Our ride into Seattle proved to be, perhaps, the hardest of the trip. The hills were steeper and much longer than any we had encountered to that point. We didn't see that one coming. We also got lost. After a while we asked a lady for directions and she just called her husband to drive us down to the Southworth Ferry so we didn't get lost. We were impressed with the kindness.
The ferry came and we rode on. Soon to encounter the city that was our dream all summer. Well, sort of our dream. The ride wasn't as bad as that might imply. Nothing really exciting happened. A pretty girl got on the ferry with us. But then she disappeared and we didn't see her again...I don't think she drowned--nothing in the paper the next day. We must've just missed her.
And so it goes. We rode to our host's home, met his room mate, a German student studying abroad, made some dinner and fell asleep to a movie. They each had studying to do, though the room mate invited us to her friend's CD release party and a few other events around the city that weekend. They were both very friendly.
The next day we were on our own. We explored the city. Morgan walked his bike everywhere, had pizza for lunch, and chilled out. Andy got his friend to get him a free Kayak rental and paddled around the South Lake, along with riding his bike around the city. Matt woke up after both of them and took his time riding around the city, eventually meeting his friend (whom we stayed with the rest of the time) as she got off work. We met up later that night and went to a block party, then a park with a great view of the skyline.
The rest of the weekend we spent figuring out our bikes, shipping, etc for getting back during the morning hours (our host worked the morning hours). During the afternoons we would go to different things: swimming (it was the hottest it had been all summer: 90 +), cooking a huge meal, and going to Mars Hill to listen to Mark Driscoll preach (it might also be noted that our Uncle Steve had some influence in seeing Mark; the other bit of influence was the fact that our host already went there).
Sunday night we also went to a catholic church to hear hymns played by a beautiful pipe organ and different men in the community sing. It was beautiful.
And so that was our last weekend on our bicycles. It was ideal, probably. We all enjoyed ourselves. We enjoyed talking to and learning about our beautiful hosts (they were all women, seven of them, to be exact). We appreciated their hospitality and putting up with our mess as we tried to cram our stuff into big cardboard bike boxes. The whole was bitter sweet. More sweet for some. More bitter for others. The whole weekend was pretty busy though, and there wasn't a lot of time for reflection.
And so the journey ends. It's back to the Americans on the other side of the country--only it'll just take a few hours this time.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Olympia and South Bend: Beautiful People
Cannon Beach wasn't so bad when we didn't need anything from it. So we left.
The coast was damp and dreary, like we expected. The next three days were spent heading up the coast and in to Olympia. There were numerous flat tires.
The ride was gorgeous.
We met a man just outside of South Bend, WA who retired and took off on his bike. He has since been living on the road. He rides around the country. Mostly the west, it seemed. When he gets tired of riding he walks--he was thinking about hiking the Pacific Coast Trail soon. He told us all kinds of stories while we ate our sandwiches--we had stopped at a camp ground to eat. He kept asking us to stay the night. And when we said we needed to keep going, that we were even thinking about hitching, he quickly ended the conversation.
Chuckling, we tried to figure out whether it was that we weren't staying or that we were thinking about hitching that turned him off to us. We still don't know.
We got into South Bend about night fall. On the outskirts of the town a kid called to us, we went over to say hello.
"What's up dude?"
"There's camping here for only five bucks. You guys can pitch your tents here if you want. I didn't even pay cause I only have cards."
"Oh. Ya? Well I think..."
"Ah. These mosquitoes are crazy. Crazy! They're all over me. Crazy!" He was screaming and slapping his legs and running around in circles. Then he stopped.
"So do you guys wanna stay? I could really use some company tonight. Ahhhhhhh! These crazy mosquitoes! They're all around! All over me! Ahhhhh! They're going to eat me alive!" The same slapping and dancing ensued. Now, granted, the mosquitoes were pretty bad. We were right beside a marsh of sorts. But even if we did put our tents up here, this kid was going to talk all night.
Come to find out the kid was 18. He had autism. He was riding from Canada to Mexico. His mother put him up to it. She forced him to do it, in his words.
"She said it would educate me about the world!" Wow. I thought I might do something like that to my son if I had the money. But even all that interesting info wasn't enough to overcome the screaming and dancing that seemed to pour out of this kid with consistency that would make molasses look irregular. He also mentioned he had ADHD.
We rode into town, hitched a ride with a really nice trucker, and camped illegally (for the last time on our trip) at a rest stop. It was nearly 1 a.m. before we got to sleep.
The next day we rode into Olympia. The guy we stayed with told us this story. I made him, said I had heard it from his mother:
"So I was at school at Olivet Nazarene. It was finals week of my senior year. (Every year everyone plays pranks during finals week. So this was my big idea.) Every year there's a big chapel service and it's like the final one of the year. So I wake up at like 3 a.m. and go hide on the roof of the chapel--well it's just under the roof in one of the air-conditioning vents. Cause if I would've gone another time campus security would've been all over me. So I hide in this vent from 3 till the service starts at 9 or so. And I have 4,000 firecrackers with me. My plan was originally to light off 1,000 in different spots on the roof and it would make lots of noise and disrupt the whole service. But laying in that air conditioning vent I figured I might as well leave a bunch in there. So about 10 I can hear--well, it turns out the president was giving the message--so I can hear the president wrapping up and I start the firecrackers. The only thing is, once I start the first strand they go off way faster than I expect. So I think to myself, well, I can run now and probably get away or I can just keep lighting them off and get caught. So I just keep lighting them off. And so all these firecrackers are going off and everyone in the chapel--it's this huge auditorium that seats a ton of people--is wondering what on earth is happening. And some of my friends are laughing and everything gets super disrupted. I guess the president handled it really well, like he was acting like he was playin the drum and stuff."
And this whole time Andy, Morgan and Matt aren't saying a word. Just listening, awestruck.
"And then all of a sudden the firecrackers that went off in the vent, the paper and stuff, starts coming through the vents in the chapel. And it looks like all this graffiti. And then the president starts to worry a bit and tells everyone to evacuate. And so I finished lighting them all off and run to the side of the roof and see that everyone's evacuated the building. And then I run to the other side and see the campus security. And I know I'm caught, just like I knew I would be. And so I just stay on the roof and wait for them to get up to me. And I shake their hand and introduce myself. I tell them I'm the one who did all this. And they were actually pretty cool about it. I just went and talked to the dean. They let me graduate and everything. But it cost me $8,000 because they had to clean out the air vents and the whole system."
We slept a little better than we would've that night.
"Now I hear sometimes people talk about me bringing a gun in and stuff. I guess the legend has just gone wild with the stories people tell now. It's crazy."
*It should be noted that this guy is a very successful Army officer now.
The coast was damp and dreary, like we expected. The next three days were spent heading up the coast and in to Olympia. There were numerous flat tires.
The ride was gorgeous.
We met a man just outside of South Bend, WA who retired and took off on his bike. He has since been living on the road. He rides around the country. Mostly the west, it seemed. When he gets tired of riding he walks--he was thinking about hiking the Pacific Coast Trail soon. He told us all kinds of stories while we ate our sandwiches--we had stopped at a camp ground to eat. He kept asking us to stay the night. And when we said we needed to keep going, that we were even thinking about hitching, he quickly ended the conversation.
Chuckling, we tried to figure out whether it was that we weren't staying or that we were thinking about hitching that turned him off to us. We still don't know.
We got into South Bend about night fall. On the outskirts of the town a kid called to us, we went over to say hello.
"What's up dude?"
"There's camping here for only five bucks. You guys can pitch your tents here if you want. I didn't even pay cause I only have cards."
"Oh. Ya? Well I think..."
"Ah. These mosquitoes are crazy. Crazy! They're all over me. Crazy!" He was screaming and slapping his legs and running around in circles. Then he stopped.
"So do you guys wanna stay? I could really use some company tonight. Ahhhhhhh! These crazy mosquitoes! They're all around! All over me! Ahhhhh! They're going to eat me alive!" The same slapping and dancing ensued. Now, granted, the mosquitoes were pretty bad. We were right beside a marsh of sorts. But even if we did put our tents up here, this kid was going to talk all night.
Come to find out the kid was 18. He had autism. He was riding from Canada to Mexico. His mother put him up to it. She forced him to do it, in his words.
"She said it would educate me about the world!" Wow. I thought I might do something like that to my son if I had the money. But even all that interesting info wasn't enough to overcome the screaming and dancing that seemed to pour out of this kid with consistency that would make molasses look irregular. He also mentioned he had ADHD.
We rode into town, hitched a ride with a really nice trucker, and camped illegally (for the last time on our trip) at a rest stop. It was nearly 1 a.m. before we got to sleep.
