Serendipity

The view from the porch

Sometimes, things just fall into place more perfectly than I ever could have dreamed they would. Like this whole bike trip for example. In mid December, I got home from Kroka with a vague notion that perhaps I might want to bike across the country somehow this spring, and now, here I am in late May, sitting outside in Burnsville, North Carolina at a dear friend's house having biked all the way from San Francisco, California. Well, not all the way, there was the train to Los Angeles and a few short drives here and there, but for the most part, I biked. Every setback, rainstorm, injury and blazing afternoon in the unrelenting sun worked out to be just what I needed to learn, grow, and develop my perspective on the world.

Recently, spending time at the Great Smoky Mountains Peace Pagoda felt like the epitome of the coincidental blessings of my journey. When I arrived, I could immediately feel how much I needed to be there. The gorgeous views of the smoky mountains, delicious food, meaningful work, and welcoming, kind and inspiring people at the peace pagoda all nourished me in a way that my body and soul was longing for before returning home.

Taking a trip to the stream on a hot afternoon...

At the peace pagoda, I was able to reflect on my journey and come to a grounded place within myself before it comes to a close. Denise and Utsumi, the two monks who have dedicated their lives towards the building of the Smoky Mountains Peace Pagoda, are inspiring and hard working people who bring to their work a great reverence for life's complexity. Nothing is forced upon the volunteers who come to work at the peace pagoda, and they give everyone room to savor the hard work as well as the beautiful area. They are practical people, but also visionaries who have never been stopped by the magnitude of the projects they pursue.

During work camps, which happen twice a year, anyone can come and help with the building of the peace pagoda and maintaining the gardens, temple and other structures that have been built to support the creation of the peace pagoda. When I was there, most of our work was confined to gardening and making parts of the railing for the peace pagoda because we were a small work crew.

"Parts of a railing" alludes to something small and delicate, like the rungs of a ladder, but the railing we were making is anything but delicate, though it is quite beautiful. Each of the pieces we made with molds for the concrete probably weighed over 70 pounds, and the larger pieces were most likely over 100. Every morning, after two hours of drumming and chanting, a walk around the property and a delicious breakfast, we would unscrew the molds, take them apart, wash, dry and oil them before screwing them back together and pouring freshly mixed concrete into them again to harden for the next day. It is a tedious task, but I did learn more than I ever have about the process of mixing, pouring and settling concrete while also gaining a true appreciate for the enormous amount of work that goes into building a 75 ft. high peace pagoda out of concrete.

The five days I spent working at the peace pagoda flew by quickly, but I was also happy to get back on the road when Monday came around. The ride from the peace pagoda to Burnsville was tough, 84 miles with many, many hills, but I had a hot shower, comfortable bed, supper and a few days of rest to look forward to when I arrived at Heather and Michael's beautiful home. These past few days, I have enjoyed spending time with their family and giving my body a rest before I head over to Charlotte to catch the train.

 As the days of this journey dwindle, I look back on all that it has taught me and marvel that such an expedition can work out so beautifully. I feel the tug of summer planning and the fear of losing the confidence in myself that I have gained this spring bearing down upon me, but if there is one thing I have learned, it is that being in the present moment is the only way to truly live, so that is the place I return to, knowing that in it I will find all the answers to my questions.

The temple, where we drummed and chanted each morning and evening. 

Rescued!

I am in the land of lush deciduous forests now. 

"Do you need help?"
"Umm, errr," I mumbled. Random guy in a pick-up truck, I'm supposed to be suspicious right?
"I saw you going off the road here and I thought you were looking for a place to get out of the rain under the bridge. I've got a car port you can set your tent up in if you want. I know I'm a stranger and all, but you look like you could use some help and I live just down the road. I'm Tim by the way."
"Well, uh, I guess," I managed., "my name is Sonya."

Lots of small roads

 It was pouring rain, I was soaked and freezing cold and the only thing I had to look forward to was a soggy patch of ground under some not-particularly-thick tree cover and a few carrots and celery for dinner. So we loaded my bike into the back of Tim's truck and he drove me a mile or so down the road to his house, dropped me off, and headed out to get dinner. And just like that, my situation reversed itself.

