortez. Having driven down through Baja, I have zero aspirations to bike tour there.
With our first glimpse of Bahia de los Angeles, we turn off on a dirt road to a view spot. The town below is tiny against the backdrop of islands, sea, and mountains. We are met there by Kenny Howell and his family on their way into the bay. I love bumping into friends in places like that, in the Sierra high country, in a small village in Guatemala, a stop along the road to say hello as you pass one another en route to run different rivers, in LaConte Bay, Alaska, at a waterfall in the Grand Canyon...
We spend the next few days camped at the edge of the water in a small Palapa, next door to Kenny and his family (Kenny and his wife Peggy both went to Urban in the 70's and Kenny and I have worked a number of Urban School kayak trips together), while we wait out the West winds that blow day and night. While we are there, we read, eat fish tacos, visit the Sea Turtles at the recovery center next door, play with Kenny and Peggy's kids Jean and August, and hang out with the German Shepards who seem to have come with the palapa.
Eventually Kenny and his family continue south on their adventure, while Drew and I wait out the wind and explore miles of dirt roads in to the desert where we find an old mission from the 1700's. At last after waiting out the wind for 4 days, we awoke to calm. We load the kayaks and head out to the islands.
Our visit to the islands is magical, pods of Dolphins splashing their tails as they fish and dive for food, gliding over turquois patches of water, nesting Osprey, Peregrine Falcons, Magnificent Frigat Birds, endless Pelicans... We set up our camp and explore Isla Ventana on foot, it is the driest place I have ever seen...truly moonscape. The beach is filled with shells and bones which we gather and lay out to try and figure out what they are and what goes with what. After I cook up a less than Phil caliber dinner, we lay down in our bags to read, talk, and eventually lie in silence taking in the vastness and clarity of the universe above...it is truly humbling in a way which I cannot put into words. As our eyelids grow heavy and the vision of the stars above grows dreamlike, a whale surfaces at the entrance to our cove, the lullaby which finally puts me to sleep.
Our return to the palapa is accompanied by just enough wind and wave action to make the trip fun and interesting without being scary. We unpack and lounge about until the late afternoon when we head into town for some fish tacos.


The Baja 1,000
We have been in bed every night by 8:30 and up by 5:00, living by the light of the day. We figure that we will eat some fish tacos and go to the check point in the middle of town to watch the first couple riders in the Baja 1,000 ride through then head to the palapa to read a little before calling it a night.
The Baja 1,000 is an off-road race through Baja. The route changes most years, and this year it went 1,300 miles from Ensenada to Cabo San Lucas. The racers travel day and night, with the fastest finish times in the 30 hour range. Most people are a part of a team, but some (iron men) ride the whole thing, taking power naps in between stretches of 100 mph down dirt roads. There are all sorts of groupings, categorized by age and vehicle type (the most impressive to me is the stock Volkeswagon Bug).
The town is energized. It has swelled to quite a bit larger than its normal numbers and people have set up lawn chairs and coolers for watching the race. There is a whole crowd present who would only ever come to Bahia de Los Angeles for the race, they stand out even more than us.
It is estimated that the first rider will come through about 5:30 PM. A little after 5, Drew and I wander down to the store for a beer. While at the counter we hear the whirl of the helicopter blades, the shop keeper dashes outside and returns quickly yelling and waiving her arms, "señor, señor, la primer! la primer!" We leave our cookies and beer to run out to the road...false alarm, the helicopter is out in front of the first rider.
A half hour later and many conversations with some of the race enthusiasts and the first rider comes through, one of the guys from Team Honda, he is all business. He stops, gets his slip of paper and hauls ass out of town. The true fans are beside themselves, "was that Jonny Campbell or Robby Bell?" They jump up and down, high fiving each other. Instantly, Drew and I are transformed from curious skeptics into fanatical fans.
I could go on and on about the Baja 1,000, but maybe it is best to let you all check it out for yourselves on line or even in person (it is one of those things that is worth the effort to see in person at least once), but I will say this... I can't imagine any scenario where anything quite like it could happen in the U.S. With just a few pieces of caution tape with the thickness of yarn, the race course is diliniated from the spectator area. The streets are lined with kids jumping rope, dogs wandering about and rambunctious onlookers getting more and more drunk as the night wears on. At times, racers get mixed up and come screaming down the spectator traffic side of the road at 75 miles per hour.
The word from those in the know is that the "trophy trucks" are the real sight to see. Imagine million dollar Nascar race cars jacked up for off road. Huge light sets 5 times brighter than the brightest car lights I have ever seen. Drew draws a comparison to being in Africa...the motorcycles are like watching the gazels as they dance their way across the plain, we are drawn in to watch them as they wave to the crowd and do wheelies to the delight of all...suddenly the Lions arrive in the form of trophy trucks and the whole energy changes...it is edgy and dangerous (cutti as my students would say). Their lights pan across the night sky from miles away until they crest the hill and illuminate everything in their. As they approach, the roar of their engines reverberates throughout our bodies. It boggles my mind how no one got taken out by a trophy truck.
Finally, at 2:30 in the morning, Drew and I peel ourselves away from the race in order to catch a few hours of sleep. Our palapa neighbor, John, is waiting for his team to come through. His son Kurt had ridden an earlier leg and had driven over to wait with his dad and see him off. We want to see him off as well, but need to sleep. As we drive off, John is sound asleep in a lawn chair, decked out in his full riding gear, a vision of tranquility amidst total chaos. An English couple who spend half the year in England and the other half in Baja are across the way. Earlier in the evening they had seemed so prim and proper, even out of place there. Now they are transformed...they jump up and down, pumping fists into the air and screaming as racers fly past them into the night. You never know what you will get in Baja.

The Return
Eventually, we make our way north, stopping in San Quintin for some more kayaking, birding and wandering the miles of beach. We cross the border in the town of Tecate and drive through the burned out canyons east of San Diego. Back in the U.S. the place feels foreign, it is so clean, orderly, and safety conscious...we stand out in our car covered in dust and mud, gear piled high in the back.
I drop Drew at the airport and start my slow trip back home. I stop to see my friend Brian Melley, who paddled with me in Alaska. We go out for a beer in Pasadena and I can't even fathom the culture around me, the outfits, get-ups, and energy, and conversations, we pass a club that is glass across the front, in the back, in full view from the street are women dancing in glass boxes wearing tiny little laungerie outfits...where the Hell am I? I visit with my cousin Elliot and his family in Simi Valley before heading to see my brother Brian in Santa Barbara. I return to Palo Alto, to my mothers' just in time for Thanksgiving, head up to San Francisco the next day, and am back at work a couple of days later.