The next day we rode into Olympia. The guy we stayed with told us this story. I made him, said I had heard it from his mother:
"So I was at school at Olivet Nazarene. It was finals week of my senior year. (Every year everyone plays pranks during finals week. So this was my big idea.) Every year there's a big chapel service and it's like the final one of the year. So I wake up at like 3 a.m. and go hide on the roof of the chapel--well it's just under the roof in one of the air-conditioning vents. Cause if I would've gone another time campus security would've been all over me. So I hide in this vent from 3 till the service starts at 9 or so. And I have 4,000 firecrackers with me. My plan was originally to light off 1,000 in different spots on the roof and it would make lots of noise and disrupt the whole service. But laying in that air conditioning vent I figured I might as well leave a bunch in there. So about 10 I can hear--well, it turns out the president was giving the message--so I can hear the president wrapping up and I start the firecrackers. The only thing is, once I start the first strand they go off way faster than I expect. So I think to myself, well, I can run now and probably get away or I can just keep lighting them off and get caught. So I just keep lighting them off. And so all these firecrackers are going off and everyone in the chapel--it's this huge auditorium that seats a ton of people--is wondering what on earth is happening. And some of my friends are laughing and everything gets super disrupted. I guess the president handled it really well, like he was acting like he was playin the drum and stuff."
And this whole time Andy, Morgan and Matt aren't saying a word. Just listening, awestruck.
"And then all of a sudden the firecrackers that went off in the vent, the paper and stuff, starts coming through the vents in the chapel. And it looks like all this graffiti. And then the president starts to worry a bit and tells everyone to evacuate. And so I finished lighting them all off and run to the side of the roof and see that everyone's evacuated the building. And then I run to the other side and see the campus security. And I know I'm caught, just like I knew I would be. And so I just stay on the roof and wait for them to get up to me. And I shake their hand and introduce myself. I tell them I'm the one who did all this. And they were actually pretty cool about it. I just went and talked to the dean. They let me graduate and everything. But it cost me $8,000 because they had to clean out the air vents and the whole system."
We slept a little better than we would've that night.
"Now I hear sometimes people talk about me bringing a gun in and stuff. I guess the legend has just gone wild with the stories people tell now. It's crazy."
*It should be noted that this guy is a very successful Army officer now.
Cannon Beach: Social confusion, Hell
All summer we have been riding to the end of the Americas. Riding to the other side of this great mass of land, not a lot different than Meriwether Lewis and William Clark. Only moving was much easier for us. In fact, a lot of the time we were on the same trails they traveled--sort of, I mean the highway folk put up signs that say your on the same path, but lets be honest, some of the places they went over the mountains the highway builders just left alone or went around.
So when we were within a couple miles of the Pacific the highway gave us the option to go to Seaside, OR or Cannon Beach, OR. They were each 4 miles in one direction. Both had been recommended to us. We went to Cannon Beach because we would have to go north up through Seaside--that would allow us to see both.
Cannon Beach is a little town with plenty of beach-line. It's quaint enough, with all kinds of little tourist attractions: shops, restaurants, bed and breakfasts, hotels, and the like. A number of wealthy people lived there, their quaint-looking little cottages on the land coming right up to the sand on the beach. Blues ones and beige ones and wooden ones and stone ones. They were all very nice.
We walked to the beach and looked out into the ocean. It was really foggy. Dreary, really. And the people around us didn't pay much attention until Andy asked:
"Hi. We just pedaled our bikes from New Jersey. We were wondering if you would mind if we left our stuff here while we dipped our tires in the water."
"Uh. ya it's public space here. I think." He briefly turned around to acknowledge us and just as quickly turned back around to keep eating.
"Would you mind just making sure no one takes them, then?" Andy asked. Looking for someone to pay any attention. He wasn't really talking that softly. They had to have heard him.
In a few seconds a lady came over and started talking to us.
"You guys just rode from New Jersey?"
"Ya. We've been riding to raise money for water wells in Uganda..." And thus began the usual banter about what we had just (about) finished doing and why.
She was quite nice. She even took our picture, like we were statues or a coral reef that she had heard about and come to visit there in Cannon Beach. Then she left.
Looking around we figured we might as well head down to the beach. And so we did.
We joked around a bit in the tide. And got some passersby to take perhaps an annoying amount of pictures of us. Or at least that's what their non-verbals communicated (I had just finished a book "The definitive book of body language" by the Peases').
We returned to find that a lady from the hotel we left our stuff sit beside had watered the plants just above our pile. Most of our stuff was pretty wet. So we went down the street to a pizza place. We showed the cashier our brochures and asked for a discount--we hadn't asked for a discount before, but figured we might as well give it a shot as dinner was bound to be expensive and it was the pinnacle of our trip. He said he'd check with the manager. We waited. He asked for our order. He continued his duties, set the brochure under a pile of stuff off to the side, and returned--not having asked anyone about anything--and wrung us up, not mentioning anything.
Well, fair enough. We had experienced the unwelcoming feeling in plenty of towns along the way. All of them tourist places. Or at least rich places.
The whole time I'd been trying to figure out why we felt like we did while in them. I figure they're well off, they don't need anyone else. They've attained what they want in life. They then import people to work the jobs they don't want to put up with and let people come and experience what they live every day for a price, or course.
So it makes sense that they don't want dirty cyclists or homeless--yes, we're comparable at this point--hanging around. It's not good for business--that is, the business classes don't want to put up with or look at people like us. It's scary, especially as they're so far removed from such people. They don't understand them because they don't ever see them.
And a lot of the tourists aren't really interested because we're just in the way. They're here to relax, not to go to jail for accidentally running over a cyclist.
One thing I noticed, though, is that locals don't even pay much attention to the tourists. They just do what's expected and leave them alone. The tourists seem to prefer it that way, as if to say, "I'm on vacation and I don't want to be bothered by some minority I'm not used to interacting with, please don't bother me little Mexican man." And so the menial employees don't bother them.
When I was living in Santa Cruz, CA I would often become irritated with all the tourists on the weekends because they caused an unbelievable amount of traffic. I was the one who lived there. Why couldn't they surf their own part of the coast? It only makes sense that the places where everyone wants to be make money off of their little slice of heaven. And when so many people are constantly imposing their presence on a place it becomes nearly impossible to want any kind of connection. There are too many, too often, and so the human interaction suffers. The locals isolate themselves because, living in such a beautiful place and having so many resources, people always want things from you--I'd imagine.
I wonder if the responsibility of helping the less fortunate is something people consider when they aspire to be wealthy or choose to live in beautiful places. It's certainly not something I considered.
So anyway. We camped, illegally, in the back of the school playground. It was real close to the beach. Only a fence and a bush separated us. A neighbor woke up around 6 a.m. and noticed two tents in the school yard. Terrified or irritated or angry (?) they called the cops to have us removed. Maybe if I ever become wealthy I'll understand that move.
I'll end by pointing out a couple things:
Seaside, a bigger, and perhaps less wealthy town 8 miles up the coast didn't seem to have any rules that didn't allow people to camp.
Is making rules against letting people sleep in your town pushing homeless people to specific places (often cities)? And is it similar to making rules that wouldn't allow black or minority people to sleep in a town?
And that is why I'd go just about anywhere I could connect with someone over the most beautiful place void of any relationship. Solomon pointed that out in one of his proverbs.
So when we were within a couple miles of the Pacific the highway gave us the option to go to Seaside, OR or Cannon Beach, OR. They were each 4 miles in one direction. Both had been recommended to us. We went to Cannon Beach because we would have to go north up through Seaside--that would allow us to see both.
Cannon Beach is a little town with plenty of beach-line. It's quaint enough, with all kinds of little tourist attractions: shops, restaurants, bed and breakfasts, hotels, and the like. A number of wealthy people lived there, their quaint-looking little cottages on the land coming right up to the sand on the beach. Blues ones and beige ones and wooden ones and stone ones. They were all very nice.
We walked to the beach and looked out into the ocean. It was really foggy. Dreary, really. And the people around us didn't pay much attention until Andy asked:
"Hi. We just pedaled our bikes from New Jersey. We were wondering if you would mind if we left our stuff here while we dipped our tires in the water."
"Uh. ya it's public space here. I think." He briefly turned around to acknowledge us and just as quickly turned back around to keep eating.
"Would you mind just making sure no one takes them, then?" Andy asked. Looking for someone to pay any attention. He wasn't really talking that softly. They had to have heard him.
In a few seconds a lady came over and started talking to us.
"You guys just rode from New Jersey?"
"Ya. We've been riding to raise money for water wells in Uganda..." And thus began the usual banter about what we had just (about) finished doing and why.
She was quite nice. She even took our picture, like we were statues or a coral reef that she had heard about and come to visit there in Cannon Beach. Then she left.
Looking around we figured we might as well head down to the beach. And so we did.
We joked around a bit in the tide. And got some passersby to take perhaps an annoying amount of pictures of us. Or at least that's what their non-verbals communicated (I had just finished a book "The definitive book of body language" by the Peases').
We returned to find that a lady from the hotel we left our stuff sit beside had watered the plants just above our pile. Most of our stuff was pretty wet. So we went down the street to a pizza place. We showed the cashier our brochures and asked for a discount--we hadn't asked for a discount before, but figured we might as well give it a shot as dinner was bound to be expensive and it was the pinnacle of our trip. He said he'd check with the manager. We waited. He asked for our order. He continued his duties, set the brochure under a pile of stuff off to the side, and returned--not having asked anyone about anything--and wrung us up, not mentioning anything.
Well, fair enough. We had experienced the unwelcoming feeling in plenty of towns along the way. All of them tourist places. Or at least rich places.