My nervousness about staying with someone I had no connection to gradually ebbed as Tim made every effort to make me feel at home. By the time I had taken a warm shower, washed and dried my clothes, eaten dinner and talked about my trip for a while, my nervousness was transformed to amazement at the generosity of my host. The evening I spent talking to Tim, his son and his son's girlfriend was truly wonderful, and when I went to sleep that night in a warm, dry bed out of the rain, I shook my head in wonder at a world in which someone would go so far out of their way to help a soggy biker get out of the rain and total strangers can become friends overnight.

Two days later, I found myself in a similar situation, and again, I was rescued without a moment's hesitation. On Saturday, I started to notice a slight unsteadiness in my bike when I was flying downhill, but I couldn't place the cause. It was another cold, rainy day, and I was freezing, so I didn't have much patience for checking over my bike. But after a quick stop at a convenience store, my bike started making a noise as if something were rubbing on the rear tire. I got off my bike and checked the fenders, but nothing seemed to be amiss. The noise continued, so I searched for something that was interfering with the tire several more times, but I couldn't find anything.

Finally, after I had already gone a few miles down the road, I realized that the noise was coming from a huge bump on the tire itself. My tire had ripped open completely along one seam, allowing the tube to bulge out like an angry black blister. Luckily, I had a thorn resistant tube in the back which had been able to maintain its integrity relatively well, so the tube was still holding air. But between the rubbing of the tire and the unsteadiness caused by its uneven surface, I knew I didn't have long to go before the tube would blow. So I made my way back to an abandoned building with a large awning I had passed, and commenced with the rather haphazard art of repairing the tire.

Notice the tree growing out of the silo!

It soon became apparent however, that I was not going to be able to go far on the broken tire, so I called up Dan, a warm showers host who lived thirty miles away, and asked if he knew of any bike shops in the area. I soon learned that the closest bike shops were in Chattanooga, more than 40 miles away, so I started planning out an emergency evacuation route, but Dan called me back and informed me that he was in Walmart buying a tire for my bike and that he would pick me up and take me back to his place for the night.

"Are you sure?" I asked, hesitant to cause such trouble.
"Yeah, don't worry about it," Dan replied, "it's a rainy day and I figured you'd rather sleep inside tonight. We can fix up your bike in my shop."

Such altruistic acts of kindness have followed me everywhere I have pedaled on this long journey. The first question people ask when I tell them that I started biking in San Francisco is: "Nobody's given you trouble?" Every time I can only say that I have not met a single person who has shown any ill intent toward me. Not one in well over 3,000 miles of biking and many nights camping in the strangest of places. Is that just luck? I cannot say, but I let it be a constant reminder that life is a gift and that people, no matter what their background, perspective, political stance or religious affiliation, are inherently kind, loving and thoughtful, and it is only through hiding from fear and trauma that hurtful behavior is manifested.

A proper tourist

Nevertheless, I am still careful, especially in these last few weeks when I know it will be easy to let down my guard in anticipation of being home. I have finally crossed back into my home time zone and I am near the border with North Carolina. I decided to change my route a little and bike Northeast to the Smoky Mountains Peace Pagoda (http://www.smokeymountainpeacepagoda.com/) where I will help build the peace pagoda, for I still have plenty of time before my departing train from Charlotte on June 2nd.

 It has been absolutely amazing to not feel any time pressure, and I have enjoyed taking easy days and stopping along the way like a proper tourist. No, not a bike tourist, a tourist, tourist, the kind that goes to historical sights and "points of interest" along the way. I even went to the Jack Daniel's Distillery and tromped around with a bus load of people from England, mostly retired couples, who were on a motor coach "tour of the South" and listened to our tour guide explain the process of whiskey making and the history of the distillery. It was hilarious, the tour guide had a Southern accent and the English folks had a terrible time understanding him. I have never had whiskey before, much less seen it made, so it was very interesting to learn how the corn, malted barley and rye mixture is ground, fermented, distilled, mellowed and aged in carefully hand made white oak barrels and hear stories about Jack Daniel and the history of his business. All in all, it was totally worthwhile to bike the extra twelve miles back into Lynchburg after camping outside of town, and my only regret is that I did not give the enthusiastic English gentleman from the tour a Kroka post card and a link to my blog. Sometimes I forget that even if I am a little tired of telling my story, they aren't tired of listening to it.

