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.