The whole time I'd been trying to figure out why we felt like we did while in them. I figure they're well off, they don't need anyone else. They've attained what they want in life. They then import people to work the jobs they don't want to put up with and let people come and experience what they live every day for a price, or course.
So it makes sense that they don't want dirty cyclists or homeless--yes, we're comparable at this point--hanging around. It's not good for business--that is, the business classes don't want to put up with or look at people like us. It's scary, especially as they're so far removed from such people. They don't understand them because they don't ever see them.
And a lot of the tourists aren't really interested because we're just in the way. They're here to relax, not to go to jail for accidentally running over a cyclist.
One thing I noticed, though, is that locals don't even pay much attention to the tourists. They just do what's expected and leave them alone. The tourists seem to prefer it that way, as if to say, "I'm on vacation and I don't want to be bothered by some minority I'm not used to interacting with, please don't bother me little Mexican man." And so the menial employees don't bother them.
When I was living in Santa Cruz, CA I would often become irritated with all the tourists on the weekends because they caused an unbelievable amount of traffic. I was the one who lived there. Why couldn't they surf their own part of the coast? It only makes sense that the places where everyone wants to be make money off of their little slice of heaven. And when so many people are constantly imposing their presence on a place it becomes nearly impossible to want any kind of connection. There are too many, too often, and so the human interaction suffers. The locals isolate themselves because, living in such a beautiful place and having so many resources, people always want things from you--I'd imagine.
I wonder if the responsibility of helping the less fortunate is something people consider when they aspire to be wealthy or choose to live in beautiful places. It's certainly not something I considered.
So anyway. We camped, illegally, in the back of the school playground. It was real close to the beach. Only a fence and a bush separated us. A neighbor woke up around 6 a.m. and noticed two tents in the school yard. Terrified or irritated or angry (?) they called the cops to have us removed. Maybe if I ever become wealthy I'll understand that move.
I'll end by pointing out a couple things:
Seaside, a bigger, and perhaps less wealthy town 8 miles up the coast didn't seem to have any rules that didn't allow people to camp.
Is making rules against letting people sleep in your town pushing homeless people to specific places (often cities)? And is it similar to making rules that wouldn't allow black or minority people to sleep in a town?
And that is why I'd go just about anywhere I could connect with someone over the most beautiful place void of any relationship. Solomon pointed that out in one of his proverbs.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Hood River and Portland: Utopian purse thieves
When you think about uptopian places that the world has dreamed about, or wished they would've lived in, you think about the garden of eden or the ideal world that came out of Sir Thomas Moores' brain. But you should also think about Hood River, Oregon.
(The best part is the end. It's the main story.)
Hood River is a place off of the Columbia River. It's hilly. It's lush. It's green. It's smack between Mount Adams and Mount Hood. Everything grows there: Women and men, apples and plums and cherries and grapes and trees, of course. Grass and animals. Mostly it's just a gorgeous place to live among orchards, even if they aren't making a ton of money these days.
And so we stopped there after camping in a little town called Arlington, OR with a beautiful town park. Oddly enough the people there were kind enough, or not paranoid enough, to let us camp in their town park. The grass was well kept. There was a beach on a little inlet from the Columbia river. We figured more people should be like that, but if that was the case people would start moving out of their homes and into town parks. In fact we were surprised that, in the towns where we were allowed to camp (and not woken up by police because some paranoid...person...had called the cops regarding a tent that was making too much noise at 6 a.m.?) sorry. We were surprised that more people hadn't moved out of their homes and into the parks. They were lovely places to live, after all.
Sorry, I know I've gotten off topic, but I can't help but wonder how a law that doesn't let someone camp in a town park gets passed. How many homeless people come through towns of 50 people? And how many of those homeless people do anyone any disservice or nuissance? It just seems like the correlation between ideas like that and the ideas that go into Sundown Towns (See Dr. James Loewen) is quite high.
And now back to the utopia that is Hood River. Well, it was quite peaceful. The family that put us up was marvelous--the kind of marriage and peaceful family that we all sort of aspire to as youngsters. You know, plenty of resources, plenty of laughter, a lighthearted approach to life, and the love of your life to reproduce with and raise a family. Not to mention in the middle of what is called by historians as the most plush, productive environments on earth. Life doesn't get much better than that, at least for people looking at you. And so we had a great time. We laughed a lot. We ate a lot. We planned a lot. And we learned from that small slice of experience with these people about what it takes to enjoy success in relationships and work.
The ride to Portland was gorgeous. Did you expect to hear anything different?
And a quick description about the amazing family in Portland before I'll tell you a somewhat humorous tale. Well, I think I've already blogged about them.
So on to the story:
Clay and Matt and Clay's friend and girlfriend are going to a place in Portland to meet Clay's friend's girl's brother. I know that sounds confusing, but this was kinda a big moment for Clay's friend. Naturally, I was there to support him. We arrive and think that this guy, who is actually trying to chat up the friend's girl, is her brother. We introduce ourselves. It's immediately clear that I don't know what's going on, and am not from Portland in any sense. So I mention that I just rode from New Jersey--usually a decent conversation starter when I'm looking extremely lost--and instead of hearing "Oh wow" I get, "I don't believe you."
The man flat out tells me he doesn't believe me.
"Oh. I don't really know how to respond to that one." I laugh. "Do a lot of people say that around here?"
"No. You just look like a Portland boy. Did you really ride from Jersey?"
"Ya. I mean but it's cool if you don't believe me. I was just trying to start a conversation because I didn't know what was going on. I'm not actually from Jersey..." At this point I was getting pulled into the place as the other two had discovered that her brother was not among the men who were trying to talk to her in romantic overtones. I might also point out that because of the reputation "Jersey" had gained from folk in Eastern PA I knew I didn't want to be associated with the state. (I hadn't actually spent much time in Jersey, except for the beach, which was sort of dirty but not void of fun, so I figured I'd better make that clear.) Luckily I got that much out before I was pulled in doors.
I met the brother. We hit it off. But his girlfriend, thinking I was the boyfriend (Clay's friend) told him to stop talking to me--"Take it easy on him [insert name]"
He left to convince her...seemed like a real nice guy. He might've even looked a little like the guy from Nickelback--without dyed hair.
Anyway, to the real story.
There's a guy at the bar. What appears to be his friend is on the other side of him playing with his crutches. They're his because he has a cast on his left leg. It's also noteworthy that the guy with the broken leg is, what young people these days call "Double Fisting." He's got two drinks--one in each hand. That's a lot of money, is my point here.
I ask him what happened to his leg (there were a few seconds where no one was paying attention to me. So instead of look awkward, if only for a minute, I figure I'll talk to the guy with the mustache, long hair and caste on his leg.)
"I broke it catching a purse thief."
"What?"
"A purse thief. Ya. Like a guy robbed some girl of her purse. I saved her."
"You saved her or her purse?" I asked, starting to wonder if maybe she was a little heavier than he expected.
"Well, her purse. I mean. I caught up with the guy who snatched her purse and really beat the [poop] out him. I mean he was pretty [messed up]." A genuine do-gooder, I'm talking to, I thought. I must admit, it had been at least a year since I'd heard a purse-thief story.
He goes on: "And then the cops showed up. And I'm holding the purse and this guy is all beat up so I tell the cops what's going on. What happened you know?"
"Ya. I know." No I don't know. This guy is getting increasingly close to me and I'm wondering where on earth the girl is and how on earth this relates to him breaking his leg.
"And so the cop just says 'run that way real quick'." At this point he's brought the Portland Police into question. Because, I'm not sure if you know much about standard American law, but that's not exactly exemplary police work.
"And so I'm running back to give this girl her purse, ya know?"
"Ya. I know. I mean that's standard behavoir. Return the purse." I hoped the book about non-verbal body language wasn't right about your face giving away what you're thinking. I had a few questions, to say the least: Why didn't the girl also run after the purse? If the cops could show up from who knows how far away, couldn't the girl walk a few hundred yards? And why on earth are you leaning so close to me. I can hear just fine.
He repeats himself: "And so I'm running back to give this girl her purse, ya know?" I quit answering what I now deem as rhetorical questions.
"And on the way there I break my leg."
Now Clay, who is much quicker of wit than I, is listening in: "What? How do you just break your leg running back to give back a purse, man?"
"I broke it on the sidewalk." We all bust up in laughter. I'm not sure why he was laughing.
"You mean you tripped, Bro?"
"No. I mean I fell off the sidewalk."
"And you broke your whole leg?"
"Ya man." he was sticking to his story pretty intently as the bartender called out that the bar was closing. The guy we were talking to was the last to pay his tab.
"Wait. Wait. Where'd that guy who was just here go?" He was referring to the guy who was playing with his crutches earlier.
"Where'd he go? He said he was gonna pay for these drinks. He invited me over to get some drinks. He ditched out on me? I can't believe that. A guy asks you over for some drinks and then ditches out on you? How's that work?! What an A..." I just looked at him. I guess if I had a friend that got copious amounts of alcohol on my tab I'd probably leave him too.
We decided now was a good time to leave. It was getting rather late, after all.
Outside a guy on crutches tried to steal the girlfriend's purse. He didn't get real far before getting carried away and falling off the curb...it's a rough life.