Some more Lessons Learned
The physical aspect of the trip came to a sudden end with my return, but there are memories, new friendships, and life learnings that are very much with me, and in some cases have transformed me. My friend Tana sent me a card in which she so eloquently grasped where I am, "settling back into life-familiar-yet you are not the same." Indeed I am changed from this odyssey, in ways I am cognisent of and ways not.
As I boarded the ferry in Washington, bound for Alaska, I can remember the feeling, the atmosphere. It was a beautiful, clear, warm day. Everyone was festive, chatting, waving, joyful. It was the first time in weeks where I had nothing to do, it was the beginning of three days of just being on the ferry and taking it all in as it carried me northward. I can remember the feeling of panic setting in, not for any of the dangers that lie ahead, but for the expectations I had laid out for myself. What if I don't have anything profound to say from this trip? What if I am unchanged? What if this is just a break and I go back to my life exactly as it was before? Despite encounters with Brown Bears, big crossings, wind waves, fast moving currents, sometimes with icebergs, logging trucks, adolescent boys harassing me as they drove by...I knew that I had not set up a trip that I considered to be particularly dangerous. I have had plenty of trips where I was terrified by water conditions, encounters, exposure, where I was pushed to the edge of my comfort zone and abilities. I did not intend for this to be such a trip, and it wasn't. In the end, the greatest terror I faced was my own mind, my own insecurities, my own endless questions of "what if..." It was a conversation that I would have with myself over and over again, until, when I finally reached Santa Barbara, I was done having. Thousands of miles traveled over many months to find peace in my heart and mind.

I wish this experience upon everyone...not this exact one, but the time, space, and opportunity to lose yourself in a journey which takes you away from the "life-familiar" and into the depths of your own being. It is perhaps the greatest gift I have ever given myself.

I thought about including some final thoughts about my learning here, but it started to read a little like a self help book. So instead, I will leave you with this...Dream, Dream BIG! Don't let that opportunity pass you by, it may not come back again. It will be fun, hard, exciting, scary, lonely, beautiful, and things will happen that you couldn't possibly plan for, and most importantly, it will be an opportunity for you to learn exactly what you need to learn and experience for yourself on your unique path.

What Next?
It is so nice to spend most of my time within about a 2 square mile area! The occasional trip down to Palo Alto is about as far as I plan to venture in December. I do have a back country hut trip planned for the first week in January, I figure I will be ready for a little adventure into the snow towards the end of break. I am working on putting together a presentation, which I hope to have completed before heading out on the hut trip. As well, I have some magazine articles I am working on. But most importantly, I am working on being present in my "life-familiar" and embracing all the growth and change that has come and is still emerging. And then there is next summer hmmmmm, we'll see?
Thank you to all who have helped and supported me on this journey. There is no way that I could possibly have done this trip without all of the logistical support, travel companions, cheerleading, well wishes, and kindness of strangers. It may have seemed a small offering on your part, but I guarantee that it was huge for me.

The Biking Finale...It's never Quite Like you Imagine

Miles and miles of Strawberries










A round of Bocce in Monterey












Where Land, Sea, Wind, and Fog meet












Fog enshrouds the road behind me












Getting ready to start riding with Paul









My brother Brian and I ponder the quandary of a cracked frame












Leaving the Bay
It is after 2:00 in the afternoon when I finally pull out from San Francisco. Fortunately I don't have far to go, unfortunately, I am trying to get over Devil's Slide before commute traffic picks up. A long time family friend, Bob Pelikan, meets me for the ride, his wife Jerilyn drives up to take some pictures. I stay at their house for the night, joined for breakfast by my mom, I have been greeted and held by my community in the bay.
The ride to Santa Cruz is the fastest day of my tour, 17 mph over 55 miles of riding. Seeing more good friends, a beach party, the joys of Santa Cruz, and a stiff North wind all combine to move me down the road. Leaving Santa Cruz is difficult, another 2:00 departure. I ride through city streets, get harassed by some adolescent males (they are the only real problems I encountered while riding), before getting out on more rural roads. The bike dimishes the separation from the world around you that the bubble of a car creates. Some times it is challenging, like dealing with wind, rain, heat, the smell of a rotting carcass while sucking wind on a big climb, but today there is a treat. I climb through a Eucalyptus forest, enveloped by its pungent aroma. At the crest of the hill the forest abruptly ends in vast strawberry fields. The sweet, moist ocean breeze infused with strawberry delight tickles my nose as it creeps in until I taste strawberries, I can feel them on my skin, it is all I can think about for miles and miles...mmmm sweet strawberries.
Though I am not a particular a fan of Monterey, I am tired, so I layover for a day. I stumble across a band called Rushad and the Butt Wizards, they are comprised of a drummer, keyboardist, and an electric cello (a combination I have never seen before, nor do I expect to see again any time soon). The songs are all about wizards, elves, magic...strange but masterful, they remind me of seeing Phish back when they would play to crowds of 20 people at the Middlebury dining halls on a Thursday night.

The Quiet Coast
I get an early start out of Monterey for the 70 mile ride up and over hills...about noon. Two days of traveling the Big Sur Coast, up and over hills, in and out of coves, I have my work cut out for me. In the end, it is the most scenic riding of the trip and some of my favorite riding as well. No real towns for another 100 miles or so. Despite the road, some traffic, and occasional stores, the place feels wild and undeveloped. The land rises straight out of the sea, creating steep cliff faces, barriers to the movement of wind and water. The intensity of the interaction is everywhere. Erosion, crashing waves, wind, fog...
Over the course of two days, I ride through the forest, up long grades, climbing above the fog, then disappearing back into the folds of this vast blanket. In between is movement, clouds forming and vanishing all around, exposing glimpses of islands, cliffs, coves, drainages, and trees, before quickly hiding them back behind its cape. As the days wear on and the light shifts, I catch views of orange and yellow light on hill sides, translucent, mystical visions through the veneer of fog and mist. The fog climbs up the cliff faces, filling in every gap and crevice as it is forced to climb skyward after so many miles moving over the level surfaces of the ocean.
The world around me is in flux, in motion, quickly and slowly. The fog, wind, and waves move quickly, comprehensible on a human scale, but there is much more here that is on the move. At no place else along the coast have I felt geologic time as I have along the Big Sur Coast. Without experiencing the uplift of the continents edge nor the explosive erosional events first hand, their presence dominates the landscape. The place where the land and sea meet, where neither is going to give into the other.
I ride this section without electronic music. I only use the ipod to block out the buzz of our cultures machines, which are more exhausting than any hills or miles I have ridden. There is a quiet music here, heard not through my ears but my entire being. It propels me along, drawing me in through wonder and beauty mile after mile. There is no buzzing in my head, no thoughts of things I need to do, frustrations, just being, quietly riding.

