Life is life

 First, a brief update on the tail end of my ride...

Meeting up with my family on the last few days of my ride, in Greenfield Massachusettes, at my Grandmother's house, was fantastic, and my mom biked with me for the last few days on the way home. She was incredible, and wouldn't stop saying how surprised she was to be biking 30, then 50, then 65 mile days. We stopped at the Kroka Vermont semester graduation in Marlow, NH, on the way back, which was a perfect way to bring the ride to a close and reconnect with the people that inspired it in the first place. 

It has been four months and six days since I last wrote, roughly the same amount of time I was on tour for. It's a strange thing to think about, but the truth is, my life has been just as fulfilling in these last four months as it was during the time that I was biking. Though I've been doing the least unusual things I could possibly be doing, working during the summer, and now studying at the University of Vermont, I have come to appreciate the way in which many of the beautiful principles of human kindness exist everywhere, not only on rain drenched nights in Eastern Tennessee when the only camping option is swamp. 

And yes, the speech did eventually get written. 

Over the summer, I spent a lot of time with two little girls who live down the road from me. We went to horse camp with our neighbor Nancy some weeks, and other times we had the week to ourselves. We swam a lot, made fairy houses, and even spent a few nights out on the Green River Reservoir. The time I spent with them was an extremely valuable lesson for me in the enormous amount of energy it takes to be a parent (or at least a substitute parent) as well as complete joy. We had so much fun together, the girls' parents paid me well, so I was able to make a decent amount of money this summer between babysitting, gardening, house cleaning, and other odd jobs. 

I was also able to participate in most of the Village Harmony Session II touring camp, interning as a food coordinator in exchange for tuition, which was a complete joy. Village Harmony is a world music singing camp that I have done for seven summers now. It is such an important part of my life, and I have had the wonderful opportunity to work for the organization as a food coordinator/chef/odds and ends person the past two summers which has been a real gift because I would not have been able to afford to go either summer. 

Home sweet home...the beaver pond by our house. 

Between working as much as I possibly could, Village Harmony, and a brief trip to Acadia with my family at the tail end of the summer, my first days at the University of Vermont came up quickly. It has been an odd but relatively smooth transition into college, though being a part of an institution that is very much a corporation has been difficult. I am in the Rubenstein School for the Environment and Natural Resources which is fabulous, the mission of the school really resonates with me and I have a few particularly wonderful professors from the school. 

I am taking Natural History and Field Ecology, Race, Culture and the Environment, Accelerated Biology, Fundamentals of Calculus, The Pursuit of Knowledge, Music in Live Performance, and Orchestra, which is kind of a lot of classes to be taking. It means that I have to plan my time very carefully and spend most of my day doing schoolwork, which is a bummer when it is beautiful out and my bike is feeling lonely. Nevertheless, the coursework has been engaging and I am glad to be doing it. 

In short, I am glad to be where I am in my life right now, and I thought I ought to let y'all know since I have been silent since the end of my bike tour. 

Peace, love, and simple joy,

Sonya 

Northbound Train

I'm in New England! Northampton Massachusetts at that, a place I have been to before. The culture shock is only just catching up with me, I keep expecting to hear that wonderful Southern drawl, or see a Sonic drive through, but I do love being able to identify most of the trees I pass. Traveling 800 miles in under 24 hours by train was a bit of a time warp.  

In the last few months, time has been connected, for the most part, to distance. "April" is a nearly useless prompt to help me sort through the memories I have accumulated throughout this trip, but "New Mexico"or "Peace Pagoda" immediately brings back a flood of vivid images, for my location has been much more important than the time of year on this journey. But now, all of a sudden, I am back in familiar territory and the date has crept its way up the scale of relevance in my mind. 

It is a huge transition, but one that I have been processing for a long time already. The quiet evenings at the peace pagoda, the loving support of Heather, Michael and their son Sather during my stay in Celo, slowly churning my way up Mt. Mitchell, hours of stimulating conversation with an incredible warm showers host near Charlotte, all have helped me to come to a place within myself where I am ready to return home. 

In the past 230 miles of my bike trip, the imminence of its end has prompted me to relish biking. From Celo, I went North on the Blue Ridge Parkway so as to climb the highest peak east of the Mississippi and get at least a taste of the Blue Ridge. Unfortunately, there wasn't much of a view at the top, but I enjoyed the climb and exhilarating decent accentuated by an impending thunderstorm which was courteous enough to save its showers until I had my tent set up and dinner cooked. I even took a shower in it! 