(The best part is the end. It's the main story.)
Hood River is a place off of the Columbia River. It's hilly. It's lush. It's green. It's smack between Mount Adams and Mount Hood. Everything grows there: Women and men, apples and plums and cherries and grapes and trees, of course. Grass and animals. Mostly it's just a gorgeous place to live among orchards, even if they aren't making a ton of money these days.
And so we stopped there after camping in a little town called Arlington, OR with a beautiful town park. Oddly enough the people there were kind enough, or not paranoid enough, to let us camp in their town park. The grass was well kept. There was a beach on a little inlet from the Columbia river. We figured more people should be like that, but if that was the case people would start moving out of their homes and into town parks. In fact we were surprised that, in the towns where we were allowed to camp (and not woken up by police because some paranoid...person...had called the cops regarding a tent that was making too much noise at 6 a.m.?) sorry. We were surprised that more people hadn't moved out of their homes and into the parks. They were lovely places to live, after all.
Sorry, I know I've gotten off topic, but I can't help but wonder how a law that doesn't let someone camp in a town park gets passed. How many homeless people come through towns of 50 people? And how many of those homeless people do anyone any disservice or nuissance? It just seems like the correlation between ideas like that and the ideas that go into Sundown Towns (See Dr. James Loewen) is quite high.
And now back to the utopia that is Hood River. Well, it was quite peaceful. The family that put us up was marvelous--the kind of marriage and peaceful family that we all sort of aspire to as youngsters. You know, plenty of resources, plenty of laughter, a lighthearted approach to life, and the love of your life to reproduce with and raise a family. Not to mention in the middle of what is called by historians as the most plush, productive environments on earth. Life doesn't get much better than that, at least for people looking at you. And so we had a great time. We laughed a lot. We ate a lot. We planned a lot. And we learned from that small slice of experience with these people about what it takes to enjoy success in relationships and work.
The ride to Portland was gorgeous. Did you expect to hear anything different?
And a quick description about the amazing family in Portland before I'll tell you a somewhat humorous tale. Well, I think I've already blogged about them.
So on to the story:
Clay and Matt and Clay's friend and girlfriend are going to a place in Portland to meet Clay's friend's girl's brother. I know that sounds confusing, but this was kinda a big moment for Clay's friend. Naturally, I was there to support him. We arrive and think that this guy, who is actually trying to chat up the friend's girl, is her brother. We introduce ourselves. It's immediately clear that I don't know what's going on, and am not from Portland in any sense. So I mention that I just rode from New Jersey--usually a decent conversation starter when I'm looking extremely lost--and instead of hearing "Oh wow" I get, "I don't believe you."
The man flat out tells me he doesn't believe me.
"Oh. I don't really know how to respond to that one." I laugh. "Do a lot of people say that around here?"
"No. You just look like a Portland boy. Did you really ride from Jersey?"
"Ya. I mean but it's cool if you don't believe me. I was just trying to start a conversation because I didn't know what was going on. I'm not actually from Jersey..." At this point I was getting pulled into the place as the other two had discovered that her brother was not among the men who were trying to talk to her in romantic overtones. I might also point out that because of the reputation "Jersey" had gained from folk in Eastern PA I knew I didn't want to be associated with the state. (I hadn't actually spent much time in Jersey, except for the beach, which was sort of dirty but not void of fun, so I figured I'd better make that clear.) Luckily I got that much out before I was pulled in doors.
I met the brother. We hit it off. But his girlfriend, thinking I was the boyfriend (Clay's friend) told him to stop talking to me--"Take it easy on him [insert name]"
He left to convince her...seemed like a real nice guy. He might've even looked a little like the guy from Nickelback--without dyed hair.
Anyway, to the real story.
There's a guy at the bar. What appears to be his friend is on the other side of him playing with his crutches. They're his because he has a cast on his left leg. It's also noteworthy that the guy with the broken leg is, what young people these days call "Double Fisting." He's got two drinks--one in each hand. That's a lot of money, is my point here.
I ask him what happened to his leg (there were a few seconds where no one was paying attention to me. So instead of look awkward, if only for a minute, I figure I'll talk to the guy with the mustache, long hair and caste on his leg.)
"I broke it catching a purse thief."
"What?"
"A purse thief. Ya. Like a guy robbed some girl of her purse. I saved her."
"You saved her or her purse?" I asked, starting to wonder if maybe she was a little heavier than he expected.
"Well, her purse. I mean. I caught up with the guy who snatched her purse and really beat the [poop] out him. I mean he was pretty [messed up]." A genuine do-gooder, I'm talking to, I thought. I must admit, it had been at least a year since I'd heard a purse-thief story.
He goes on: "And then the cops showed up. And I'm holding the purse and this guy is all beat up so I tell the cops what's going on. What happened you know?"
"Ya. I know." No I don't know. This guy is getting increasingly close to me and I'm wondering where on earth the girl is and how on earth this relates to him breaking his leg.
"And so the cop just says 'run that way real quick'." At this point he's brought the Portland Police into question. Because, I'm not sure if you know much about standard American law, but that's not exactly exemplary police work.
"And so I'm running back to give this girl her purse, ya know?"
"Ya. I know. I mean that's standard behavoir. Return the purse." I hoped the book about non-verbal body language wasn't right about your face giving away what you're thinking. I had a few questions, to say the least: Why didn't the girl also run after the purse? If the cops could show up from who knows how far away, couldn't the girl walk a few hundred yards? And why on earth are you leaning so close to me. I can hear just fine.
He repeats himself: "And so I'm running back to give this girl her purse, ya know?" I quit answering what I now deem as rhetorical questions.
"And on the way there I break my leg."
Now Clay, who is much quicker of wit than I, is listening in: "What? How do you just break your leg running back to give back a purse, man?"
"I broke it on the sidewalk." We all bust up in laughter. I'm not sure why he was laughing.
"You mean you tripped, Bro?"
"No. I mean I fell off the sidewalk."
"And you broke your whole leg?"
"Ya man." he was sticking to his story pretty intently as the bartender called out that the bar was closing. The guy we were talking to was the last to pay his tab.
"Wait. Wait. Where'd that guy who was just here go?" He was referring to the guy who was playing with his crutches earlier.
"Where'd he go? He said he was gonna pay for these drinks. He invited me over to get some drinks. He ditched out on me? I can't believe that. A guy asks you over for some drinks and then ditches out on you? How's that work?! What an A..." I just looked at him. I guess if I had a friend that got copious amounts of alcohol on my tab I'd probably leave him too.
We decided now was a good time to leave. It was getting rather late, after all.
Outside a guy on crutches tried to steal the girlfriend's purse. He didn't get real far before getting carried away and falling off the curb...it's a rough life.
Tri-cities, WA: Fine-dining and friendship
The desert wasn't proving hospitable. Did anyone expect it to?
It was hot (who knew). It was well irrigated. A lot of wheat. A few snakes--Morgan almost ran over a rattle snake. It even struck at him, just missing. And so when we arrived at places like the Tri-cities, it was heavenly. (The tri-cities consist of the cities: Kennewick, Richland, and Pasco. All three are in Washington state).
Andy called a church on Google and asked for a place to stay. The result was a house of 20-somethings who lived in community. The core of the group owned and operated a gourmet wine, cheese, and sandwich shoppe. One just completed a comelier course (basically a master wine taster course). One was the head chef. One owned it. And the others helped out, perhaps more than they originally thought they might. There were 7 in all. They seemed to get along better than other communities I have known in the past. The aura they created was impressive. They were loving. It seemed like living like that wouldn't displease a creator. Or it wouldn't displease me if I created things that could sort-of reason like I could and had to live with each other in one way or another because I forced them to when I was wiring them.
It hadn't always been like that in their lives, though. They hadn't always appeared to be peaceful, kind, and fun-loving. Some of them were coming from quite turbid pasts. Some coming more recently than others. But each of them found the friendship, the peace, and the beauty in the situation they had created in that house and with the shoppe more fulfilling than the lives they had left.
They were lucky. They were blessed. They knew the right people with the right ambition and the right resources to be able to live in a house in a place that provided enough of an income for them to continue to live where peace was attainable. Possible. Easy enough.
We seriously thought about staying another day with them. We wanted to very badly. But we had plans to stay with another family down the road, and it was getting close to the end. We couldn't really spare any extra time.
And so we made our way down into the Columbia River Gorge, another one of the most beautiful places in the country.
It was hot (who knew). It was well irrigated. A lot of wheat. A few snakes--Morgan almost ran over a rattle snake. It even struck at him, just missing. And so when we arrived at places like the Tri-cities, it was heavenly. (The tri-cities consist of the cities: Kennewick, Richland, and Pasco. All three are in Washington state).
Andy called a church on Google and asked for a place to stay. The result was a house of 20-somethings who lived in community. The core of the group owned and operated a gourmet wine, cheese, and sandwich shoppe. One just completed a comelier course (basically a master wine taster course). One was the head chef. One owned it. And the others helped out, perhaps more than they originally thought they might. There were 7 in all. They seemed to get along better than other communities I have known in the past. The aura they created was impressive. They were loving. It seemed like living like that wouldn't displease a creator. Or it wouldn't displease me if I created things that could sort-of reason like I could and had to live with each other in one way or another because I forced them to when I was wiring them.
