Great News

The book that first interested me in mathematics, A Mathematician's Apology, is part of the public domain in Canada and is available online in its entirety thanks to the University of Alberta. Read it if you've the time. If you haven't the time, quit your job.

I can weave like no man...

...because men don't weave in Guatemala.

what's love got to do with it?

Love is differnt here. In a guidebook I read that if you want to tell somebody that you love them then you had better have a ring in hand and be ready to start a large family. I'm having a somewhat difficult time with this. I tell my friends that I love them, and I mean it. I find that I'm constantly thinking things like "no, I really enjoy camping, but I don't want to give people the wrong idea about why I like sleeping outdoors". It is hard to edit out our American idioms when trying to speak en Español. One morning at breakfast Ben tried to tell our host father that the food was delicious. Instead he looked Micho square in the eyes and said: "I love you, Beans". Everyone involved was deeply embarrassed, both because of what amounts to a taboo against discussing love here, and because Ben thought Micho's name was Beans. Despite the seriousness of the term, or maybe because of it, the song "I want to know what love is" plays nearly constantly here in the shops and cafes. It's a confusing concept, love.

short, sweet, distinct

Today is my sixteenth afternoon in Xela and the final day of my second week of language school. I've fallen back into the very familiar habit of spending a lot of time studying in a single coffee shop, but it's different here. I'm using more notecards now than I ever did in Anchorage.


In the bathroom of the aforementioned Xela coffe shop is a sign that reads as follows:

Please when it
uses the
sanatarium it
to tosses water.

This is a nice looking sign that somebody took time to create, laminate, and hang over the urinal.


I'm not sure if building codes exist in Guatemala, but if they do they say nothing about standardized lightswitch placement. Every room is different. I have used bathrooms with light fixtures but no switch that I could find and have had to feel my way about. That's no fun in any bathroom.

Xela what?

Holy cow, today is the 7th day that I've been in Guatemala. I've become pretty familiar with Xela, Zona 1 anyway, but it is still very much foreign to me. Perhaps if I spoke the language I wouldn't feel like such an outsider, but I doubt it. After all, I am in Guatemala.

We spent last Wednesday night in the entirely unremarkable tourist town named Panajachel, know to the locals as "Gringotenango". We hadn't intended to stop there, but our driver, after assuring us that she knew where she was going, missed our turn and didn't want to turn around so late in the day. That was probably wise of her; I've read that it's not terribly safe to travel at night in the mountains here. In Panajachel it seemed that there were at least as many Europeans and Americans as there were Guatemalans.

After a few hours in the car we were finally in Qetzaltenango. During the entire trip down Ben and I had been trying to figure out how we could split from Joan without offending her or leaving her stranded, so it came as a welcome surprise when Joan asked where she could drop us off. It seems that Joan was as tired of us as we were of her. Perfect. After an awkward goodbye, during which we both tried, and failed, to sound like we'd had a good time and hoped to run into each other during our travels, we split from Joan. If you'd like more info, some dirt or gossip about the whole Joan affair, you'll have to email me or wait until we meet in the future.

Once freed we walked around Xela for a few hours and then checked into a hostel. This was my first hostel experience. There we met other travelers from around the globe, took cold showers, and went to a disco. This was also my first disco experience. I thought that the night couldn't get any weirder when I saw Ben on stage dancing with 5 or 6 other people. I was wrong, and it ended with me hearing a swarthy local fellow say to one of the girls from our hostel "I am the coffee and you are the milk and after we dance we should drink each other". That's one hell of a language barrier.

We're no longer at the hostel. We spent the weekend visiting a St Alphonso, a cooperative coffee plantation started by women who had been displaced to Mexico during Guatemala's unbelievably brutal civil war. The land where their village had been was given away because all of the inhabitants were killed or had fled, so when they returned these women were relocated to a different part of Guatemala where nobody speaks their indigenous language. It's a terrible situation but they seem to be doing alright. That is, alright compared to the rampant poverty that is common in rural Guatemala.

Now we're with a host family, are attending the Kie Balam language school, and I've gotten sick from eating street food. To be clear, I'm not trying to disparage street food, because I've eaten lots of it since I've been in the C.A. and have only had this one instance of trouble. Eat street food, just don't eat street corn that was cooked on a grill and allowed to cool for an hour in a pile of similar ears of corn. Learn from my mistake.