Love, peace, and gentle riding,
Sonya

PS. Sorry I haven't posted pictures in a while. I promise I will get some up as soon as I have access to a non-library computer. I have been taking some pictures, I just have not been able to upload them from my camera yet.

Blackberry winter they call it, a cold spell in May.  I was incredibly glad for the cool days that followed my stay in Pulaski, the temperature couldn't have been better for biking. 

Southern Hospitality

It's no myth, these people are some of the friendliest folks I have come across. Wherever I go, people seem to be looking out for me, but in the South, it feels like every other person stops to ask if I need anything. And a good thing too, because lately I've been needing much more support than I used to.

Since I last wrote, my pace has changed drastically, for my Achilles tendon has started to act up. From Jackson, I only biked a few miles before it started to hurt, so the 100 mile day I was hoping for was cut short at 65 miles. The following day, I barely made it 63 miles, my Achilles was extremely painful by noon so I took a very long break to stretch and rest. I even walked a few miles because it seemed to help stretch out my leg while allowing me to continue to make at least a little progress. Even so, I still had 55 miles to go by late afternoon and there was no chance my overstressed Achilles could make it.

But Rufus, my warm showers host in Tupelo, generously offered to drive nearly fifty miles out to pick me up that evening so that I could rest my injury in a warm bed rather than camping out in the rain. He then proceeded to take me out to dinner and let me stay again the next night so I could have a rest day. Talk about Southern hospitality, I couldn't have dreamed of a better place to recuperate.

Tornado destruction

On Saturday, I joined a work crew from Rufus' church to help clean up from tornado damage. The long, hot day hauling wood around was not only a sorely needed upper body workout, but also a refreshing change to my routine. It was fun to meet new folks, and better still, be able to give rather than take for once. Tornado damage is totally overwhelming and though our work was small in the grand scheme of things, it did change the condition of a few people's yards dramatically.

 There are many, many more hours, days and years of work to do to restore all the homes, businesses and other buildings that were damaged in this storm however, and as global warming continues to create "natural" disasters of this scale, complete recovery will probably never happen. Nevertheless, the sheer number of people who donated their time to help their neighbors is an inspiration; I have no doubt that it will be these same communities that will make the changes we need to in order to continue our existence in this beautiful world.

The Tennesse River

After the work day, I stayed in Tupelo for one more day, for I met a man named Stephen King through the church work crew who offered to let me stay with his family. No, not that Stephen King, he's a vet who did some bicycle touring in his youth and never lost sight of the joy of it. We immediately connected, and I had an absolutely incredible time with the whole family. They welcomed me wholeheartedly into their beautiful home and treated me to a proper Southern dinner of grits, salmon and asparagus followed by frozen custard from the local Bop's for dessert! It was delicious and Stephen's wife taught me how to make the grits so I'll have something to share with my family when I get home.

Coasting on the Natchez Trace

Though my Achilles is still not fully back to normal, it is significantly better, and I have been taking it easy these past few days so it continues to improve. Taking it easy is a very different mindset, but I have been enjoying taking long breaks and moving even more slowly than usual. It gives me time to take in the beauty of the countryside as I pass through and appreciate all the wonderful people I come across.

 Though this means that I probably won't be able to do the Blue Ridge Parkway on this trip, I would rather enjoy the rest of my time in the South and come home with a sound Achilles tendon. As Thomas, one of our teachers on Kroka's NH-Ecuador semester taught me, it is important to come home from an expedition with clean clothes (metaphorically at least), not staggering in to collapse and recover in the "real" world. So I will amble my way over to Asheville and take the train from Charlotte, North Carolina to New Haven, Connecticut and then make my way home from there.