The next day, Saturday, it continued to rain throughout the morning, but I didn't mind, and by the afternoon it was sunny enough to dry my tent out during a long break in the afternoon. North Carolina's mountains softened into hills as I made my way east, but the area was still beautiful and the quiet secondary roads a joy to ride. My last night of unplanned camping, I was offered a place to stay by a local power company worker who had done some touring in his youth. So I pitched my tent on a soft spot of lawn and ate a delicious bowl of teriyaki chicken and rice for supper; the generosity of everyone I meet continues to inspire me. 

This trip has shown me how beautifully the concept of paying to forward impacts the world. Organizations like warm showers and the great capacity for compassion in the human spirit allow people to help each other out, and though the giver probably won't be paid back, the receiver can pass the gift forward and thereby spread the love. It is a beautiful way to live. 

The warm showers host I stayed with in Cornelius, North Carolina, reminded me of the brilliance of this concept as soon as I contacted him. A month ago or so, when I was realizing that I couldn't bike the rest of my trip with the way my achilles was hurting, I contacted him to ask if he might be able to help me get to the train. I knew it was a bit of a long shot, but Brandon immediately responded, "Don't worry about a thing everything will be covered, if you need the help. I am here if you need anything" and indeed, from the moment I arrived on Sunday to when the train rumbled out of the station, I was completely relaxed. 

We went swimming, ate amazing avocado, lime, kale, lettuce and tomato salads for lunch and dinner, and somehow managed to pack my bike into a rather small bike box. And all the while, we talked and Brandon's infectious positivity and energy renewed my zest for life. What a gift. I can't wait to host cyclists this summer!

This journey has been one of the most liberating, uplifting, and challenging experiences of my life. I have learned so much and come to love the bike touring lifestyle, so in many ways, it will be sad for my travels to end for the time being. Nevertheless, I am looking forward to seeing my family and friends, and to bringing the confidence and insight I have discovered within myself through this tour into my home life; though I will be returning to a relatively mundane life, I know that it can be just as challenging and exciting as the life I have been living during my travels. All I have to do is be present in it, for the very act of living is thrilling if you give it enough appreciation. 

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. 

Movement

I'm in Texas. The beginning of Texas, but Texas nonetheless. I left home for Oakland California 57 days ago and have since biked a good many miles down the coast of California, East to Joshua Tree, North to Prescott College, and along the Southern Tier Adventure Cycling Association route through Arizona and New Mexico. I have crossed one time zone and will soon be crossing the next, and yet, I have at least twice as many miles ahead of me as there are behind.

The sign says "Pecan Thieves Will Be Prosecuted

Thus far, I have biked somewhere between 1,400 and 1,500 miles in a slow, rambling and intermittent fashion. I won't have a bike computer for this trip, for I have gone through three and have therefore decided that it is not my destiny to know how fast or exactly how far I am going. The first bike computer just didn't work, so I activated the warranty and ordered a replacement which fell off my bike and broke the first day I rode with it. Then my dad ordered me a cheap one from Amazon and sent it to Twentynine Palms, but it stopped working by the time I arrived in Silver City, NM. So I have a rather large collection of button batteries and only the vaguest idea of my exact mileage for this trip.

The fact that I have managed to make it this far is a tribute to the kindness and generosity of many, many people who have housed, fed, encouraged, and taken care of me through all the struggles of this journey. Warm Showers hosts who I have never met have welcomed me into their homes and given me food, laughter and inspiration, random people wave to me as they drive by, and now that I am on the Southern Tier, I often see other touring cyclists who wave or stop and offer a few words of advice. I feel blessed to have been able to make it this far, and I have no allusions that I could have done it alone.

The highlands in New Mexico

However, I am only half way through my trip in time and less than a third of the way in mileage, there are many adventures before me. In 57 days, I will be standing on a podium on the softball field at Lamoille Union High School in Hyde Park Vermont inspiring my fellow classmates with a brilliant speech before we receive our diplomas and head off into the next stage of our lives. Or more accurately, I will be trying not to mumble as I attempt to express my excitement for all 129 students in our graduating class and the future we have ahead of us in a way that can be understood by everyone. It is a daunting task and I won't pretend to have written anything yet, but I have many more miles ahead of me to pedal and ponder.

Before I go tearing off into the future though, let me look back a little. I forget that y'all weren't biking alongside me through the mountains of New Mexico this past week. I climbed up into the mountains from southeastern Arizona and into New Mexico, stealth camping off the side of the road for the first two nights. There were a couple hard grades, but I like churning slowly uphill, it is humbling, and the satisfaction of arriving at the top of a pass is much greater than that of arriving somewhere after biking on a straight, flat road all day. I will have to get better at appreciating flatness though, for Emory Pass (8,223 ft) was the last 8,000 ft + pass I will bike over, and Texas will be much less mountainous than New Mexico.