Quetzaltenango = Xelahu = Xela. It's a long story that involves Spaniards, battles, birds, and linguistic laziness.

some details about being threatened with a pistol

A few posts in the past I mentioned that we had been threatened, and I described this encounter as having been fun. I'd like to give a few more details now.

Ben and I were in Lafayette for four days and three nights. We didn't stay so long intentionally, but because southwest Louisiana is lousy for hitchhikers. On our third day in town we resigned ourselves to spending the money on bus tickets to Shreveport. After one of several unsuccessful attempts to buy a ticket at the Baton Rouge - Shreveport price instead of the more expensive Lafayette - Shreveport price ($30 more for 75 fewer miles on the same bus!) we wandered outside and to the corner where we griped about Greyhound and how they've not done well for me.

While we spoke a man poked his head between the spaces on the large picket fence surrounding the nearest house. He asked if we were doing alright, and we replied that we were. He then said something else that I didn't understand, but caused Ben to approach the fence. He and Ben quietly mumbled at each other for a few minutes during which I couldn't understand what was being said. Ben then stepped back and had that frustrated, "I've just had a stupid argument" look that became so familiar to those us of that lived or spent much time in the Arkansas House.

I looked from Ben to the other mumbler who then began making faces at me. For about one second each he held different variations on the classic top-lip-puffed-with-air funny face. I was laughing a little, but was confused because Ben's not one to get frustrated by funny faces. "What, you can't hear what I'm asking?" the man asked me. I stammered for a minute and wondered whether there existed some sort of ASL-like face language that had somehow avoided my attention. After another minute of confusion, during which I tried to explain that I didn't know what he was asking and he kept asking whether I understood, the man had had enough.

Once again he pushed his face between two fence posts and made another variation of the same funny face. When he let the air out of his lip he said "you'll probably understand if I ask you with my pistol, right". It wasn't a question. I told him that I didn't understand what he was asking me and that I wanted no trouble. He then stormed into the house, presumably to get his pistol. I don't know whether he returned, or if he even had a pistol to use as an instructional aid, because we left. Ben still wore that familiar, frustrated look.

It was then, as we walked down the block away from the Greyhound terminal and its crazy neighbor, that I understood what he was saying. Through those funny faces he was trying to communicate something like "look, man, I'm f-ing nutty and dangerous and it's in your best interest not to speak loudly around me". If Ben and I had been commiserating about our shared Greyhound frustration in quieter voices we would likely never have had any trouble.

Ben later told me that the man had asked us not to stand on the sidewalk, and that when he approached the fence it was to engage the man in a mumbled dialog about the rights of ordinary citizens to control their own stretches of sidewalk versus the rights of others to use however they liked those same narrow stretches of public property.

We saw the same man later that night when we were buying our Baton Rouge - Shreveport tickets from a more informed Greyhound worker who was more interested in the somewhat outdated business practice of looking out for consumers. This time our face-making antagonist was standing outside the station smoking pot with a nice, younger kid that we had met the night before and who Ben had used his cellular phone to record rapping. We got out of there before he recognized us and stole away to a public park for some urban camping.

That's what it is like to be in Lafayette.

Shreveport-Bossier-Panajachel

After arriving in Shreveport we were picked up by the first of the four Mikes that we met in the last month. We had left our bikes and most of our gear at his house and once again stayed with him for our visit to northwest Louisiana. After getting our gear ready for bike travel again, fixing flats, and skateboarding at the local indoor park we were ready to get back on our bikes and start riding. But then, we met Joan.