It hadn't always been like that in their lives, though. They hadn't always appeared to be peaceful, kind, and fun-loving. Some of them were coming from quite turbid pasts. Some coming more recently than others. But each of them found the friendship, the peace, and the beauty in the situation they had created in that house and with the shoppe more fulfilling than the lives they had left.
They were lucky. They were blessed. They knew the right people with the right ambition and the right resources to be able to live in a house in a place that provided enough of an income for them to continue to live where peace was attainable. Possible. Easy enough.
We seriously thought about staying another day with them. We wanted to very badly. But we had plans to stay with another family down the road, and it was getting close to the end. We couldn't really spare any extra time.
And so we made our way down into the Columbia River Gorge, another one of the most beautiful places in the country.
Pullman, WA: Laughter and Laziness (Beauty)
I usually go out of my way not to mention individuals. Mostly that's because I don't ask them about being put up on the blog. But I'm going to break that rule with Jon. Primarily because we stayed with him for so long--5 days--but also because he was so cool.
Jon is a friend and Andy and Morgan. He graduated from Albright College and is now getting his doctorate in chemistry at Washington State University.
He picked us up late Tuesday night. He gave Matt, whom he hadn't met before, a big hug upon his arrival at his van in a mildly-sketchy parking lot on the corner of two streets. He helped us fit our bikes into his mini-van. He made us act like we were pedaling in his minivan all the way to his place. He cooked us food and provided drink as we were showering. He shared his wisdom with us. And his plans over the next five years. He's really quite a remarkable guy. He's brilliant, as you might guess, given his current undertaking, but his disposition is one that draws you to him. He was the perfect guy to spend five days with.
And the process I'm about to describe to you is why:
We woke up Wednesday--and after eating--went to play disc golf. You know, just to say we did something that day. We returned, with more food, to sit in front of the television and watch the television show "Big Bang Theory." We then played the board game "Settlers of Catan." Then we ate. Then we watched more Big Bang Theory. Then we played more Catan. Then we watched a movie and fell asleep. We woke up the next day and put in a few episodes of Big Bang. We started cooking breakfast while we set up another board game. Then we watched a mid-day movie, followed by a few episodes of Big Bang (which I will reference with BB from now on). Then a board game. Then BB. Then dinner and another game. A friend came over during the board game. We put in a movie to watch while we were playing. We fell asleep watching the movie.
Nothing really changed, except for our leaving the house for food, or a few social functions. It was beautiful. When you're on a bike everyday, nothing is better than sitting in front of a television while you're mindlessly entertained. Did I mention we were sitting on a couch? It was a perfect five days. We grew attached to the characters in BB. We grew attached, and more attached to Jon. We grew attached to the situation (which might not have been a good thing, I'm not sure).
There's nothing like spending five days sitting with someone in an apartment with nothing in particular to do. Especially when you're laughing a lot (laughter is a non-verbal signal that is often done in order to build relationships. Spend a significant amount of time--5 days, for example--laughing with someone and notice the bond you build).
And so it was rough riding away from Jon's place that next Monday. But all good things must come to an end. It was back into the dessert.
Jon is a friend and Andy and Morgan. He graduated from Albright College and is now getting his doctorate in chemistry at Washington State University.
He picked us up late Tuesday night. He gave Matt, whom he hadn't met before, a big hug upon his arrival at his van in a mildly-sketchy parking lot on the corner of two streets. He helped us fit our bikes into his mini-van. He made us act like we were pedaling in his minivan all the way to his place. He cooked us food and provided drink as we were showering. He shared his wisdom with us. And his plans over the next five years. He's really quite a remarkable guy. He's brilliant, as you might guess, given his current undertaking, but his disposition is one that draws you to him. He was the perfect guy to spend five days with.
And the process I'm about to describe to you is why:
We woke up Wednesday--and after eating--went to play disc golf. You know, just to say we did something that day. We returned, with more food, to sit in front of the television and watch the television show "Big Bang Theory." We then played the board game "Settlers of Catan." Then we ate. Then we watched more Big Bang Theory. Then we played more Catan. Then we watched a movie and fell asleep. We woke up the next day and put in a few episodes of Big Bang. We started cooking breakfast while we set up another board game. Then we watched a mid-day movie, followed by a few episodes of Big Bang (which I will reference with BB from now on). Then a board game. Then BB. Then dinner and another game. A friend came over during the board game. We put in a movie to watch while we were playing. We fell asleep watching the movie.
Nothing really changed, except for our leaving the house for food, or a few social functions. It was beautiful. When you're on a bike everyday, nothing is better than sitting in front of a television while you're mindlessly entertained. Did I mention we were sitting on a couch? It was a perfect five days. We grew attached to the characters in BB. We grew attached, and more attached to Jon. We grew attached to the situation (which might not have been a good thing, I'm not sure).
There's nothing like spending five days sitting with someone in an apartment with nothing in particular to do. Especially when you're laughing a lot (laughter is a non-verbal signal that is often done in order to build relationships. Spend a significant amount of time--5 days, for example--laughing with someone and notice the bond you build).
And so it was rough riding away from Jon's place that next Monday. But all good things must come to an end. It was back into the dessert.
Idaho's northern tip: 150 miles of hunger, irritation, and bliss
We had stayed longer than we thought we would in Hamilton. That was OK. It was more than OK. We had three weeks to get somewhere that would only take us a week to ride--if we were going straight there, that is. Nevertheless, there was no doubt that all of us were still a little tired.
So, being tired and all, we decided to ride. From Hamilton, Monday morning, we proceeded to ride 90 miles to Jerry Johnson Hot springs. They were less commercialized than the first hot springs we had stayed at in Southeastern Idaho (remember Challis?), but they weren't as far away enough from the road to make us feel comfortable breaking the rules and pitching tent beside them.
Along the Clearwater river runs rt 12, through the beautiful Northern part of Idaho. It's green forest, clear river, and mountains made for excellent riding, not to mention that everything was at least slightly downhill--it's all river-grade from the top of the Lolo pass to Lewiston, ID on the other side of the state. The wind often made up for the slight downhill, however, and riding wasn't always as easy as it might have been. Welcome to our summer of riding bicycles.
Jerry Johnson Hot springs were a series of ten or more pools formed beside the Clearwater river. The pools that did not connect to the river were between 80 and 100 or more degrees. Others mixed with the river water to make cooler ones. Everyone had their pick. There was also a sign that said "clothing optional." That was a first was a couple of us. Luckily no one else was there.
Later that night our camp-stove ran out of fuel and we, being 50 miles from the nearest town, began to get a little nervous. We salvaged some dinner--cold baked beans and a few pieces of bread--and sprinted to set up our tents as a swarm of mosquitoes started biting us all of a sudden. We were also running short on water. We were beginning to second guess our decision to stop at the hot springs, but we had already pedaled 90 miles. We couldn't really have gone much further, right?
The next day proved that wrong. We made 50 miles in the morning like it was our job. Or like we didn't have any food left. Or like we were going to ride 150 miles that day to meet our friend. Though it would be lying if we said that we weren't a little annoyed at each other during certain parts of the day.
50 miles, or was it 55 miles? to a town in the state park that had a loaf of bread and water that wasn't drinkable. We ate peanut butter and honey--a recent staple in our diets. Morgan was getting tired of peanut butter so he had trail mix. Andy couldn't help but argue about the mix of peanuts he had just paid a high price to eat. It was one of those irritable moments for all:
Andy: "Matt, go tell him he can just buy something down the road. They have a grocery store."
Matt: "haha, is he irritated with you?"
A: "Ya. It's too bad I'm the one who has to give him any good advice. He won't listen when he's tired of me."
M: "That's too bad. You give such good advice."
Morgan walks around the corner carrying Chex-Mix and a peanut based trail mix. No one said anything. We all knew we were a little tired and that spells of irritation came and went. kind of.
Andy waited a while to pick up the bag that he, no doubt, thought Morgan needlessly spent an African village's water money on:
A: "Do you know the main ingredient in this is peanuts? Didn't you say they were making you sick?"
Morgan: "Peanut butter was. There's a difference."
At least their voices were kept low. The argument continued.
Other than the occasional fits of irritation--and they were primarily held in those morning hours--the ride that day was quite pleasant. It was cool. The woods were among the most beautiful we had seen. And after the first 70 miles we had food and water aplenty.
Except for the trucks. Did I tell you about the trucks on rt 12. Everyone told us about them. They didn't really tell us not to ride it. Well, they did. But they also told us that all kinds of others ride it. They just said it was miserable. And they were right. For probably 20 miles along rt 12 there isn't really a shoulder. It's right along the river, so at least if you go over the 20 feet or so of steep hill it's just into the water. The trucks literally came within inches each time at about 60 mph. Matt swears one of the trucks brushed up against him.
The adrenaline that each passing truck forced into your system was enough to make you insane. That sort of energy created from a negative situation makes it hard not to blame the individuals themselves for the situation. I would imagine that years and years of that would make you want to kill all kinds of people. I wondered if wars and mass killings weren't more than just the killers' faults. Often we don't fix situations we have the power to do something about.