Gila Cliff Dwellings

Most of my route through New Mexico was on very quiet roads, sometimes I would go as long as fifteen minutes without seeing a car, and because I was changing elevation so much, I saw a wide variety of flora and fauna. It is a very beautiful area despite the harshness of drought. The open spaces in the highlands reminded me of Ecuador, the cows weren't nearly as graceful as the ones we saw in the Paramo in Ecuador, but seeing them roaming freely under an open sky brought back the feeling of trekking to Cotopaxi with my semester friends.

After two nights sleeping out-one night I didn't even use my tent!-I arrived in Silver City where I was greeted by a wonderful warm showers host. I had a spectacular time with my hosts in Silver City, they were generous beyond words and great people to talk to. After a fun afternoon, a restful evening, and a delicious breakfast, I headed out towards Gila where I stayed at the hot springs.

Hot springs!

The road there is gorgeous, though very windy and hilly, and I managed to get a flat tire. No big deal right? Just pop off the tire, get out my tire levers and replace the tube, easiest bike maintenance there is. Except that my tire levers weren't in my tool bag. During this trip, I have lost many things. Scissors, a glove, one and a half pairs of socks, my Kroka water bottle (I left it in the airport in Vancouver and I'm hoping that whoever picks it up is like me and will look into Kroka and discover that it is the perfect program for them or some one they know or become inspired to contribute to the organization), my multi-tool, and probably a lot of other little things that I won't miss until I need them, but tire levers? What kind of a cross country bike tourer doesn't have bike levers? They are the simplest, most necessary bike tool in existence and I felt incredibly stupid sitting on the side of the road with my flat tire. Luckily, it was only a slow leak, so I managed to get to the campground by stopping every mile or so and pumping it up. The man who runs the campground and hot springs gave me some old worn out screw drivers to remove the tire with, and I was later gifted a set of tire levers by one of the folks staying at the hot springs. So it all worked out, but only because I was lucky.

I decided to splurge and stay at the campground for a whole two nights-$10, which is more than I have spent on lodging the whole trip, but the hot springs were right there and I could soak in them whenever I wanted to. It was great to leave my tent standing for a day and take a leisurely ride up to the Gila Cliff Dwellings before getting back on my bike to go to El Paso. I shared a camp site with a woman who has been living out of her truck for a long time and we had a great time together.

The creek I slept by in Kingston

Visiting the Cliff Dwellings was well worth the $3 entrance fee, for they are a special place. They have been inhabited by many different indigenous peoples over the years, the most recent group of which built very beautiful rooms inside the caves. I could imagine living in there, hauling water up from the bottom of the canyon day after day, but it was sad to see how distant the monument is from the people and the cultures that once called it home. In the park, it is merely an attraction to walk through and take pictures of, not a place to honor and remember the people who lived here before us.

The ride from Gila to El Paso went quite smoothly. Crossing Emory Pass was a breeze, and I found a lovely place to camp by a little stream just past Kingston on my way down. From Kingston to Las Cruces was close to 90 miles, but all downhill, so it should have been a relatively easy day. There was a breeze that day though, and a breeze is transformed into a terrible, exhausting headwind when you are biking against it. It is infuriating, you stop and you hardly even notice the wind, but as soon as you start biking, there it is again, pushing slowly but constantly against your tired body. The only thing that got me through that day was the local pecans I bought in Hatch. I had plenty of food, but I have never had an opportunity to buy local nuts before, and the quart sized bag of shelled pecans I bought was well worth the $8 I paid for it.

Luckily, I had a Warm Showers host in Las Cruces, so I had a comfy bed to rest in and good company at the end of the day. And the next day's ride was a mere forty miles, bringing me into El Paso, where I met my dad's bike at yet another Warm Showers host's house. It has been awesome to have a place to stay these past two days while I figure out my route and rest. The family I am staying with is so welcoming, and it is amazing to have a place where I can use a computer.

A beautiful piece of wood I found at my camp spot on the way to Silver City

And now my dad is here! I am really looking forward to biking with him for the next two weeks through Texas, it will be great to have a travelling companion. After he leaves me in Austin, we'll have to wait and see what happens. I may be able to go fast enough to bike the rest of the way home, but if I can't it won't be any less of an adventure.