Joan is a realtor from Savannah, Georgia. She posted an ad on craigslist looking for people interested in riding with her to Guatemala. One phonecall later we were once again on a bus, this time on our way to Houston to meet Joan and ride with her to Guatemala. That was one week ago. We're in Guatemala now, and have seen a lot of Mexico. I'll post about it later with more details. Now though, for the first time in a month, we're up to date. Now you have to email me and tell me how you're doing.

uh-oh, another list

4 distinct instances of fun between NOLA and Shreveport:

1) taking part in a frightening "bum tower"
2) guerilla urban camping, including nights behind dumpsters and being shocked awake by the garbage truck
3) being threatened with a pistol for debating Greyhound policies on the wrong stretch of sidewalk
4) being accused of changing my clothes at the same gas station for two consecutive years (this was cleared up quickly)

this happened in the past

Almost 4 years ago I went to Arizona and saw the desert for the first time. I was surprised at how beautiful it was and after my short visit I looked forward to returning to the southwest with more time to explore the dusty, cactus covered hills. I had that opportunity when we arrived back in the States. We decided to take the slower, more beautiful path through the Big Bend State and National Parks in southern Texas rather than heading immediately north to the interstate. The desert once again surprised me with its beauty.

Less than an hour of our Big Bend drive had passed before we decided to park the car on the side of the rode and hike to the top of one of the mesas nearest the road. It was a perilous, beautiful jaunt that lasted until just after sunset. On our way up Mike and I did a some bouldering, and on the way down I fell into a catcus patch and lost my glasses. Mike found my glasses while I began pulling the several dozen cactus needles out of my hand and forearm. I had to use my bandito-hankie as a bandage. It was pretty tough. Ben posted some pictures of the hike in his gallery.

The rest of the trip to NOLA was just as exciting. Ben got pulled over and we were again stopped and searched by Customs and Border Patrol agents. The lawmen in south Texas must have many past successes finding narcotics by telling people that it´s easier just to fess up. We heard that line a few times. The bright spot of our second search was that the lawman made his dog jump in the car window. Once my friend, Dobie, jumped into the window of an SUV and into my lap in the passenger seat. Dobie is a dog too.

After many hours of driving, during which we covered many, many miles and listened to U2´s War many, many times, we arrived in New Orleans. Ben is involved in some sort of pyramid-scheme type timeshare and was able to hook us up with 5 nights in a luxury hotel. I think that this is the first time Ben has been able to use this service though he´s been paying for it for years. The hotel was on Ste. Charles, a little less than a mile upriver from the French Quarter. We were the only guests there under the age of 50, and probably the only guests uncomfortable with the decadence. Within the week we would be back in an environment we were more comfortable - sleeping behind dumpsters. We'll get to that later.

If you´re like me in any non-trivial ways and you ever find yourself in New Orleans there are two places that I recommend you visit: the Iron Rail Library and Bookstore, and Plan B Bike Coop (Iron Rail is a coop as well). Saturday, 3 November, our first full day in town, Ben and I walked over to Iron Rail and read for a while. They've a good sized space and an impressive selection. It was, maybe, the best alternative library I've seen. Plan B is in the same building as Iron Rail, so while Ben read I walked over and talked to the volunteer there about the coop, told him about our shop, and was told that there was a cleaning day and meeting on Monday and that I was encouraged to come. Later, at Iron Rail, Ben and I met some local kids who offered us places to stay, gave us dumpster dived fruit, and told us about upcoming goings-on. We then walked back to the hotel, had a goodbye dinner with Mike. After exchanging contact info and hugs Mike left for Kentucky.

Monday afternoon we returned to Plan B to help clean the shop and to share bike coop ideas and strategies. Their shop is enormous compared to ours! They have most of an enormous warehouse to use, divided into a large shop space and a larger storage space, and have use of the fenced yard for additional storage. Broken Spokes, we've got some new ideas to share when we return to Anchorage. Talk to Ben, he'll be there relatively soon. After the cleaning we stayed for their monthly meeting where we learned more and were well fed. Everybody there was excellent and I'd like to go back sometime and volunteer. Does anybody want to live in New Orleans for a few months?

On our way out of the meeting we ended up in a conversation with one of the locals who, after learning about our travels and telling us of his, invited us to a friend's barbeque. We followed him to his friend's house, which turned out to be home to something like 15 New Orleans kids back in town after spending the summer traveling. Apparently this was not simply a barbeque, but was a somebody's-out-of-jail party. At one point there were three distinct groups of people playing music, one in the yard, two in the house. It was an excellent realease party.

colorado to mexico

From Boudler we had planned on driving to New Orleans where we hoped to arrive in time for Halloween revelry. On Tuesday night though, at 10:30 pm we still hadn´t left Boulder. I was leaving a bookstore (I´ve been searching for a copy of this book for months!) Ben and Mike told me that we were no longer planning on leaving for New Orleans. Instead, we would drive to Chihuahua, Mexico. An hour later we were full of enthusiasm and packed once again into Mike´s small car.