Peace, Love and a happy traveler,
Sonya

Yes, that's a drive through liquor store!

You Down South Girl!

Where's the maple syrup?

"Hey, what you eatin' there girl?'"
"Avocado."
"What?"
"Avocado, I bought it at the grocery store."
"Huh, we don't eat none oh that down here."

I was standing in the shade on the side of highway 84 just west of Jonesville Louisiana talking to a bunch of guys who were on lunch break from their job of weed whacking in the wake of the big mowers that keep the side of the road from getting overgrown.

"Well, what do y'all eat then?"
"Meat," they all said immediately.
"What else? You must eat more than just meat!" I insisted.
"Naw, just meat," was all the answer I could get. They wouldn't even tell me what kind of meat. And when I said I was a vegetarian and the last time I ate meat it made me feel sick, one of the guys threw his hands up in exasperation.

There aren't too many vegetarians around here, or rather, down here, down South. There are some, indeed, my wonderful warm showers host in Jackson Mississippi who I am staying with right now is vegan and has a 70% raw food diet, but he is an anomaly in a world of people who eat a whole lot of meat. Guess I won't be getting a taste of any of the local cuisine.

A pizza I was given by the owner of a grocery store!

The pace I've been setting doesn't give me the time to take in much of the local anything however. Since I left Austin last Thursday morning, I have cycled close to 600 miles which is a lot more than I have covered in any of the weeks previous to this one. Every morning, I set out early, and most days have been at least nine hours in the saddle, even with a tail wind most of the time and some of the flattest terrain I've come across. While it does feel good to bust out some long days, I do feel that I'm missing a lot by going so fast, and I will be slowing down the pace soon.

The Deep South is a part of the country I have never visited before, and it would be a shame to go through without taking it in. There are many deep cultural roots here, and a lifestyle that I have never experienced before; it is a place I can learn a lot from. As I make my way to Asheville, NC, from here, I look forward to meeting more people like those guys on the side of the road, and getting a feeling for this area. Maybe I'll even learn to decipher the accents without haven't to ask "what?" a million times!

The great Mississippi River

Good Company

"So Papa, what are we going to eat for lunch tomorrow?" I asked the evening before we set off from El Paso on our first day.
"I was thinking of getting some Mexican food," my dad replied.
"You mean, like at a restaurant?" I asked with bewilderment, the thought hadn't even crossed my mind.
"Yeah, I want to get a taste of the local cuisine as we bike!" He insisted.
"Oh," was all I could muster. Things are different when you've got company.

My dad joined me in El Paso and his companionship over the past 700 miles or so of my journey has been a total blessing. I was getting very tired of cycling, of waking up early, biking all day, and not knowing where I am going to sleep at night. I missed my friends and family, my oboe, school, work and our dog Lily. Indeed, I still do, and the longing I feel whenever I listen to oboe music or talk to my friends is no less intense, but my dad has reminded me why I am doing this trip in the first place while also putting my fitness level into perspective.

See the observatory in the background?

"Go easy on your dad, he hasn't done much training," everyone has been telling me, "he will need to go slowly the first few days as he gets in shape." I was looking forward to those first easy days when my dad was exhausted and I was pedaling along like it was nothing, but they never did happen. As soon as we got out of El Paso where I was leading because I had done the research for directions, papa zoomed ahead. During the next few days, I found myself following meekly behind my 51 year old father who had only done a few 20 mile training rides while I biked 1,500 miles from San Francisco. Needless to say, it was humbling, frustrating even, for one would hope that in 1,500 miles, one would gain some level of increased physical fitness.

 I injured my Achilles tendon during the 90 mile ride from Kingston to Las Cruces and churning slowly behind my dad's ever diminishing form, I began to notice twinges in my knee again. Between the renewed physical pain and the reality check of barely being able to keep up with my dad, I was forced to accept that I am not going to be able to bike the whole way home. It was a very difficult thing to do, but since I have let go of biking all the way home, the rest of my trip is looking a lot more exciting. I have not decided where I will take a train/bus, but I know it will happen at some point and I am not going to worry about putting in 100+ mile days repeatedly, rushing home without taking the time to appreciate the places I visit.