Eventually we would ride in the middle of the road and put our hands up when we saw truckers coming. They slowed down, and were often quite unhappy. They gave us more room, though.
We stopped at a subway with 40 miles to go. At this point we had realized that if we got our friend to pick us up in Lewiston, and if we were going to go to Portland after his place, that we would be coming back down south anyway--so getting a ride straight north wasn't technically cheating. That was pretty exciting. And with that good news, a stomach full of subway--both of which contributed to a high morale we set out to Lewiston.
We arrived at midnight, or close to it. We had just pedaled 150 miles on bikes that weighed 80 pounds. We were pleased with ourselves. We were pleased with Jon. We were pleased with life.
So, being tired and all, we decided to ride. From Hamilton, Monday morning, we proceeded to ride 90 miles to Jerry Johnson Hot springs. They were less commercialized than the first hot springs we had stayed at in Southeastern Idaho (remember Challis?), but they weren't as far away enough from the road to make us feel comfortable breaking the rules and pitching tent beside them.
Along the Clearwater river runs rt 12, through the beautiful Northern part of Idaho. It's green forest, clear river, and mountains made for excellent riding, not to mention that everything was at least slightly downhill--it's all river-grade from the top of the Lolo pass to Lewiston, ID on the other side of the state. The wind often made up for the slight downhill, however, and riding wasn't always as easy as it might have been. Welcome to our summer of riding bicycles.
Jerry Johnson Hot springs were a series of ten or more pools formed beside the Clearwater river. The pools that did not connect to the river were between 80 and 100 or more degrees. Others mixed with the river water to make cooler ones. Everyone had their pick. There was also a sign that said "clothing optional." That was a first was a couple of us. Luckily no one else was there.
Later that night our camp-stove ran out of fuel and we, being 50 miles from the nearest town, began to get a little nervous. We salvaged some dinner--cold baked beans and a few pieces of bread--and sprinted to set up our tents as a swarm of mosquitoes started biting us all of a sudden. We were also running short on water. We were beginning to second guess our decision to stop at the hot springs, but we had already pedaled 90 miles. We couldn't really have gone much further, right?
The next day proved that wrong. We made 50 miles in the morning like it was our job. Or like we didn't have any food left. Or like we were going to ride 150 miles that day to meet our friend. Though it would be lying if we said that we weren't a little annoyed at each other during certain parts of the day.
50 miles, or was it 55 miles? to a town in the state park that had a loaf of bread and water that wasn't drinkable. We ate peanut butter and honey--a recent staple in our diets. Morgan was getting tired of peanut butter so he had trail mix. Andy couldn't help but argue about the mix of peanuts he had just paid a high price to eat. It was one of those irritable moments for all:
Andy: "Matt, go tell him he can just buy something down the road. They have a grocery store."
Matt: "haha, is he irritated with you?"
A: "Ya. It's too bad I'm the one who has to give him any good advice. He won't listen when he's tired of me."
M: "That's too bad. You give such good advice."
Morgan walks around the corner carrying Chex-Mix and a peanut based trail mix. No one said anything. We all knew we were a little tired and that spells of irritation came and went. kind of.
Andy waited a while to pick up the bag that he, no doubt, thought Morgan needlessly spent an African village's water money on:
A: "Do you know the main ingredient in this is peanuts? Didn't you say they were making you sick?"
Morgan: "Peanut butter was. There's a difference."
At least their voices were kept low. The argument continued.
Other than the occasional fits of irritation--and they were primarily held in those morning hours--the ride that day was quite pleasant. It was cool. The woods were among the most beautiful we had seen. And after the first 70 miles we had food and water aplenty.
Except for the trucks. Did I tell you about the trucks on rt 12. Everyone told us about them. They didn't really tell us not to ride it. Well, they did. But they also told us that all kinds of others ride it. They just said it was miserable. And they were right. For probably 20 miles along rt 12 there isn't really a shoulder. It's right along the river, so at least if you go over the 20 feet or so of steep hill it's just into the water. The trucks literally came within inches each time at about 60 mph. Matt swears one of the trucks brushed up against him.
The adrenaline that each passing truck forced into your system was enough to make you insane. That sort of energy created from a negative situation makes it hard not to blame the individuals themselves for the situation. I would imagine that years and years of that would make you want to kill all kinds of people. I wondered if wars and mass killings weren't more than just the killers' faults. Often we don't fix situations we have the power to do something about.
Eventually we would ride in the middle of the road and put our hands up when we saw truckers coming. They slowed down, and were often quite unhappy. They gave us more room, though.
We stopped at a subway with 40 miles to go. At this point we had realized that if we got our friend to pick us up in Lewiston, and if we were going to go to Portland after his place, that we would be coming back down south anyway--so getting a ride straight north wasn't technically cheating. That was pretty exciting. And with that good news, a stomach full of subway--both of which contributed to a high morale we set out to Lewiston.
We arrived at midnight, or close to it. We had just pedaled 150 miles on bikes that weighed 80 pounds. We were pleased with ourselves. We were pleased with Jon. We were pleased with life.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Andy's Reflections on The Ride For Marale
The weather was cold and rainy as we rode the last 75 miles of our journey across the United States. We made our way to the Oregon shore through towering evergreen trees, dense lush underbrush and up and down over several mountain passes. I had not expected this part of the trip to be dreary. I had envisioned a blue skied paradise.
As we rode west through the streets of Cannon Beach, Oregon I began to smell the salt. It was now quite cold due to the ocean breeze, and the drizzle had not subsided. There it was, the Pacific Ocean. I had ridden my bicycle from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific Ocean and... I didn't really feel any different. I had envisioned this moment to be one of euphoria. I expected a mountaintop experience, but instead I had a "you mean this is it" moment. I didn't really even want to get in the water. I was cold and tired and suddenly let down by the mundane nature of this event that I had been placing on a pedestal for the last 70 days.
It was at this point that I remembered the many timesi had heard that life was more about the journey than the destination. Cliche, I know. I began to reflect back on the past 6 months of my life. I thought of all the initial planning, fund raising, and gathering support we had done. I thought about Walking For Water (what a great day). I thought of all the conversations I had been a part of. All the early morning training rides Morgan and I did. Then I began to remember all the host families we stayed with, all the meals we had been a part of, all the sights we had seen. It all came flooding back and I was a little overwhelmed. It almost seemed like a dream, like none of it had actually happened.
I didn't know how to respond. In that moment I felt allI could express was praise to God for allowing me to experience something like this. In no way did I deserve to be this healthy, wealthy, or blessed. God didn't have to look out for us each day as we rode. We didn't have to survive all the traffic we rode through, or meet as many wonderfully hospitable people as we did. God had been entirely too good to us. In the same sentence, I should add that this trip would not have happened without all of the incredible support we received from our family and friends. I would likely fail miserably if I tried to create a list of all the names of people who helped to make this happen. Instead, if you are reading this, consider yourself thanked! I am truely greatful. I have a new perspective on what it means to be generous and I have resolved to become as hospitable and supportive of the people around me as people have been for me over the past few months.
Sitting back and reflecting on how this trip has impacted me is really tough to do. I have been stretched in many different ways, most of them non-physical. (A word on this... It does not seem that I am in great shape at this moment. In fact I might be in quite poor shape. Only the muscles required for pedaling a bicycle are strong. Walking, running, jumping, swimming, paddling a kayak, have all proven to be quite strenuous activities over the past few weeks.) On the social side of things, this trip quickly took the form of a practice marriage. Morgan, Matt, and I ate, slept, rode, spoke, did laundry, shopped, explored, and played together for 78 days. We shared money, food, and everything else. Each decision had to be made with all three of us in mind. Three opinions, one ultimate choice. We had to ride at a pace suitable for all of us, eat food we all could stand, take routes that we all agreed on.... I had never done anything like this before. In fact, I am generally a fairly independent person. I enjoy my freedom. I can say that I failed on numerous accounts to be an encouraging, supportive, positive part of our team. I said things I shouldn't have, I acted selfishly, and I learned a lot from the consequences. Don't take this the wrong way, Matt and Morgan were incredibly patient with me and we actually got along swimmingly (well, that is). I learned a lot about doing life with other people and I feel that I grew up a lot in the process.
Spiritually I learned as well. I feel more than ever that God is abundantly good and that I am of the weakest caliber. Even in my failings at discipline in spending time with God and placing trust in my own strength and wisdom rather than His, God was faithful. He stuck with me, protected me, and spoke louder than usual. This was a summer for teaching. I continued to feel that God was with me throughout this adventure and can see his hands all over the events of it. He placed us in so many situations that stretched our character and showed us about Himself. Even so, I am certainly looking forward to more of a routine in which my time with God can flourish again.