Driving through the plains at night the stars were more beautful than I´d ever seen them. The sky was planetarium clear and I wanted then to study astronomy. Unfortunately I want to study everything. I don´t know what will happen.

We crossed the border into Ojinaga, a town described to us as an authentic Mexican border town. Initially we drove straight through, but 30km down the road we stopped at a checkpoint and were told that without passports we were allowed no further into Mexico. A little dismayed we turned around and headed back in Ojinaga. We found a decent hotelroom for 170 pesos (just under $17), and then went out for dinner and to see the town. We went to two bars, in both of which I felt uncomfortable for reasons other than the language barrier. The first bar felt like a locals only place, and we were ridiculously overcharged.

The second bar provides the better story. We were crossing one of the main roads in central Ojinaga when a man approached us and began speaking to us quickly in hushed Spanish. I didn´t know what he was saying, but from his body language I could tell that it was something like ¨Stay back! Notice how I twitch as if on some serious drug and so consider me to be something of a shady character¨. Mike told us that he was trying to sell us drugs. Once we´d made clear that we weren´t interested he pointed to a bar across the street, "the Bikini Bar", and motioned that we should go there. Surprisingly, Mike seemed to think it was not a bad idea. Ben reminded me that you can´t steer the 2-4-P-W and we went inside.

Immediately we stuck out like the trio of sore thumbs that we were. I saw a pool table in the back that wasn´t being used and went investigate. I found no balls or cues. When I returned Mike and Ben were sitting in a small booth with three women. I sat in the booth behind them and took out my notebook to write. Before I could put pen to paper a man sat down across from me. He continuously smiled and raised his eyebrows. Even in my native tongue and culture I have difficulty with sublte communication, and there, in the Bikini Bar, I couldn´t figure out what he was trying to say. I was watching, puzzled,when he began to sing to me. He recognized my shock and began to sing more softly, as if it was the volume of his serenade that was making me uncomfortable. I alternated between laughing and shrugging my shoulders and looking at my notebook as I wrote. Mike came to my rescue by pulling a chair over to the end of their booth and motioning for me to sit with them.

The new booth was a little less awkward. A few times Mike and Ben ended up dancing with these girls, but I successfully avoided anything of the sort. Periodically a suspicious looking man would peek his head in the door and one of the girls would go over speak quietly with him while they both looked at us. This may have been nothing, but it made me a little uncomfortable. At 12:30 when the bar closed the girls asked us to go to a private club with them. It cost 250 pesos, and we´d have to ride there in the back of a pickup truck. While two of the girls tried to convince us to travel with them, the third was talking to some much older men to whom the pickup truck belonged. I opted out immediately, and after a moment Ben did too. Mike wavered, but ultimately decided just to come back to the hotel. So ended my first night in Mexico.

We spent quite a bit of time the following day trying to explain to US customs that we were traveling but didn´t have an itinerary, and that we´d gone to Mexico on a whim, and that we´d hope to get to Chihuahua, and that we weren´t carrying drugs. After a couple of hours they seemed to believe us.

Boulder

All of this updating is a bit tiring, so I´ll just give a top 5 list for Boulder. Here goes:

1. Mountains
2. Street harpist
3. Many conversations about state populations
4. Gogol Bordello live
5. Learning states in order of population

...after a long pause...

OK, it's been a while, so let's get up to speed. When last we spoke I was either standing beside you, or I was standing some way away from you and we spoke through our telephones. When last I updated this blog I was in New York City. There I was staying with my old friend, Eric. There was music, trivia, banter, walking, new friends, dogs on people, clothes on dogs, coffee, and chess. It was a good eight days.