Travels with Paul
I cannot remember when I first met Paul, or even a time when we did not know one another. He is my oldest friend. We went to boarding school together, have been on numerous backpack trips together, in southern California, Oregon, The Sierra, and the Northern California Coast, we rafted/Kayaked the Grand Canyon together, Climbed Shasta, and traveled to Australia to play soccer together. How could this trip be complete without a section traveling with Paul.
Paul's wife Prima is gracious enough to drive him down to San Simeon in order to ride to Midland (our boarding school) together. We snap a photo before heading out, Paul sits upright, excited ready to ride, while I am slumped and tired. We have traveled together enough that there is no transition time, we are instantly on the same page, as if we have done the whole trip together (partly because Paul is willing to adjust to "Harwell Time" so easily). For the first time in weeks, I am traveling with some one else, it feels good. We talk, laugh, tell stories, eat, and play for 4 days that fly by faster than any other on the ride.
We ride to Midland, where we are welcomed into the homes of former teachers Laurie and Ben Munger. There is an openness to the Midland community, where trust and faith in fellow humans trumps the invisible yet tangible guardedness we all cloak ourselves in as we move through our days. José Juan Ibarra, who was one year ahead of me at Midland and teaches Spanish there now, tracks me down. He gives me a 100 peso note for my trip to Baja, "every traveler needs a lift, some support." It is an amazing school, the most impressive high school that I have ever encountered.

Cracked Frame
As I ride from Midland down to Santa Barbara, I return to a solo ride. All too familiar, to be on my own. At this point the benefits of being solo are far outweighed by the joy of companionship. There is confusion about how/where I can get on to 101. I am waylayed (o.k. partly because of a long stop for baked goods and a mocha), the afternoon is setting in, and I can feel the time crunch of making it to SB in time for my brother's play that night. Eventually, I find the carless backroad which will take me to the crest where I can legally ride on 101. Clear skies in the morning have given way to clouds, mist, and eventually full on rain. I am cranking hard when there is a "pop" as my chain skips gears. Looking down I can see my front sprocket is off kilter. I stop to look at it, but I can't figure out exactly what I have done, only that it looks bent when I pedal and if I push hard, it skips gears in the back. Frustrated.
The last 20-30 miles of the day are along 101, it is a beautiful section of coast with wide shoulders. I have been thinking about taking in the views and plugging into my ipod to drown out the freeway. The rain obscures the views and no ipod, just the roar of vehicles. Years ago I was watching an episode of MTV sports about a group climbing a big wall some where within the arctic circle. I had gone to college with one of the guys, his voice was ringing in my head, talking about times when you need to push on long after the trip has stopped being fun. Today was just such a day, bad directions, something broken on my bike, soaked through, and covered in road grime (of course I do recognize the difference between a bad day on a bike trip and being stuck on a frozen wall for many days).
I make it to SB in time to shower and head off to dinner and my brothers play. The dinner conversations are fast and mostly revolve around shma shma in SB, I am exhausted, it all seems surreal to me, dropped into the everyday lives of others. The play is hilarious and my brother is BRILLIANT, which keeps me awake through the end. The next day we head out for brunch and a stop at the bike shop to get the repairs going on my bottom bracket. The guy at the bike shop spins my pedals and doesn't see what I am talking about. I take a go at it and can't either? I get on the bike to show him and it becomes clear, the whole frame moves. We flip the bike over and find two cracks more than halfway through each tube. The rest of the bike shop guys comes out to see. They are expecting a story of a crash, but there is none. I tell them, "I'm just that ripped!" It is a small piece of comfort/joy that I can take in the situation. I have broken the one thing on my bike that cannot be fixed in a day, or even a week, or as it turns out even a month.
We go to brunch and talk over the possibilities. I call Brian Melley (who paddled with me in Alaska), who is planning on meeting me the next day to ride. He may be able to hook me up with a bike that he rode cross country in the 80's. My brother is on Craigslist looking for bikes and showing me his mountain bike. Paul calls, he is excited to hear about how I am going to finish the trip. There is momentum to pull something together, to make it happen. Deep down, I know it is over, it just had that feel. In the end I called it in SB, spend a few extra days with my bro, then took the train back to the Bay Area.


A Curiosity
I come out of a store in Big Sur to find a group standing around my bike. They are touching it, like something at the petting zoo. It has become more the norm than the exception, I am a curiosity. Everywhere I have gone over the past 3 1/2 months I have been an attraction. In Alaska, tour boats would veer towards us and slow down so that people could come out and take pictures, Phil would demand that they "stop stealing his soul," the bike would bring comments from "how far you goin'..." to "why" to "you're crazy" to "I'm envious" and so on. I have given the short version description of my trip hundreds of times with the full gamut of reactions. Near San Francisco, while climbing a big hill, a woman pulled her car in front of me such that I could not pass in order to ask directions to 101. I am totally befuddled as to why anyone would think that some one on a bicycle would know how to get to a super freeway? or that it would be o.k. to force them off the road to ask for directions? Stopped for lunch at a beautiful view spot, I take a bite of my sandwich. A car pulls up 20 yards behind me and a woman yells to me, "where is such and such campground." I tell her I don't know, which draws a glare, as if I am purposefully withholding information. "Well have I passed it, or is it up ahead?" "I don't know?" She glares again. Every stop along the Big Sur coast drivers talk about how exhausted they are driving the coast without the slightest note of irony that the person next to them is biking it. I feel simultaneously more visible yet more separate than ever before.
At the Bioneers Conference and back in SF I am anonymous. My few months of fame have come to an instant end. I am no longer visible against the backdrop of our culture. No one touches my car, or asks me how far I have walked that day, or where I am going, nor do they give their two cents about what I am doing. It is a double edged sword, it has opened up conversations and interactions like few other things do, yet it is rarely true connection. Even amongst my friends, I can feel the difference between interactions with those who I have traveled with or who have met up with me first hand some where along the way and those who have viewed it from afar or not at all. It is neither good nor bad, just an unexpected reality of my trip. One that I will both miss and enjoy leaving behind.