Out and back

My nightly accommodations

Air travel is not my forte. When I was packing for the student admit weekend at Quest University, I made sure to leave all my liquids behind, but in a moment of pure stupidity, I decided I might as well take my pepper spray. I knew that I was possibly going to walk 7 kilometers to the bus stop at 2:30 AM on my way home and you never know who or what you'll encounter at that hour in rural British Columbia. In fact, I did see a rather large black bear that morning while I was waiting for the bus after taking a taxi with two other students. Not that pepper spray would have been even the slightest bit helpful if I had run into a bear on my walk, but it was at least a somewhat reasonable precaution.

Except that I was flying Vancouver, not biking, so I had to go through security. And that didn't go too well. They immediately found my precious pepper spray. One security personnel had to call in her superior who took me to yet another security officer who detained me while she contacted higher ups to determine my fate. My particular pepper spray unfortunately contained tear gas which the security officer-mistakenly-took as a sign that I might be possessing military grade tear gas. So I sat on the table by the officer's desk for another twenty minutes as a Homeland Security officer made came over to give his decision and another security personnel informed me that I ought to sign up for personal defense classes. I didn't bother to explain that I'm not going to be in one place for a long time. In the end, it all worked out, and the rest of my travels went smoothly, but the event reminded me why I like bike travel so much better than air travel.

The mountains are the backdrop of Quest

As did my night in the airport. I slept very little, ate spaghetti with fried garlic and tomato sauce (which I made at the Camelbackpackers Hostel in Phoenix-camelbackpackers.com-where I was able to stay through a wonderful warm showers host who runs We Cycle USA-wecycleusa.org) for breakfast at 2:30 AM, and spent two hours pouring over my maps while the employees of the fast food place I was stationed next to gave me funny looks and a fellow airport beneficiary dreamed the night away. Despite the rough night, I managed to make it through the rest of the day of travel, exploring Quest University, and meeting my hosts, though I did fall asleep at 7:00 PM and missed the open mic night.

All in all, my stay at Quest was very pleasant. Quest was created in 2006 by a group of professors who wanted to design a true liberal arts college that could prepare students to thrive in the 21st century's dynamic work force. The result is a college which has a foundation program spanning a wide variety of disciplines and two years, followed by a two year concentration phase during which students pursue answers to questions (sort of like their major) which they form at the end of their sophomore year. Classes are taught in 3 1/2 week blocks so students only take one class at a time, and there are no lecture halls or departments. Thus, Quest has been able to effectively create an intriguing multi-disciplinary approach to education. I like the ideas behind Quest, and I did enjoy my time there, especially the long afternoon I spent bouldering in their climbing gym and the evening cabaret performance put on by current students. However, it felt very isolated from the rest of the world and I couldn't see myself going to college there.

WATER!!!

British Columbia, on the other hand, is definitely a place I want to spend more time in. Its majestic snow capped mountains that rise into the clouds are stunning. The second I stepped off of the airplane in Vancouver, I could immediately taste the moisture in the air and it made my heart sing. I drank in the cloudy, rainy days in British Columbia joyfully, and when I went for a short hike on some of the many mountain bike trails surrounding Quest, I stumbled upon a stream with the cleanest, purest, most delicious tasting water I have had since I left home. All the clouds and rain in British Columbia invigorated my withering soul, giving me strength to return to the parched Midwest where the only rivers are canals and most tap water comes from miles away. It truly is a disaster that has already happened.

But I am learning to love the desert too. The longer I spend here, the more I see in its bleakness. I am now in the land of the Saguaro cacti and red, brown and gold streaked mountains that climb proudly into the open sky, revealing striations in the rocks that formed them so long ago. There is much more than meets the eye here; I am constantly discovering new species of wildflowers and I am often surprised by the wildlife that crosses my path. Last night, I slept by a dirt field and listened to a coyote call to neighboring dogs while I watched the moon and stars. Rain is so rare that it is safe to leave the fly off my tent at night and my clothes out of their zip lock bags.

Since I left Phoenix, I have climbed into the mountains. Biking from Tempe, where I was lucky enough to spend a restful evening with a warm showers host, to Superior, another awesome warm showers host, was an easy ride. And a good thing too, for yesterday was my longest day yet, 85 miles including one treacherous climb over a 4,600 ft. pass. I rose early and biked straight through the day, only taking a few very short breaks, but I made it to Fort Thomas by 4:30 and found a place to camp by 5:00. It was a hard day, but it proved to me that I am getting stronger. From here on out, I will be biking continuously for a long time, and it is encouraging to know that my legs are able to handle more than they could at the beginning. I can't navigate airport security, but I can bike, and that is completely fine with me.