We left NYC with a high-school history teacher who taught in Manhattan and lived outside of Binghamton. It was a Friday afternoon and so we were stuck in traffic with all of the other commuters trying to get back to (or alternatively, escape from) their real lives for the weekend. a few minutes into our long ride she told me that she knew I was a vegetarian. "You have that smell" she said, "you smell like my son". I'd never realized that there was a particularly vegetarian smell, and I'm certainly not able to identify it. When we got to Binghamton she offered her floor for us to sleep on that night if we wanted to wait until the morning before trying to hitchhike north to Syracuse. It was nice of her to offer, but we already had a ride. An old friend of mine had kindly agreed to drive the hundred miles to come and get us. Our ride was waiting when we arrived in Binghamton, so after coffee it was on to Oswego.

We spent exactly one week in the greater CNY area. As always, it was good to see family and old friends. In that time I was able to visit most of my favorite places and people. It was late October then, and the trees in the Adirondacks were just past their prime but still very colorful and beautiful with the scent of fall rich in the air. I remember being a younger man and having to wear a snowsuit before Halloween, but this year it remained warm enough through the end of the month for us to take a last late night swim in the Great Lake. In addition to swimming and hiking I had the opportunity to do some skateboarding at a great concrete park, to visit my favorite restaurant, to make a bit of extra money painting, and to go on a date (what!?). Priming ceilings has made my some of my hair prematurely white.

At the end of our stay in CNY we hadn't been on our bikes in more than two weeks and were looking forward to getting back in the saddle. Our bikes were still in Shreveport, and so we began looking for a ride south. We talked about hitchhiking, and joked about walking to whole way, and were happy to find Mike, another post-college 25 year old wanderer. Mike was leaving Brooklyn and heading to New Orleans, and was happy to drive way out of his way to Syracuse to pick us up. Syracuse, it turned out, was not really as great a deviation from the route as it might sound. Mike planned to go from Brooklyn to New Orleans, but his route would take him almost everywhere, from Pennsylvania to Kentucky to Colorado. It sounded crazy, but I had no place better to be.

Fortunately Ben and I got along really well with Mike. He was much wilder than either of us, with more of an interest in partying and such things, but was funny and smart, and knew a lot about bugs. Honestly, I miss him already. In State College we visited a friend that Mike had made while traveling in Greenland the previous summer. Taylor, Mike's friend, showed us around the city and then to a party where we lost track of her. Most of the time at the party I spent waiting in line to use the bathroom, but suddenly "Invisible Touch" began playing and I gave up my spot in line so I could shout out the words. Before I made it to the bottom of the stairs the track had been skipped. I found Mike and Ben and shortly afterwards we left. State College, PA, you're too wild for me.

The next day we got a late start. At 3pm, after waffles, coffee, and learning that our place to stay in Kentucky seemed not to be working out we hit the road for Chicago. Ben was excited to see Kayla again, as was I, and Mike was looking forward to seeing the city. We arrived late and so didn´t have time to do much. The highlight of the night was when I saw two people wearing Waldo costumes. It was the Saturday before Halloween, and they'd been at a Waldo-themed party. I wondered if it had been at all weird to be at a party where everybody was dressed identically, where there were only Waldos, if it felt at all like being at work at the kind of job where everybody wears identical shirts and hats. They told me that it was disorienting to see so many set of stripes moving around but that otherwise I was making too much of it. That's how I like to remember Chicago.

I spent the following morning drinking really good coffee in a cafe that I'd become familiar with on our last trip through town. We spent the afternoon playing at the park on the shores of Lake Michigan and left town in the early evening. We gave Kayla a ride to Decatur, where we dropped her off at a cheap motel. I´m not certain what her plan was, but it was fun to hang out with her during the ride. After that slight detour we drove straight through to Boulder, arriving around 2 pm.

setting the record straight

Countless times after I'd moved to Alaska, and in earlier years whenever I traveled, people have asked me where I am from. When I replied "New York" people have always assumed that I mean the city. They often following by telling me either that they love New York City or that they've never been to New York City but that they suspect they'd love it. Historically I have not loved New York City. In all of my visits the primary impressions that the city had made on me were: this place smells like garbage; people in NYC are a bunch of grumps; NYC feels like a huge shopping mall, which is bad. Other than the navigational ease provided by the City's grid structure I'd never been too impressed with NYC. Often when confronted with a conversation about New York I would say in a derisive tone "New York is alright, but I much prefer Boston, or Toronto, or even Montreal. They smell better, and the people aren't as arrogant". Probably I was also a little resentful of all of the attention that the City gets while Upstate seems not to exist for most people. I can recall times when I've explained that I wasn't from the City, that I was from Upstate, and to the questioner this meant I was from Poughkeepsie.