Where to Next?
Southern California and Northern Baja on fire and I have no aspirations to push through that right now. I am taking some breathes, sleeping in my own bed, getting to know my new housemates, and just being in one place (what a novel concept). Soon I will gather my gear and start to make my way south. There is after all more to come. Baja is a magical land of desert and sea, so incredibly different from Alaska yet like the whales, I love them both.
My final return is just one month away and I can feel it looming. I have been drawn towards movement over the past year, like a physical meditation, a healing. After months of movement and thousands of miles, the draw to be on the move is coming to a close. The meditation and healing near complete. I will return refreshed and ready to impart what I have learned and how I have grown over the past months into an evolving story.
When I left on this trip, the only thing I knew for sure was that I had no way of knowing what space I would be in upon my return. I am a little closer to understanding it, though it will continue to unfold for some time to come.

Homecoming (part I)

In Legget I used the "Blake, CALL YOUR MOM!!!" fund to let my mom know where I am and that I am o.k.





Atop the last big hill on the Sanoma County Coast, the most challenging day to date (many cars, ups and downs riding in and out of coves, strong winds, scant shoulders, and many miles).






Riding with Dan Walsh, the first friend to join me on the ride.






Gearing up for the ride into the city after a night in Joe's "Tiki-Lander" (a trailer-guest house/Tiki Lounge)



First stop on the ride into the city at the Fairfax Scoop where I was greeted by friends and family (from left, fellow rider Paul, Charis, my mom Karen, Kailey, Malaika, Me, Stephanie, and Josh & Ned in the window)





Gathering for the ride across the Golden Gate Bridge (from left El Jefe, Krassi, Drew, Paul, Me, Igor)











Random Thoughts
I ride to Legget where Highway 1 connects with 101, the base of the infamous Legget Hill. I stop to refuel with a mocha and a baked good before beginning the climb. At the counter, the clerk asks the usual questions, a conversation I have had at least 100 times, where did you start? how far are you going?...This short interaction usually end with some sort of exclamation from the questioner, WOW! or Huh?! or What Fun!...This time there was a pause followed by, "have you been calling your mom? "Yeah," I said, "Well when did you last call her?" "I don't know a couple of days ago I guess?" "Well, if you want, I will give you some quarters and you can go out to the pay phone and call your mom to let her know where you are." I politely decline, but after leaving the store realize that I can't turn down a free call to my mom. I return to the store and let the clerk that I will take him up on his offer. But first, I ask why he is so invested in me calling my mom, here is the story. In early June this guy named Blake headed out to Washington to do bike trip down the coast. As he rode, it never occurred to him to call and check in with his mom. Over time she became increasingly worried until finally she got in her car, drove out from Utah, and posted pictures and flyers up and down the coast. Near Legget she caught up with her son (I imagine a good tongue lashing followed). Afterwards she came into the store and gave the clerk a bucket with $100 worth of quarters and exclaimed, "Every cyclist who rides through here, I want you to give him quarters and have him call his mother!" Hence the "Blake, CALL YOUR MOM" fund.

There are so many subtleties that are experienced when on a bike as opposed to a car, sights, smells, sounds, shifts in the wind...One day as I rode along an empty, flat stretch of hwy, a California Daughter Butterfly fluttered along side me. For about 100 yards the butterfly fluttered and glided along side. With no wind or other bikers/cars it was a moment of just the two of us in the world, both taking in the other creature on the move. Later in the day, I desended a hill to a shoulderless bridge. Just as I dropped in, a fully loaded logging truck came barreling over the hill. I was committed, no place to pull off, the only choice was to ride like hell to try and beat the truck across the bridge. A few feet in front of the bridge, a Chipmunk scurried out from the bushes on the side of the road and on to the bridge. Chirping, squeaking, and looking over his shoulder, the chipmunk is now committed, running for his life trying to avoid the massive bike bearing down on him. I look back over my shoulder and ride for my life, trying to avoid the logging truck bearing down on me. We both cross the bridge just in the knick of time, breathing a collective sigh of relief.

I can't quite wrap my mind around the understanding that I have just traveled from Juneau, Alaska to San Francisco (now Santa Cruz) via kayak, bike, and public transportation (the Alaska ferry). Alaska seems so long ago, so far away. Was it even the same trip? I have been on the move for over 3 months now staying in more than 60 different places (a number that will likely reach 100 before I return to SF for Thanksgiving). The trip has taken on a life of its own now. It isn't something that I so much choose to do, nor something that I plan anymore. It is just what I do, who I am for this window of time. At some point in Alaska, I calculated the number of days that I had on this trip. One morning I announced to Phil that my trip was now one-tenth over. Phil was quiet for a moment before responding, "You know what I look forward to, the day when you have no idea what day it is on your trip." I must be past the halfway point in time and mileage, but I don't know where I am other than that...Santa Cruz today, Monterey tonight, Big Sur tomorrow, Baja in a couple of weeks. It is the zone where new learning and thoughts emerge, the space that I was either consciously or unconsciously looking for when I put this thing together. Everyone should have the opportunity to be in this space, alone with yourself amidst something larger than yourself that has taken on a life of its own supported and cheered on by the love and kindness of friends, family, and people you meet along the way.


Arriving Home
After a month without seeing anyone that I know (except a visit with Robbie DiPaolo, a former student who is now at Humboldt State), I arrive home to an amazing welcome from friends and family. A full week of seeing people I know every day, reconnecting, checking in, then heading out again. It was so easy, so comfortable to step back in for a few days. But then it was time to go again, hard to do, but without question or hesitation I knew I would continue onward. Unfinished travels ahead. I feel like every trip I have ever taken started and finished at home, I can't remember a time when I stopped off at home in the middle of a trip. It has rejuvenated me, a chance to rest my legs and lift my spirit in the way only time with loved ones can.

The final Stretch
On October 17th I arrive in La Jolla at my Godmothers house (Gigi and her husband Bill) where I will end my time on the bike. Along the way are many more friends and family to see. Paul Richeson will join me for a few days on the ride to our high school, Midland, then south to see my brother Brian in his latest play. From Santa Barbara it will be a straight shot through LA and into the San Diego Area, with possibilities riding with Brian Melley, seeing my cousins the Renos and staying with Dan Walshes family.
I have mixed feelings heading into the final stretch. After so much time out, so many times packing up and unpacking, being on the move is starting to wear on me a bit. On the other hand, I am very excited to travel by bike through parts of California that I have driven so many times in a car. Either way, this is what I am doing right now, I am on the move.