My room in Loma del Chivo.

However, I won't say that I wasn't excited when papa and I completed our first century mile ride! After a fabulous rest day at the McDonald Observatory in the Davis Mountains where we got a VIP tour of the telescopes from our wonderful warm showers host and participated in a "star party" during which we sat in an outdoor amphitheater for a tour of the constellations and looked at various planets, galaxies, etc. through many different kinds of telescopes, we headed down the mountain to Marathon TX. In Marathon, we made ourselves a hearty dinner at Loma del Chivo, a collection of artistic buildings that form a sort of hippy commune which is available to touring cyclists on Warmshowers.org and gratefully slept a sound night's sleep. The bed I stayed in was a mattress in an alcove on the roof that opened to a wide porch which faced a beautiful sunset that evening, definitely the best sleeping spot of my trip so far.

The open air kitchen at Loma del Chivo

The next morning, papa and I rose at 4:30, and after meditation, yoga (my dad has been inspiring me with his knowledge of yoga and it has been a great compliment to my habitual morning meditation) and a quick breakfast, we left Marathon in the dark. We were hoping to make it the 43 miles to the road block 10 miles outside of Sanderson by noon because there were time trials for a road race going on and we knew that we wouldn't be able to bike through to Sanderson until the lunch break at noon.

 But as the sky slowly brightened, we found ourselves moving much faster than we had anticipated, and by the time we arrived at the road block, it was only 10:45. Bummer, we thought, we have to wait for 1:15 until the time trials closed down. But it quickly became apparent that the officer organizing the road block had different plans for us, and before long, our bikes were packed up into the back of a sheriff's truck and we were zooming down the road at 50 miles an hour. We were probably the only people who would have called it zooming though, the race car driver who was also getting a ride with us seemed to think that anything under 200 mph was slow.

When we arrived in Sanderson, papa bought himself a huge lunch consisting of half a chicken, a tortilla, beans, vegetables and home fries which he devoured while I struggled to finish the container of brown rice pasta, quinoa and zuchinni I had packed for both of us to eat for lunch. We had to take a break to digest after the feast, but since we had been driven the 10 miles from Sanderson, we were ahead of schedule. Well, sort of. We still had over 60 miles to get to Langtry, the next town on the route, but after such a perfect morning, 105 miles suddenly felt possible. So we filled our water containers and hit the road again.

As the afternoon dragged on, fatigue set in. The heat didn't help, and by 6:00 we were exhausted, but the barren desert and fences lining both sides of the road offered no refuge to camp in. We took a long break at one of the many "Picnic Areas" in Texas, one of the best uses of Texan tax dollars I can think of, and ate tortillas with avocado, green pepper and hummus and carob energy chunks for dinner before wearily climbing back onto our bikes for the last 15 miles to Langtry. At the end of the day, we had covered 115 miles, 105 by bike and 10 by car, a feat well worth the effort.

The next day couldn't have been more different. We woke up late and by the time we got on the road, the wind was howling. In the wrong direction. This was not just a breeze, or a blustery day, but a steady wall of air that slammed into our little bikes and bodies incessantly. The constant battering reminded me of a basketball drill where some one stands under the basket with a pad and smashes you as you go in for a lay-up. Except that basketball drills don't last eight hours.

Needless to say, it was a brutally difficult day even though we biked less than 40 miles. It made our prospects of reaching Austin by Wednesday morning look very grim. The winds abetted slightly the day after though, and we made it past Del Rio, the first large town since El Paso. In Del Rio, I rejuvenated our food supply, perhaps a little too zealously, at the HEB, a large grocery store. The selection of food was a bit much for me to handle after a week of miniature general stores with only a few wilted, non-organic vegetables and canned beans among the shelves full of heavily processed foods. I even bought a can of coconut milk.