Now though, after just over a week in the City, I'm willing to ignore those complaints and to apologize for my earlier scorn. New York City is beautiful, both as a collection of huge buildings and as a huge collection of people. I'm leaving the City tomorrow for a brief visit to Upstate, but I'm looking forward to coming back.

The New York Public Library is incredible. It's big and old and beautiful. Just being inside it made me feel proud to be participating in such a valuable, important social institution, even if my participation these days is solely on the borrowing end.

it's not the heat, it's the spiders

Since Friday we've been in Benton, Louisianna. It's hot here, and humid. Whoever you are, it definitely is hot enough for you. I'll go to sleep hot and a few hours later wake completely soaked with sweat and stuck to the floor of the tent. Also, there are bugs. Our natural pests in Alaska are mosquitos, bears, and an occasional upset moose. Here there are also mosquitos, but they're not the only chitinous nuisance. There are terrifying spiders with big, black, almond shaped bodies covered with neon markings and with legs several inches long. One of these monsters had spun its web over the front-passenger wheelwell on the bus we've been camping at and sleeping in. On Sunday I watched as it wrapped a big, hapless beetle in web and then sat there beside it's cocoon-ed meal. From here, with the relative safety of electric lights and doors that latch shut, I imagine that it was waiting for the web covered beetle to become usable food, but then, as I crouched a few feet away and watched the now unmoving spider, I felt like it I was being stared down. The spider, I imagined, had sized me up and recognized that I was too big for him to really make us of, it would have taken her days to cover me in enough web to fully immobilize me, but she knew also that she had the upper hand. I was definitely more afraid of her, though she was roughly 1/2240th my weight, than she was of me. As of today she's gone. At first I was happy to be able to enter the bus without having to pass by her many watchful eyes, but I quickly realized that I was safer knowing where she was, and that now she could be anywhere. It's been a long day of slowly, timidly handling any object large enough to hide a spider.

Spiders aren't all though, there are also ants. They're not like those friendly ants of the north who want only to help you clean up those crumbs that seem always to litter the floor in whichever room you've last eaten. These ants are much smaller, and much less benign. They'll fearlessly crawl over you, which is annoying and itchy in and of itself - it feels like they're wearing tiny, ant-sized golf shoes, and when allowed to crawl long enough they begin to bite. Their bites sting me like a fresh mosquito bite but leave no marks on my skin. Ben, however, has red marks all over his legs that look like sombody has been pinching little bits of flesh off of his legs using razor sharp tweezers. These, he says, are from the ants. I think he's contracted something. He looks leperous.

We also saw moths the size of hummingbirds.

Hold on, here's some background on the aforementioned bus: it belongs to Ben and is full of old junk from when he and four other Anchoragians spent 6 months in 2002 driving it around the continent. For the last 5 years it's been parked in a field behind a house on land owned by the family of one of the other 4 traveling Alaskans.

We've been camping at the bus while Ben sorts through the piles of old magazines, instruments, underpants, and 16-lb cans of beans. Well, I've been camping, Ben's been sleeping inside the bus and getting torn apart by insects. Mike, Nola, and Gabriel, the folks that live in the house behind which the bus has been hidden, have been wonderful to us. They've been helpful and generous to us, sharing meals with us and taking us into Shreveport multiple times to run our big-city errands. I'm typing this at their computer, while my laundry drys in their dryer. They've really gone out of there way to treat us like family. Dang. I've been lucky.

on the road again, again

We're in Little Rock, Ar. It's good. There's an excellent concrete skatepark that's open until midnight and those local kids I've met there have been super friendly and inclusive, which is, in my experience, somewhat unusual in the skateboarding world. We've also met some locals that have started a bike co-op and who are advocates of unused food redistribution, which means that they dumpster dive, and who very generously shared with us a few loaves of bread and some slightly bruised but still delicious produce. Later tonight we're joining their crew for an group bike ride. Excellent people are everywhere. If I didn't already miss taking classes I'd say that I never want to have a home base again.