The Oregon Coast and the return to California

View of the Northern Oregon Coast











Out to dinner with "The Brothers Alta" (Me, John, Tom, Steve, Steve's daughter Jackie, Don and his wife Connie)









I trade in my bike for an afternoon of surf kayaking with Don









Exploring sand dunes that merge with the coniferous forest








When in Rome...I am annoyed by all the dune buggies, but since I can't escape them I opt for a ride







Some habits are hard to kick...but when you are riding 50 miles a day, why not?






Arches and Coves along the Oregon Coast









After 2 1/2 months away, I return to California










After my time with the Brown Bears in SE Alaska, I am feeling more comfortable with the California Golden Bear







The legendary Paul Bunyan and his Blue Ox "Babe"









Roosevelt Elk resting in the tall grass










Leaving Astoria
After 2 days enjoying Stump Town coffee, walking, the farmers market, and friendly people in Astoria I continue my ride. The weather is excellent, warm, clear, and calm. With rested legs I feel great and enjoy a fantastic day of riding. 15 miles into the ride I pass four bikers riding with only handle bar bags. We run into each other 4 or 5 more times during the day before they pull me into their circle

Surf Kayaking, life outside the U.S., and old friends...travels with "The Brothers Alta"
At some point during the day I have been adopted by the group. 30 years ago Tom, John, Steve, and Don worked, lived, and played together in Alta, UT. Now with kids grown and less time devoted to careers these four guys have reunited for a bike adventure down the Oregon Coast. From our first encounter I feel connected to this group, they are a vision of me and my friends in 20 plus years, that connection of friendship, history, and adventure.
Their trip is van supported by Don's wife Connie and Steve's daughter Jackie and at a pace that allows for chances to play and explore along the way. Three times I try to pedal on ahead, but like leaving Port Townsend, I am unable to extract myself and get on track with the "schedule" I have lay ed out for myself. They have rich stories of living in Afghanistan, Honduras, and other places around the world, river trips, and living life. It is great to have conversations that don't revolve around the trip, the route, the next days destination...
Three days out we do a short 12 mile day to Cape Kiwanda. After a mocha and fresh scones (like Phil used to make), I lock up the bike and get into a kayak. Don and I head out to paddle along the coast and play in the waves. It is so familiar to feel the rise and fall of the swells and a different joy than the bike brings when I slide down the face of a wave. I can't stop smiling, laughing, and hooting and hollering.
I finally pull away after four days, only to be reunited two days later at a state park down the road. After much teasing about my pace (you know..."Harwell Time"), I say my final goodbyes and head off on my own again. My solo ride is short lived as I spend the rest of Oregon riding with John and Michael who I meet later in the day. These are the interactions I envisioned on the ride, ones which were so hard to come by riding through Washington.

The Oregon Coast
I try to remember when I last traveled along the Oregon Coast only to realize that I have never been on the Oregon Coast before. What a place to explore. The beauty, riding conditions, State Parks, weather, courteous drivers, and places to explore are unparalleled.
A couple of days in, I hit the sand dunes. I have never seen anything like them, sand dunes intertwined with the coniferous forest. Vast dunes with islands of 100 - 200 foot tall trees. A short distance south is the start of the Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area. A few days of riding through areas of massive dunes. I layover midway down to play and explore. Unfortunately, where I stop is also a major dune buggy area. I think about what a fun place it would be to explore miles of dunes interspersed with forest. Sliding down the dunes, stopping to do yoga in the sand, catching some shade in the little islands of trees. The area for safe foot travel is small, with most of the dunes crawling with thousands of dune buggies. Since I can't escape them I opt for a ride to see what this is all about. Brown Bears and the Astoria bridge have got nothing on the fear I experience riding in a dune buggy. I have now tried it once, checked it out, don't think I'll be going back...but it is a thrill, I can see how people would be drawn to it. The other interesting aspect is that the vehicles on the dunes keep the non-native grasses at bay which keeps the dunes from being inundated by the forests. Once again, something that at first glance seems horrible isn't all bad.
The southern half of Oregon I ride with Michael who has come over from Germany to ride from Portland to Santa Barbara and John (could be Geoff Ruth's older twin brother). We are on the same pace for a few days. We ride together here and there, meet up at coffee shops, cook dinner and camp together, and laugh a lot.
Along the southern coast, the beaches give way to steep cliffs, arches, and sea stacks. The towns become more interspersed and smaller. The riding becomes more fluid, 20-30 mile stretches without stop lights, intersections, and stores.
I stop at the top of a long climb to rest and take in the view. The ocean is calm and glassy with slow moving swells spilling over into perfect waves. It is quiet, I am alone. A rare break when there is no traffic, no wind, no other bikers. As I gaze out over the ocean, whale spouts begin to break the surface, this time they are Gray Whales, likely some of the 200 or so local to Oregon. I feel connected to Alaska, alone with these magnificent giants of the sea. Over the next couple of days I see more whales along the coast, some times by myself and other times with fellow onlookers (it is reassuring to see some of the RV crowd taking time to experience the wonders of the Natural World).

California, when road work delays are welcome sights
I had been hearing about how Oregon is the prime riding of the coast and that California brings a more harrowing experience, where shoulders disappear, hills steepen, and traffic increases. The thousand foot, shoulder less climb out of Crescent City has been weighing on my mind for a while now. After a longer than normal stop at a cafe, I make my move up the hill. Part way up there are long delays for road work. I sweat and huff and puff my way past the waiting cars of frustrated drivers on my way to the flag man. Usually they tell me to wait for the back of the line, but here I am told to keep on going. What is one of the big dreaded sections of Northern California is transformed into a delight. John catches up with me and we ride the climb and descent together, completely free of cars. We sing, laugh, circle and weave our way up and down the hill, just the two of us, the road, and towering Redwoods. The rest of the day is spent riding, chatting, and taking pictures with bears painted gold and giant Paul Bunyan statues. The final miles are a gentle coasting on a car less road through Old Growth Redwoods and into Elk Prairie campground, home to the Roosevelt Elk (largest of North American Elk).

Down to the Bay
I leave tomorrow, continuing south towards the bay, well rested after a couple of days in Arcata. There are steep climbs, shoulder less sections, rides through the Redwoods, ocean vistas, and more people to meet along the way. I will arrive at Olema Ranch Campground on Saturday September 29 and ride into SF on Sunday, September 30. The plan is to leave Olema by about 9:30 and spend some time in Fairfax (with a stop at the Fairfax scoop of course), leaving Fairfax at 1:00 from the parking lot between Sir Francis Drake and Center and then riding across the Golden Gate Bridge at 3:00, leaving from the Vista Point. I would love for people to join me on this ride. The ride from Olema is advanced 32 miles, from Fairfax is moderate 16 miles, and the ride across the bridge is easy just a mile or so. If you want to join me for any of these sections and/or to camp with me at Olema Ranch Campground on Saturday night, let me know 415-297-2919.
I look forward to seeing many friends and family in the Bay Area and hope to get to ride with a number of you. Thank you to everyone who has sent emails, commented on the blog, and called or left messages on my phone. I haven't had the chance to respond to everyone, but you all are on my mind often and every time you reach out to me it helps make riding the hills and traffic a little easier.