In all the excitement of the grocery store, we completely neglected the hardware store though and forgot to buy foel for our stove! Thus, 20 miles East of Del Rio, I suddenly realized that our coconut curry wasn't going to happen. But papa and I are a resourceful team and soon had a solar cooker set up on the back of my bike to cook macaroni on our way to Bracketville. We considered making a cookbook about bicyle tour solar cooking but the pale, rubbery paste we ate that night at the RV campground in Fort Clark Springs was considerably less brilliant than the idea of strapping a plastic bag filled with water and macaroni to the back of my bike.

Yep, we're in Texas

The coconut curry dream did not die however, for I was able to cook in a microwave at the RV campground. We ate our curry with carrots, broccoli, scallions and cashews partway down the hill before Leakey (pronounced Lakey) with a gorgeous view of the tree covered hills later that evening. The moment was too perfect to think that we would have been any better off had we remembered to buy isobutane in Del Rio.

Hills? Gorgeous views? What are you talking about? Texas is supposed to be flat, dry, hot and desolate, a dreary monotony of ranches, oil rigs and fracking stretching endlessly into the desert. Or at least that was the vague impression I had of Texas before I entered the state. I was surprised to find however, that some areas of Texas are actually quite lush and very hilly. That is not to say that our ride from El Paso did not include several very long days through ruthlessly hot and boring desert, featuring nothing but creosote bushes and little boxes which, we assumed, house cameras for border patrol (we spent much of our ride from El Paso to Del Rio less than 50 miles from the Mexican border), but the day after we stayed at the RV park, the landscape changed dramatically. There were many steep hills and...trees! As we continued East and North to Hunt, we climbed countless hills which provided an interesting change in landscape as the elevation changed.

And when we arrived in Hunt, it was like entering a different world. Pedaling along the river, there were trees that hung over the road, big, lush, hardwoods like nothing I had seen in, well, months. I have been biking through desert since the California coast, and being in a place with at least some moisture and trees makes me happy. I forgot how much I love trees.

Swimming in the springs!

Our hosts in Hunt were truly incredible. Lou and Linda did everything they could to make our stay enjoyable, and the beautiful apartment we slept in was the perfect place to reorganize before my dad left from Austin. I went through all of my gear, doing repairs and sending a large portion of it home with my dad. I was only able to have this space and time to prepare for the next section of my journey because Lou drove us 80 miles towards Austin on Tuesday, allowing us to make it into Austin Tuesday night so that we could have the whole day on Wednesday to explore Austin. The ride was a total blessing, for it gave us a chance to see Austin, which is an awesome city.

On Wednesday morning, papa and I went swimming in the natural springs right in the city which was a treat. Swimming in live, fresh, cold water was a visceral way to mark my emergence from the desert, and it was so cool to see the city's skyscrapers from the beauty of a natural spring. Later that day, my dad went on a scooter tour of the city with our warm showers host while I worked in the library at the University of Texas at Austin and that evening, we did a bike tour of Austin after dinner. Palmer, our host, was an awesome tour guide and made sure that we didn't leave the city without seeing the basics at the very least: the capitol, a graffiti park, a skate/trick bike park, the east side neighborhood where most of the houses have been turned into bars and restaurants, an outdoor food court, and the University of Texas. I'm not much of a city person, but I have to say, Austin has a great attitude and I wish I had had the energy to stay up and go to a drag show or listen to some live music.

 Austin is behind me now and I said goodbye to my dad this morning. It was sad to see him go, but I know that in the month to come, the memory of the boyish grin he held on his face nearly every time I looked over at him when we were riding together will carry me through the hard days. I am still a long ways from home, but I have no doubt that the next month of biking/travelling will be rich with adventure and good people, and I will continue to learn from the places I pass by.

Love, peace, and appreciation,
Sonya

PS. I am thinking about trying to find a way to help with disaster relief in the South from the tornadoes, but I don't know where to start. If you have any ideas for how I could get involved, please let me know.

PPS. I'm going to the University of Vermont in the fall!

This was the sweetest calf! He came over to greet us when we biked by, and then ran alongside us as far as the fence would let him!

Austin has some great art!

The makeshift tent. This was set up after we were kicked out of our original spot by the railroad police because we were camped too close to the tracks.