Another wonderful thing I learned was thrift. I learned that a person can survive quite well on less than $5 a day. This was quite a realization to me and showed me just how possible it would be to sustain a life of travel and adventure on a bicycle. We ate oatmeal for breakfast, peanut butter and jelly for lunch, and a rotation of pasta, rice and lentils, or potatoes for Dinner. We always obtained our jelly by begging for individual packets from diners we always made the most of any opportunity to eat for free. Waste not, want not. I experienced first hand how a person could be homeless and content. Regardless of your circumstances, you still exist in a similar human experience to those around you. Life still consists of unexpected treats and difficult letdowns. As many people before me have mentioned, "It is all relative"
How about the people in Uganda? Well to this point we have managed to connect enough people to raise roughly $13,000 for the construction of water systems in three Ugandan villages: Marale, Piswa, and Kitany. This is roughly $2000 short of what might be considered our goal for the ride. To be clear, the villages of Piswa and Marale have received the funding they need to begin constructing clean water systems. The village of Kitany is currently $2000 short of this realization.
Advocating for people you do not know is an interesting endeavor in and of itself. For one, it is devoid of relationship on my end. I do not know these people, and short of a trip to Africa, I never will know them. I am satisfied only to know that someday I will be spending eternity with our creator and meet some souls there who were impacted by an ambition God gave me. Storing up treasures, if you will.
Conversely though, when we help people we do not have relationship with, is this a cop out? Am I only helping these people because I am too afraid of the hard work it takes to enter into relationship with the needy people around me? Is this my way to feel good about myself without bogging myself down with relational involvement? These are serious questions I have begun to ask myself. I would welcome any other opinions of the matter. Ultimately I am glad that our efforts were able to bring a number of people in Uganda clean water, and I trust that God will in deed use this effort to bring more people to himself. This much I know for sure.
What is next you might ask? Well, this summer I have constructed an enormous list of possibilities for next summer. Some on the top of the list are work for the National Forest Service out west, spend a summer working in Africa, take a bicycle tour of Europe, buy a small and inexpensive chunk of land and build a small cabin from the ground up, or go back to Camp ECCO. Really I have no clue, and that is how it should be. Immediately, I will embark on the adventure of being a good Resident Assistant in a freshman dorm at Albright College. I am also looking forward to continuing to hone my skills as a math and physics tutor. I am still pursuing a degree in Math and Physics and hope to become a teacher someday.
In conclusion, thank you all again for being a part of this mission. I hope to speak with many of you about the trip as we get a chance to see one another in the coming times.
Peace be with you all.
As we rode west through the streets of Cannon Beach, Oregon I began to smell the salt. It was now quite cold due to the ocean breeze, and the drizzle had not subsided. There it was, the Pacific Ocean. I had ridden my bicycle from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific Ocean and... I didn't really feel any different. I had envisioned this moment to be one of euphoria. I expected a mountaintop experience, but instead I had a "you mean this is it" moment. I didn't really even want to get in the water. I was cold and tired and suddenly let down by the mundane nature of this event that I had been placing on a pedestal for the last 70 days.
It was at this point that I remembered the many timesi had heard that life was more about the journey than the destination. Cliche, I know. I began to reflect back on the past 6 months of my life. I thought of all the initial planning, fund raising, and gathering support we had done. I thought about Walking For Water (what a great day). I thought of all the conversations I had been a part of. All the early morning training rides Morgan and I did. Then I began to remember all the host families we stayed with, all the meals we had been a part of, all the sights we had seen. It all came flooding back and I was a little overwhelmed. It almost seemed like a dream, like none of it had actually happened.
I didn't know how to respond. In that moment I felt allI could express was praise to God for allowing me to experience something like this. In no way did I deserve to be this healthy, wealthy, or blessed. God didn't have to look out for us each day as we rode. We didn't have to survive all the traffic we rode through, or meet as many wonderfully hospitable people as we did. God had been entirely too good to us. In the same sentence, I should add that this trip would not have happened without all of the incredible support we received from our family and friends. I would likely fail miserably if I tried to create a list of all the names of people who helped to make this happen. Instead, if you are reading this, consider yourself thanked! I am truely greatful. I have a new perspective on what it means to be generous and I have resolved to become as hospitable and supportive of the people around me as people have been for me over the past few months.
Sitting back and reflecting on how this trip has impacted me is really tough to do. I have been stretched in many different ways, most of them non-physical. (A word on this... It does not seem that I am in great shape at this moment. In fact I might be in quite poor shape. Only the muscles required for pedaling a bicycle are strong. Walking, running, jumping, swimming, paddling a kayak, have all proven to be quite strenuous activities over the past few weeks.) On the social side of things, this trip quickly took the form of a practice marriage. Morgan, Matt, and I ate, slept, rode, spoke, did laundry, shopped, explored, and played together for 78 days. We shared money, food, and everything else. Each decision had to be made with all three of us in mind. Three opinions, one ultimate choice. We had to ride at a pace suitable for all of us, eat food we all could stand, take routes that we all agreed on.... I had never done anything like this before. In fact, I am generally a fairly independent person. I enjoy my freedom. I can say that I failed on numerous accounts to be an encouraging, supportive, positive part of our team. I said things I shouldn't have, I acted selfishly, and I learned a lot from the consequences. Don't take this the wrong way, Matt and Morgan were incredibly patient with me and we actually got along swimmingly (well, that is). I learned a lot about doing life with other people and I feel that I grew up a lot in the process.
Spiritually I learned as well. I feel more than ever that God is abundantly good and that I am of the weakest caliber. Even in my failings at discipline in spending time with God and placing trust in my own strength and wisdom rather than His, God was faithful. He stuck with me, protected me, and spoke louder than usual. This was a summer for teaching. I continued to feel that God was with me throughout this adventure and can see his hands all over the events of it. He placed us in so many situations that stretched our character and showed us about Himself. Even so, I am certainly looking forward to more of a routine in which my time with God can flourish again.
Another wonderful thing I learned was thrift. I learned that a person can survive quite well on less than $5 a day. This was quite a realization to me and showed me just how possible it would be to sustain a life of travel and adventure on a bicycle. We ate oatmeal for breakfast, peanut butter and jelly for lunch, and a rotation of pasta, rice and lentils, or potatoes for Dinner. We always obtained our jelly by begging for individual packets from diners we always made the most of any opportunity to eat for free. Waste not, want not. I experienced first hand how a person could be homeless and content. Regardless of your circumstances, you still exist in a similar human experience to those around you. Life still consists of unexpected treats and difficult letdowns. As many people before me have mentioned, "It is all relative"
How about the people in Uganda? Well to this point we have managed to connect enough people to raise roughly $13,000 for the construction of water systems in three Ugandan villages: Marale, Piswa, and Kitany. This is roughly $2000 short of what might be considered our goal for the ride. To be clear, the villages of Piswa and Marale have received the funding they need to begin constructing clean water systems. The village of Kitany is currently $2000 short of this realization.
Advocating for people you do not know is an interesting endeavor in and of itself. For one, it is devoid of relationship on my end. I do not know these people, and short of a trip to Africa, I never will know them. I am satisfied only to know that someday I will be spending eternity with our creator and meet some souls there who were impacted by an ambition God gave me. Storing up treasures, if you will.
Conversely though, when we help people we do not have relationship with, is this a cop out? Am I only helping these people because I am too afraid of the hard work it takes to enter into relationship with the needy people around me? Is this my way to feel good about myself without bogging myself down with relational involvement? These are serious questions I have begun to ask myself. I would welcome any other opinions of the matter. Ultimately I am glad that our efforts were able to bring a number of people in Uganda clean water, and I trust that God will in deed use this effort to bring more people to himself. This much I know for sure.
What is next you might ask? Well, this summer I have constructed an enormous list of possibilities for next summer. Some on the top of the list are work for the National Forest Service out west, spend a summer working in Africa, take a bicycle tour of Europe, buy a small and inexpensive chunk of land and build a small cabin from the ground up, or go back to Camp ECCO. Really I have no clue, and that is how it should be. Immediately, I will embark on the adventure of being a good Resident Assistant in a freshman dorm at Albright College. I am also looking forward to continuing to hone my skills as a math and physics tutor. I am still pursuing a degree in Math and Physics and hope to become a teacher someday.
In conclusion, thank you all again for being a part of this mission. I hope to speak with many of you about the trip as we get a chance to see one another in the coming times.
Peace be with you all.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Ladies and Gentleman, Boys and Girls, Children of All Ages...
WE MADE IT!
On Tuesday, August 10th at 6:30 PM we arrived at the Pacific Ocean. Our ride took 72 days, we
went through 13 different states, rode over 4000 miles, consumed an estimated 50 pounds of Peanut Butter,
and raised $12,000 and counting towards the construction of clean water systems in three different villages.
Be on the look out for concluding thoughts from each of us as we arrive home and have time to process all
that has happened over the past two and a half months. We all plan to put our thoughts into words,
so you can expect a post from each of us. Matt will continue writing stories from the places we haven't talked much about, too. So don't stop paying attention yet.
Here are some more pictures to hold you over....
It turns out the water on the pacific ocean is freezing. We didn't quite go swimming.
A little taste of the Washington coast line.
This is a four mile long bridge that crosses the Columbia River right before it pours into the Pacific. One side of the bridge is Oregon, the other is Washington. One of the more incredible feets of engineering I have ever encountered. Pictures do not come close to capturing the size, height, or length of this thing.