Bike Touring 101

A return to my Yurt days makes it hard to leave Port Townsend. There is no better place that I have found to sleep than in a Yurt.









I'm not in Port Townsend any more, and definitely not in S.F. yet!





One of many ominous Tsunami warning signs along the coast







I make my first friends along the ride











Riding with Kelvin down US 101











Jerry, also on his way from Canada to The Mexico border











Taking a rest break















Peeling Myself Away
Port Townsend, what a place! My mom and brother pulled out of town Wednesday morning, I was originally scheduled to follow later that day...but what's the rush? So Wednesday turned into Thursday but Thursday turned into Friday, and why leave on Friday when I can leave on Saturday? It got a little embarrassing as I would see people around town, a quizzical look on their face..."I thought you left yesterday, or the day before that?"
In the end I finally pulled myself away on Saturday. With a send-off from Amanda, Lampy, Chloe, Sam, Duncan, and Maggie, I got on my bike, waved goodbye and was on my way. A call from the Lampert/Webby family that night helped ease the transition.

Anatomy of a Ride
My day starts promptly at 7:00 AM when I turn off my alarm. At 8:00 I start stirring, tired, sore muscles throughout my body. The next few hours are spent stretching, eating, packing up, looking over the day's route, and mentally preparing for another day ahead. By 10:00, 10:30, or a couple of times as late as 11:30 I am off like the wind.
0-5 mph starting or stopping speed
5-10 mph riding up big hills, nasty head winds, or when the donuts wear off
10-18 mph This is where I spend most of my time (I have been averaging 12-15 mph
over most stretches)
18-25 mph All of a sudden the world looks pretty good from the seat of a bike
25-30 mph Startin to pick up speed, I drop to the lower bars and hold on tight
30-39 mph RIPPIN' the donuts must be kickin' in
40+ mph I'll know when I hit it?
The first hour is spent getting into the grove of the day. My pace is lite as I warm up and get the feel of riding again. I usually stop after about 25-30 miles to have a huge lunch, stretch, and take a break. The second 25-30 miles are a little tougher, but I am in my groove at this point. All in all, I ride for about 4-5 hours per day with another 2-4 hours of breaks and time to explore and shop for food each day.
Before I get to camp I stop at a grocery store and stock up for dinner and breakfast the next day. In camp is time to stretch, clean-up, eat, look at the next day's route, and not long after dark I am in bed. My appetite for food and sleep are insatiable, 9-10 hours each night.

The Lonely Road
I spend a lot of time in my head, listening to music, thinking about all sorts of stuff, and taking in the subtleties not experienced in a car. From the first camp it set in that this was going to be a long and lonely stretch. I have a few interactions with people here and there, but mostly it revolves around questions about how far am I going?, where did I start?...then there is some parting comment, "you got a long way to go" "sounds like a great trip" "Huh." The most impressionable comment came from a guy in his 60's who chatted me up for a while, then after a long pause he said, "It sure seems like it would be more fun if you had some one else to ride with you." Most of the time I agree with him, but that is not the reality for this next stretch, so I try to focus on the benefits of riding alone, ask myself why I chose to do this, what do I have to learn...
About the third day I encounter another biker, Kelvin from Canada. We are working off of the same book and have a similar time frame for traveling south. Day six I meet Jerry, another solo biker, again working off the same book and time line. I hear about some other folks who I am yet to cross paths with. There is a little group of us scattered within 25 miles of one another, meeting at campgrounds, passing each other on the road, stopping to take breaks together. I see or chat with some one from this group every day or two.

Where to Next
I crossed over the Columbia River yesterday and arrived in Astoria, OR. The bridge is 4 miles long, shoulder less, windy, and loaded with cars. It is the most harrowing part of the ride so far. Like arriving in Ketchikan, it is the transitions into towns where traffic picks up as does the pace of life which are the biggest challenges. Tomorrow I will ride south down the Oregon Coast for the next 10 days, followed by another 10 days to S.F.

Transitions

A toast to the newlyweds


Tana (the bride) changes into her dancin' clothes and gets down after the ceremony

Not sure how this guy was, but Melissa seemed to like him.

My mom and brother drive away in my car. It's just me and my bike now.

Stopped in to Tana and Rick's while out on a warm-up/test ride with the bike and trailer partially loaded.






The Return to the Lower 48
The ferry ride south is filled with wind, rain, and me catching a cold. I am not used to moving that fast on the water, and it is all kind of a blur. Tana generously picks me up at the Bellingham ferry terminal at the crack of dawn to bring me back to Port Townsend. I am sad to leave Alaska, but Port Townsend is such an amazing place to land.

The Weddin'
We begin work on the property later in the day as Tana and Rick's wedding is only a few days away. We start with arts and crafts, making signs for parking, recycling, welcoming... Tana and Rick comment that it feels like it has started with the arrival of Alex, Cheryl, and myself to begin helping out.
Over the course of the next few days family and friends begin to arrive and it all gets going. A fantastic group of people, Tana and Rick's family and friends, so much love and support.
On Thursday and Friday a number of old friends from our days in Yosemite arrive. I have been to 6 or 7 weddings with this crew and it is always the same. Huge hugs all around, stories and reconnection's of where everyone has been, what they have been up to, and where they are headed, followed by everyone jumping in full force to prepare for the wedding. There is a tremendous outpouring of love during the ceremony and early on in the reception, followed by hilarious antics and raucous dancing into the night (fun like I have no where else). In the morning we prepare some food, tell more stories, and clean up the entire site. I feel so lucky to be a part of this community where everyone comes together and gives of themselves for the greater good.