That said, we're planning on leaving tomorrow and heading towards Shreveport.

images

I've added a link titled "pictures", on the left side of the page under the heading "things or people of interest", that leads to a gallery of pictures from the trip. All the photos were shot by Ben and Kayla on their fancy digital photo-machines. If you've thought to yourself, or said to me, something like "boy, he's (you're) inarticulate. I have no idea what his (you're) trip has been like", these images should give a decent approximation of what the trip has been like for Ben and Kayla. My trip has been similar to theirs, but I tend not to stare at either of them as often as they stare at each other and so my set of photo-subjects would be different.

I really should have thought to post this link before tonight.

ch-ch-ch-changes.....

"Hey, look, you're different."

A friend of mine once said that to his wife after she'd changed clothes mid-conversation, and I today, while thinking of the next leg of the bike trip, my thoughts echoed that sentiment. Rather than riding northwest from Portland and then south down the coast we've decided to skip the coast and ride straight south. From here the coast seems too far. We're in Chicago now.

Last week, while browsing Amtrak fares from Seattle to Olympia I found tickets from Portland to Chicago for almost nothing. Ben and I were excited to make this impulsive change but were a little disappointed to give up the west coast leg of the trip. After hemming and hawing for a few minutes we decided to ask Kayla, without telling her that it was entirely her decision, how she would like to visit Chicago. She was excited to go and so, after a few days in Portland seeing old friends and eating doughnuts, we boarded a train heading east.

Kayla's cousin, Sarah, has been putting us up in Chicago. She has an apartment with two extra bedrooms and has been a super accommodating host and has provided excellent directions around the city. Chicago seems like a really great city. I'd spent some time here before, almost 14 hours, but then I'd spent the entire time walking and appreciating the sights of a real city (sorry Anchorage!) and enjoying it, but not enough to delay my departure. This time, riding my bike around the city, I'm feeling those stomach butterflies and jaw-ache inducing smiles that hint at love. That's right, I said it, I love Chicago. I've never been in a city that so successfully integrates bicycles into traffic as a realistic transportation option. Did you hear that, Portlanders? Chicago is more bike-friendly than Portland and Chicago is more bike-friendly than Seattle and Chicago is a beautiful city on a beautiful lake (but not as beautiful as Lake Ontario). Love is fleeting though, and we'll ride out in day or two.

Wait! "We'll ride out...." means something different now. It used to mean something like "Ben, Kayla, and I....", but now it means "Ben and I....". Kayla is staying in Chicago. I certainly can't blame her. If I weren't so cynical and distrusting of love I would stay here as well. [a joke!] On the upside, now we have a floor to sleep on in Chicago. Kayla, I'll miss you, and I'll be slightly envious of you for a while, buy once my Chicago love-buzz wears off I'll wonder how you could give up life on the road for life in a house.

It's getting to be cold at night and so I've been bundling up. Since we're staying indoors at Sarah/Kayla's apartment this bundling has been mostly for practice and often I'll wake up fully bundled and drenched in sweat. When we're outside though, through the chilly midwestern autumn, I'll be ready.

seattle, but then.....

I've mentioned before that Seattle is fun, and in my experience it continues to be so. Ben and I spent Wednesday walking around town looking for certain bike pieces and trip supplies that I'm still trying to replace: 1 bottle cage, 1 front-rack, 1 handlebar bag, 2 waterproof front-panniers, 1 sleeping pad, and 1 pair long underpants. We found nothing useful at reasonable prices, but that evening we found a comedy club with 5 comics lined up for a $5.00 cover. It wasn't exactly a bargain, but it was worth what we paid. There were some genuinely funny lines, but even these were weakened by their references bowl cuts, clown cars, and homophobia - cheap fodder for easy laughs. Using Craigslist we found a ride to Olympia on Thursday afternoon, and before the sun was setting we had unexpectedly bumped into a friend from Seward, AK, and were eating dinner with Katie and Eamon.