Love, peace and exploration,
Sonya

PS. My mom told me that I re-posted my Etsy blog from a while ago. I was trying to edit the blog about Prescott from my phone, and I guess when I published that, it sent out the Etsy blog some how, the app isn't particularly good. Sorry about that!

PPS. I have pictures but I can't upload them on the library computer, so I will post them later.

Prescott College

Climbing the crack 

There were tears running down my face as I biked out of Prescott on Tuesday morning. The six days I spent on campus were fantastic, and I made friends I will be sure to keep in touch with even if I don't end up going to college there. I went rock climbing, visited classes, went to a student council meeting, biked around the town, wrote letters and talked to friends and family from home, talked to various different colleges, and generally enjoyed the peaceful atmosphere in Prescott. It is now one of my many homes, Prescott AZ, and I will go back someday, as a student, or a teacher, or to work, I cannot say, but I will go back.

Rationally, it doesn't make sense. Prescott College is smaller than my high school, the student body is lacking in diversity, I can't afford to go there in the fall, and they don't have a music program. But I could start a small ensemble if I wanted to. And their Environmental Science program is awesome. The orientation is a three week backpacking trip, and nearly every class has a field work aspect. The classes are tiny, 14 students max, and the ones I visited were great. They reminded me how much I miss school. Or at least taking classes. I am definitely glad to be biking now, and not at home taking classes, but I am nevertheless looking forward to going back to school soon. Where that will be, I couldn't tell you, but it will all work out one way or another.

My Prescott friends :)

If you're curious, my college choices are: UVM, UC Berkeley, Prescott College, Quest University, Warren-Wilson, Berea College, and Saint Michael's College (I didn't get in to Yale and I was wait listed at Grinnel, Whitman, UChicago, and Colorado College). So decisions did a pretty good job of limiting my options by knocking Colorado College, UChicago and Whitman off the list. And financial aid packages were even better at reducing my choices. Berea is the only college I can go to in the fall without incurring debt, though my debt for UVM would be minimal. With Berkeley, I could likely graduate with no debt if I move to California and go to community college and work for two years while I acquire residency and then apply again as a California resident and a completely financially independent adult. It would be a big commitment to California because I wouldn't even be able to go home for long in the summers in order to prove my residency, but it would definitely give me a sense for what it is like to live in a city and I would learn a lot about how to deal with annoying government policy stuff through applying for residency and filing taxes.

In the end, it's all just my own useless rationalization, and the right decision will come from my heart, not my head. And I can always transfer. The whole college process is thoroughly frustrating and I don't agree with it in a lot of ways because the expense is so limiting. The loan industry is appalling and there are so many young people who have the potential to do amazing things in college but will never be able to because their families can't afford to support them financially or emotionally. It's definitely possible to pay for your own education, but the logistical implications are huge, and it is very difficult to do without some form of guidance and moral support from parents. Nevertheless college level classes do challenge students in ways that high school can never manage to and there is so much more to learn.

But as I have seen, learning is not at all limited to the classroom. Biking has already taught me a lot, and I know it will continue to show me new perspectives and challenge me as I make my way home. I still have a very long ways to go, and I won't be able to leave Phoenix until Sunday, because I am flying to Vancouver tonight to visit Quest University for the weekend. My schedule is starting to get tight, but if my knee continues to improve, and I get stronger, I should be able to bike the whole way home before graduation. I won't be able to take any more long breaks, though I can, of course, take a train for part of the way if I really fall in love with a place I go to or my knee deteriorates.

In some ways, it doesn't feel like this trip has even started. I have biked a very rough estimate of 900 miles and it's true, I have already crossed one state border, but I have been taking so long breaks, it doesn't feel like I am really "on the road" yet. But perhaps that is a good thing. It has challenged my expectations for this journey and that has taught me to become more flexible and settle into the true mindset of travel, living in the moment with no expectations for the future.

The perfect camp site. It was only 2:45 when I spotted this place on the side of the road, but I decided to stop anyway as I didn't have to go far the next day, and I enjoyed a relaxing evening in this beautiful little gully shielded from the road by trees. 

The mountains in Prescott are lovely, and cool! It even snows in the winter. The 5,000 ft. elevation gain from Phoenix is pretty remarkable, you can watch the climate change as you climb or descend, and it is only at 6,000 ft. that the large Ponderosa pines that are so common in Prescott start to show up. 

Wildflowers, they are everywhere at this time of year.