That Damn "W"
Sunday afternoon I head to Seattle to meet up with my mom and meet her cousin who lives in Seattle. We have a great time, though it is a little shocking to be back in a city.
On Monday, I head to the auto mechanic again (more on that later) then off to the airport to pick up my brother Brian (he and my mom are driving my car and boats back to the Bay Area). As it turns out, Bush is flying in to Seattle to speak at a fundraiser for some other whack job. His plane arrives at the same time as Brian's and he is speaking at the hotel where my mom is staying. It is only $1,000 per plate and the 20 minute speech or $10,000 to personally say what up dog? I mull it over and decide to take one for the team, plunk down my cash and have a short chat with the man. I tell him about how I am taking this trip down the coast and how something like 2,500 miles will be via human power (me in the bike and kayak), and how if more people got around like this it could make a real difference in the world and particularly the U.S.'s contribution to climate change (or as I like to call it, Global Climactic Destabilization--I picked this one up from David Orr at Oberlin College). He nods, mulls it over, and tells me he likes what I have to say and will run it by Carl. I think I am in?!
What really transpired is an absolute mess, traffic on I-5 comes to a standstill for more than 30 minutes, all the over and underpasses are blocked, police and FBI are everywhere, Bush raises $500,000 in less than an hour, total zoo at the hotel where my mom is staying. But here is the part that got me thinking. Bush is in the state of Washington for less then 2 hours during which time thousands upon thousand of local tax dollars are spent on law enforcement, transportation issues...thousand of people are forced to sit and wait for 30 minutes to 2 hours so they can clear the freeway for his motorcade (even while he was at the hotel no one was allowed to travel on the overpasses and underpasses, so you just had to sit and wait). All the while, he is here solely to raise money for a Republican Congressional Candidate, he isn't even doing any business related to "running" the country, and everyone else has to pay for it! It is a rude return from the relative simplicity and clarity of kayaking in Alaska and celebrating love in Port Townsend.
Despite all this, I have a great visit with my mom's cousin, my aunt and uncle and cousins, before heading back to PT with my mom and brother.

Time to ride
It takes 4 trips to 2 different mechanics to get my car running well again (including cleaning out 2 nests of mice that have set up shop in my heating system). The bike is all tuned up and ready to go. I am happy to pear down my gear and get out of the car. My brother Brian and I loaded up the kayaks on top of the car, big hugs and safe travels all around, then off they drove. What will take me the next month to complete, my mom and brother will knock off before I finish this entry.
We joke about me holding on to the car as it pulls out, but a little reality sets in. As they pull away I feel a bit of panic. I have never done this before (bike touring) do I have everything I need? Too much? I head back inside the yurt to catch my breath when I hear the sound of 2 year olds, Chloe and Sam. I head back out to visit and am instantly put at ease with the simple joy of playing and exploring in the yard outside the house. I am grateful for the lessons that little one's can teach me.
I am heading out tomorrow, ready to be on the move again and excited to try something new (the learning curve will be steep). I am planning to reach the Oregon border in a week or so then another 10 days to the California border, followed by another 10 days south to the Bay Area. My goal is to be in Point Reyes by Friday, September 28 and spend 2 days of van supported riding at about 15-20 miles per day to get into the city. This will allow for others who are not used to riding 50 mile days with gear to come join in my adventure. Mark your calendars, and get in touch to come join on this section of the ride. It would be really fun to have a good group of folks camping and riding together. I will post more later when I have details lined up.
Thanks everyone for the blog comments, phone calls & messages, and emails. As of right now, I won't see anyone I know for the next month until I reach Point Reyes. Keep in touch, it is a huge boost to my spirit.

Sun, Bears, and the wacky end to my time in Alaska

Bob Carter drops us off in the Wrangell Narrows to continue our journey south

Brian glides through the glassy water as we approach the "Narrows"

Salmon filling the river (just about everything that is not white foam in the picture are Salmon)

Black Bear with a Salmon

Nothing like fresh blueberries gathered from the forest to spruce up granola

Taking care of some boat repairs after I chipped the bottom of my boat on a rock

Brian tries to thumb a ride from one of the "Duck Boat" tours, just one of the many gimmicks designed to separate cruise ship tourists from their money

Kajuk (a fabled bird) atop a totem pole in Ketchikan

I pull together a nice shirt and tie for the wedding (pictured here with the maid of honor, Diana)





Departing Petersburg

Phil flew out to head home and Brian and I began our trip south together. We will travel though 3 passages with "narrows" in the name, places where the flooding tide enters simultaneously from the north and south and then ebbs from the center out. Bob is gracious enough to drop us off further down the Wrangell Narrows, giving us a jump on our first day. We camp out on a small island in the middle of the channel and watch fishing boats, ferries, yachts, and other boats pass by all night. After seeing very few boats up close on the first two legs, it is fun to see so many different types of boats up close.
On our third day, we enter the our second channel named "The Narrows" on the east side of Wrangell Island. The conditions are as glassy as I have ever seen and we paddle for hours in a meditative state. Forward motion beckons as we ride the current through a blank canvass toward the narrows. The light fades into darkness and we haven't seen a spot to camp for hours. It is well after dark before we decide we can make do with a wet, rocky, buggy, grassy site in order to grab a few hours of sleep before catching the next tide. What we gave up in comfort was more than rewarded in experience. At 3:00 AM, I am startled awake. My eyes pop open as I listen before they begin to droop, heavy with sleep. Again, I am startled awake...this time I listen. The night is foggy and still, Brian and I are the only humans for many miles. From across the shore a solo howl, greeted by another and another. I wake Brian up. For 10 minutes the entire world is the little cove, the fog, the wolves, and us...surreal. My last trip up to Alaska, twice I found fresh Wolf tracks on the beach below my tent, the trip before that an encounter from 20 yards away. There is no other experience I have ever had with animals that is quite like that of the wolf. They move in what I can only describe as their own bubble, their own energy, their own world, all of which envelopes you within encounter. Even with the bears and whales, I still feel that I am myself separate from them, but in encounters with wolves I feel absorbed into their world, not separate but not the same. It is dream like.