We spent Friday, Saturday, and Sunday morning with Katie and Eamon, together when possible, and separately while one or the other was at work. Friday was spent mostly wandering and drinking coffee, and eventually culminated with thick, delicious milkshakes that, even combining our efforts, proved too much milkshake to be finished. I'd never been beaten by a milkshake before, it has never even been close, but I don't regret losing. It was humbling to leave the half-full metal mixing cup there on the table, and I believe that humility is a good thing. Saturday we had the opportunity to join the Olympia Gleaners Coalition for a trip to a local organic farm. The Gleaners are a volunteer run organization that visits farms after growers have picked what they'll take to the market to sell, and picks whatever usable produce is left. Volunteers are welcome to take what they like, and the rest is given to the local foodbank. In exchange for this opportunity, the volunteers generally help with farm work or provide manual labor for a few hours. We helped spread mulched tree-bark over a small field of blueberry bushes in exchange for the opportunity to pick vegetables, fruits, and edible flowers. Knowing that we were leaving the next morning Ben and I didn't take much produce, but what we did take, mostly cherry tomatoes and some flowers that tasted like mustard, were delicious.

Katie and Eamon, by the way, seem to be an excellent match. If you see them before I do send them my thanks, and a hug. You may not know if I've seen them first, so just go ahead with the hug and thanks.

It's Sunday night now and we're in Portland staying with Ben's sister Krista and her husband Jeremy. They've been good to us so far. Jeremy was kind enough to share his graphic novels with me and for a while I was happily engrossed in the goings on in Gotham and Metropolis.

Have you ever had an impossible time trying to find a particular book? I'm going through that now. If I find what I'm looking for I'll let you know.

on the road again, kind of...

After much waiting, resting, healing, swimming, splashing, hugging, and flying, I am back in the west and am ready to start riding again. CNY was wonderful, as it seems always to be when I no longer live there. While back east I was able to visit Spencer in Boston, swim in the Atlantic a handful of times, swim in Lake Ontario a handful of a handful of times, ride my skateboard at my favorite old spots, find a few new favorite spots, and see all the friends and family that still live in the area. Everybody: it was great seeing you, I miss you already.

My plane flew into Seattle during a raging thunderstorm turned into a light drizzle the instant that I left the airport. I've spent the last two days wandering around Seattle looking at used bikes and talking to strangers. It's been fun so far. Last night I made new friends that share an appreciation for Ms. Pacman, which 3 days before I had declared to be my favorite video game, and with whom I spent the late night and early morning hours talking about typefaces, wigs, and the classic synthesized robot and alien voices found on cheap electronic toys. Who remembers the Buzz Lightyear megaphone? Can I see a show of hands? Of course I can't.

Greyhound still hasn't found my bike, the scoundrels, and they don't seem much closer to paying me its declared value. I've purchase what I expect will be a suitable replacement. It's a Centurion Pro Tour 15, a lugged, steel frame mass produced in Japan in the early 80's. The tubing is a proprietary Tange tubing comparable to Columbus or Reynolds. I think the frame will function just fine, and it looks pretty steezin' if you ask me. If ever I get a picture of it I'll be sure to post it. The components are all shimano 105 and so, if you believe conventional wisdom, are pretty nice. Unfortunately we're still waiting on conclusive results concerning whether or not conventional wisdom can be trusted as a source of knowledge. Preliminary findings suggest otherwise.

Bye.

up-to-dating

I'll begin with some good news: last night I went for my first somewhat long bike ride, around 15 miles, and not only did it not bother my tendons one bit, but I was, despite almost four weeks of not riding, still damn fast. I don't want to make too much of this, and I know that it was a relatively short ride, but I think this means that this time of rest and mending has been somewhat successful. I'm going to ride more today and see how I feel. Also, I'm riding my old fixed gear bike now, which is wonderful and more physically demanding on my tendons. I have an - if I can make it here, where "here" should be read as "on my fixie", then I can make it anywhere - type of feeling. That is, as long as I properly stretch each day.

Oh yeah, Greyhound lost my bike. I'm looking around for something to ride but am not having much luck here in the CNY. If you've got any leads on a size and trip appropriate bike send them my way. Next week I'll be visiting Spencer in Boston where, I hope, he'll be able to share his secret, Boston specific, used-bike knowledge with me.

I miss you guys, all of you. Even you.