To get up to the higher portion of the bridge one must climb a 200 feet or so up a circling ramp. Kind of felt like a roller coaster.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Portland: Runaway Capital
She had blonde hair, dyed, I think. A black shirt, and black cargo pants. She looked like she used to be pretty muscular, back before the food must've run a bit sparse. She might've played softball. She might've been a catcher. In fact, she might be playing high school ball right now if things had been a little different. But those days were long gone, for sure. She didn't look up at me from the side walk. Her sign said it all: "I make you feel better about yourself." There was a hat for putting money in titled "Space Hat." And there she was, offering her bit of pleasure in the form of self-righteousness--and all from the sidewalk.
And so I walked past, wishing I had the ability to sit down and chat with her about the anger that comes with being ignored all day. Down the street a different girl sitting on the sidewalk laughed at another man's joke, confiding in him that she "was so drunk." The homeless in Portland are only different because of their age. They're also much more interesting because of their age, I think.
Portland is an interesting city. It's very biker friendly, as in bikers have a lot of rights--and by rights I mean lanes. Bike lanes are everywhere. Cars are used to sharing the road with bikes. People also get very upset at bikers when they break the traffic laws--like when people get upset with other drivers when they break traffic laws. So unless you've come from the east where you can get away with doing whatever you want on a bike because no one really knows the traffic laws for bicycles--unless you're Andy--you'll be fine.
After a few traffic laws were violated. After a few people yelled profanities. After Matt finally broke down laughing and made a few smart comments to an affluent white couple. After Andy almost got hit. The trio got separated and frustrated trying to catch the train to meet the family they were staying with.
(A small tangent: Portland has a "Free Zone" for the train. If you get on the train in the downtown area you can ride for free. If you board it outside the proper downtown area you have to pay a certain amount depending on where you're boarding it from. Cities out east should give this a try.)
Nevertheless we met the family and had an amazing weekend hanging out with the parents and three of their boys (who were our age; they also had an older son who kindly texted his family a picture of him an michael Jordan--he's working at one of his camps).
Matt and the oldest son that was home got a long really well and spent the weekend hanging out in Portland and watching television.
Andy and Morgan spent time hanging out with the son that was their age as well as spending some time with one of Morgan's distant relatives. Overall it was a great weekend--one couldn't have asked for a more restful or fun weekend before we complete our goal in the next week.
Don't worry, I'll keep filling you in about what happened in Pullman and the last week. Cheers for now.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
A very unordered picture summary of our last few days...
I think majestic is the word.
Pictures do not come close to capturing this guy.
A famous donut shop in Portland. The line was around the block so we didn't try any, but we were there.
Lots of waterfalls along the gorge.
The trail we road along had an abrupt obstacle on it. I don't think the bike grooves on the stairs were designed with 80 lb. touring bikes in mind.
Anything goes in Portland.
Ya, we met Jimmy Hendrix!
Breakdancing show in downtown Portland. Impressive.
Our 13th state.
A bike trail we road on following the Columbia River gorge.
We almost ran over this rattlesnake on our way through the eastern Oregon desert.
Asparagus field. A first.
Gorgeous. Pun.
We road into Portland on Friday evening and met up with some new friends. We enjoyed a nice day in Portland on Saturday and will stay for church on Sunday as well. We will then ride to THE COAST! on Monday morning. Looking foreward to seeing all our friends and family soon.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Hamilton, MT: Brewfest, Fire, and the meaning of life through story
Idaho was proving to be much nicer than any other fine state that opened itself up to commercialization and the other--motorized--tourists. One man from Idaho who picked us up in his 1992 Volkswagen Van told us "If anyone asks you if there's anything in Idaho, tell them that there's only potatoes."
And so we did. Well, we will. Idaho seems to still be under the radar for most people trying to tour the Northwest.
Montana, on the other hand, seems to get a little more attention. We made our way into Hamilton Montana hearing about a brew-fest that was happening on the day we were to arrive. Well, mostly we saw posters advertising for it as we were riding towards it that day. We thought it was pretty cool that the town was having a party on the same day we were arriving, let alone a brew-fest. But we think that about every town that happens to have a party on the day we arrive. Mostly it happens to us each friday and/or saturday. It seems like maybe most towns have little fair-like get-togethers on weekends in the summer. I digress.
We arrived in Hamilton with hopes held high. We weren't expecting to do much partying though. Matt is the only one who can drink legally, and even one person has to drop $30 to get a few drinks in him at one of these festivals. So we settled for pasta and ice cream right outside the festival.
Sooner than later we were talking with a lovely couple of people at a pavillion. They were modest folk, perhaps a little less excited to talk to us than those who had already consumed a generous amount of alcohol. There was even one woman who was unhappy because her daughter, who was Matt's age, had just left.
"It's too bad, I could have introduced her to ya'll."
It was too bad. Matt hadn't showered in 5 or 7 days; even alcohol doesn't stop one from sensing a person who hasn't engaged in common social rituals for that amount of time.
So the trio spent their time chatting with anyone who would put up with their company. After a while the couple started to take a liking to the trio.
"You boys aren't like a lot of the "new" kids these days."
"What do you mean by new kids?" Andy always asks good questions, right?
"Well you're very polite and respectful."
"Well thank you."
The way they worded the compliment was unlike I had heard it before--so much so that I was surprised to hear it. And so we proceeded. They told us what it was like to live in Montana; what it was like to have children; what it was like to be them. And we shared about ourselves and about our ride, assuming that they understood mostly about what it was like to be us. They certainly seemed to.
After talking a while we were humbly invited back to the woman's house to sleep. I suppose it was kind of like being picked up at a bar, only without the connotations. In fact, if we were any good at that sort of thing, we might've slept much more peacefully many nights previously.
Nevertheless, a couple hours later we found ourselves fast asleep on her living room floor--bathed and everything.
She was a marvelous woman. In the morning she cooked us a huge breakfast and let us into her life a little bit more. She was beautiful. Wonderfully talented. Perhaps a bit under-appreciated. She was also very generous. I thought of some of the richest religious people we'd met on our trip so far--mostly the ones who'd turned us away--and wished they could meet her.
We finished breakfast and hurried off to church; we went down the street and she went to the town we had passed through the day before.
Church: The one pastor--who happened to be speaking that Sunday--was emotionally disturbed by the lack of effort put forth by the congregation during a youth function recently. He did a lot of yelling. It was quite interesting. He kept mentioning the body of Christ and pointing out how the people in the congregation weren't being very christ-like as they weren't supporting the youth and trying to bring them to christ like they should've.
Talking with some people afterward it seemed like the message--one unlike any other that I had heard to that point--was received well enough. Well. Kind of. We heard that in retrospect the man was likely to look back on his sermon as one that was perhaps a bit emotional. perhaps a bit less thought-through. perhaps a little unlike the other ones he'd given. And maybe he'd be a bit embarrassed about it, though no one would fault him for it, now or in the future. Anyway, that probably doesn't make much sense to anyone that wasn't there. (how detailed are blogs supposed to be anyway?)
As the service came to an end we started talking to people in the rows behind us and in front of us. They probably noticed each of us get up three times during the service and go to the bathroom--we kept passing back and forth a 32 oz. bottle of water. So between getting up to fill it and getting up to go to the bathroom, I don't think the back door of the sanctuary was ever fully closed.
anyway, we met a man and his wife who ran marathons. well, his wife ran marathons. Not to be outdone, the man ran ultra-marathons. With her dad. in other words, he ran 50 miles at a time, often through the woods, in what other individuals would call a race. They got shirts and free drinks and other fancy things. This man also got trophies, but they only go to the top few folks in the race. He was impressive. And so we had no trouble chatting over lunch. After he taught us a lesson, of course:
"Is there anything we can do to help?" Matt asked as lettuce was being cut up for salad and large pieces of hamburger meat were being patted onto a platted to be grilled. The three boys stood around drinking soda.
"No. We'd just like it if you let us serve you right now." He looked Matt in the eye and smiled. It was the second or third time he had asked. Being able to be served must've been a quality that Mary understood better than Martha. Martha was a bit humiliated at the end of that story, if you'll remember. Matt learned it before he was humiliated, don't worry--this story ends pleasantly.
Well, kind of. During dinner a huge forest fire broke out at the top of one of the peaks within eyesight of their living room window.
Later that evening we all attended a bible study--a small group from the church, if you will. We stayed with the family who hosted the small group.
If you're wondering about what people with children talk about when they study the bible, it's a lot like anyone else when they're studying the bible. Except for maybe bible scholars. But they don't seem to get together and eat banana nut bread: they sit by themselves at mahogany desks and write letters via journals back and forth so that the rest of the world can listen in on what they've got to say, if they've got time. If not their pastor tells them one sunday.
And so there we were, sitting around a living room acting like normal religious people. It was quite enjoyable.
Later that evening we found out that instead of getting a new sports car or something slightly irresponsible this man and wife had three daughters during their mid-life crisis. It seemed a lot more productive than most couples we had met until then. It was a second chance at parenting if nothing else.
And after a number of long conversations with the family we went to bed, only to wake up in the morning, eat, and get on our bikes and begin riding again. Refreshed if nothing else.
You see. This is life. Not a lot of exciting, extra-ordinary things happen in anyone's story. In fact, it's rarely the events that make the story. It's the way it's told. So instead of taking in some motivational speaker's ideas about living a better life, why not get better at telling stories.
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