Anan Creek Bears

Anan Creek is renowned as a Bear viewing spot. There are gun toating rangers, and viewing platforms in order to minimize the risk and protect the interests of humans and bears alike. After a morning of lounging in the sun, we paddle a mile across the channel to the mouth of the creek. The walk is a 1/2 mile boardwalk trail with signs of bears everywhere, scat on the boardwalk, prints, trails crossing the boardwalk...
We spend a few hours observing the bears and chatting with rangers and other visitors. This is one of the few places anywhere, where Brown and Black Bears feed side by side. There are cubs in the trees above us, sub adults below the platform, and many more adults in the creek below.
The creek is teeming with Salmon, thousands of them making their way up river to spawn and die, feeding bears, eagles, gulls, and the forest in the process. In the eddy's, Salmon gather before squirming and leaping their way up to the next level (half of them get washed back down, only to try again). The whole eddy sways with the movement of the Salmon, packed together they are almost a single entity, the individual yields to the larger whole. Salmon carcasses litter the creek and its banks. The bears are literally gorging themselves, plucking the fish, eating the brains and the eggs before moving on to the next one. Smaller bears, Bald Eagles, and Gulls gobble up the scraps. The DNA of Salmon can be found in the plants of the forest. They quite literally leave the creeks, head to sea, and years later bring nutrients from the sea back up stream to be distributed throughout the flora and fauna of the forest. I am struck by the generosity of the Salmon.
There is a hierarchy amongst the bears which is very clear. A black bear who the rangers call "Maximus" runs the show, even asserting his presence to "Geni" the Brown Bear who comes up river to feed along side the Black Bears. There is a German couple who has spent a week here, observing the bears 2-3 times a day, they are enthralled. Even the rangers are captivated, eyes partially glazed over with wonder as they take in the world of the bear.
As we paddle back to camp our sense of human time is skewed, we chat, wander, sing, and galk at the scenery, giddy with the reality of what we have just witnessed. Again, dream like.

Mr. Melley and his "sunny disposition"

I have warned Brian about being prepared for rain and about "transporting our bubble of dry." So far we have had only a slight drizzle for a couple of hours which was followed by sun. Finally on our 5th day we get rain. However, this too is short lived and quickly followed by sun...the sunshine lasts until after Brian flies home. He does not completely believe my stories of rain. Over time the rationale for the unseasonably dry weather is that it is because of Brian's "sunny disposition." Indeed he is chipper and jovial throughout, even with intense neck pain. It is a pleasure to travel with Brian, many jokes, stories, and curiosities. I feel less like I am on an expedition and more on a childlike exploration of the Tongass. Except for his inexplicable propensity to refer to himself in the third person as "daddy," I thoroughly enjoy our time together.

The rant of Sketchikan

We have a short 12 mile day to paddle through the Tongass Narrows and into Ketchikan. We ride the flood and a following sea, surfing small wind waves. As we approach town, everything changes. The narrows constrict and water gets funky, there are ships of all sizes coming and going from in front and behind us, ferries criss cross the channel from town to the airport on the other side, and there are dozens of float planes taking off and landing all around us. It is the most harrowing paddling of the trip.
We land at the harbor master dock, unable to find the kayak shop that has agreed to let us use their dock. As we unload boats, two "Duck Tour" boats drive off the street and into the water in their amphibious vehicle. They are loaded with a few of the many thousands of tourists from the cruise ships off on sight-seeing excursions.
The town seems to revolve around the cruise ships. 2-4 ships arrive in the morning and depart in the afternoon. In between there is a flurry of activity focused around getting people off of the ships and in some fashion separating them from their money in exchange for entertainment, sightseeing, jewelry, food, trinkets...This place feels fast, busy, and impersonal.
I call my mom to let her know that we are off the water and check my messages. My ferry for the next day has broken down, leaving me stranded in Sketchikan for 4 more days. The folks at the ferry are not only unsympathetic, but antagonistic. They inform me that I am not confirmed on the next ferry and that they only have to let me bring one kayak on with me. For all that Petersburg is, Ketchikan is not. It is a place that has sold out to the cruise ship industry (one of the most insidious industries I have encountered), exchanging their culture, their community, and their way of life for the potential financial rewards of extraction...extracting something much less tangible yet no less important or irreplaceable than fish, timber, or minerals.
Despite this, I try to make the best of my time here. Brian and I take a float plane/boat trip up into Misty Fjords National Monument with tourist from the cruise ships, we are as much a curiosity as anything they see on the tour. We visit the various totem poles around the city (this is one very cool part of Ketchikan, the self described "Totem Pole Capital of the World"), we wander town and watch Salmon spawn in the creeks, rest up tired and sore muscles, and hit some of the local bars at night. I settle into a hostel, hosted by a curmudgeonly old local who curses more than my worst students, meet some interesting fellow travelers trying to experience Alaska minus the eclair bar laden cruise ships, stumble upon a small group of locals playing bluegrass on a Friday night, and get invited to a wedding on Saturday night as a date of the maid of honor...see, wacky. I am stuck here trying to just go with it.
I make some calls to change my plans, cancel the next leg of paddling with Bob Harrison from Bellingham to Port Townsend, arrange for Heather Sullivan to borrow a car from Sarah McNulty and Craig in order to pick me up in Bellingham, call Dave Morris to get some help loading boats and gear onto the ferry (he and his students were scheduled to catch the same ferry out of Wrangell). Once again I am reminded of how amazing my friends and family are and how much generosity is behind turning my dream into a reality.

The Other Side of Ketchikan

It takes me a number of days, but at some point through the haze of cruise ships I encounter another side to Ketchikan. Community bluegrass on a Friday night followed by a wedding on Saturday where I meet folks living here with a deeper connection to place and community. The end of my stay here is a blast thanks to Amos, Katie, Carla and Hamilton (the newlyweds), Aaron, Nate, Angie, Kailey the Preacher Lady, Lambchop, and others. Lambchop reminds me not to judge a book by its cover and that there is much more to Ketchikan than what you might find right off the bat.

Where to next...

Tana's weddin! I couldn't be more excited about returning to Port Townsend for Tana and Rick's wedding. It will be a great reunion with old friends from my Yosemite days, my mom and brothers are coming up to visit and drive my car and boats back to the bay area (Thank you), and a visit with my aunt, uncle, and cousins in Seattle.
My whole time up here I have not had any real cravings for food, movies, not even my bed. My only cravings have been to be with friends and family, I am soooo excited to be with everyone in Port Townsend, Seattle, and later in the end of September/early October in the bay area.
My time in Alaska has been everything I was looking for and more. I feel fulfilled in ways that are difficult to adequately put into in words. I have new dreams of returning here, to explore and be immersed once again in a different way of being in the world...a different way than we even have access to any more in the lower 48.
In the end of August, I trade my kayaks for a bike and begin my tour down the coast from Port Townsend to La Jolla. I have never bike toured before, so I imagine the learning curve will be steep. It has been a number of years since I have tried something new like this and I am excited...excited to see the coast in a different way, excited to use my legs, excited to try something new.

As of now, I don't have anyone joining me for the biking leg. If anyone would like to join me for any part, just let me know, I would love the company. If you are worried about being in shape, or keeping up, don't. I still operate on "Harwell Time" never moving very fast, so come join me for a trip down the coast. Finally, thanks for the comments on the blog, the emails, and the phone calls. I love hearing from everyone, and look forward to it when I arrive in town even more than eating fried food and showering.