Ooh! Ooh! Today’s post is gonna be a good one, I can feel it. So much to talk about.
I had an interesting incident happen to me today. I’d like to relay the entire incident without comment. And then, you know, comment. :)
So I’m about 70 or so miles into my day - a long, hard day, which I’ll talk about in a minute - and I pull into the diner in Richland, OR, an oasis in the desert. Never has a garden burger looked so good. As I pulled up, I saw the unmistakable signs of 2 other folks doing the same thing I was - touring bikes loaded down with multicolored Gottlieb panniers, sitting out front. I walked inside and immediately could spot them by the bike helmets on the table. I got a bit of an attack of social anxiety because I couldn’t tell if the other person was the guy’s wife or his son, so I passed on saying hello the first time past their table, but when I got up to get something from my bike and got a better look (wife), I noticed the guy’s San Francisco shirt. I pointed at it and said “hey! I like the shirt”. He grunted in that way that says “please do not ever speak to me again”. Everything about these two folks just screamed unhappiness and social anxiety. And I was bummed, because here was a chance to really bond with some cyclists, and of course they have to be grumpy. A few minutes went by, they paid - silently - and left. I could tell there was some consternation outside, and then the guy came back in and started looking all around the cafe, a bit frantic. He finally walked right over to me, and in an accusatory tone, he pointed at my map and said “Are you sure that’s your map?” (Like, what do you think, I stole your map?) I smiled politely and said “Yep! Pretty sure.” He stomped off.
Anyway, they left first, and I noticed they headed east as well. A few minutes later, I took off. Now, right east of Richland is a climb, about 1000 feet. I saw it on the map, but the reality turned out to be higher, steeper, and hotter than I had imagined, and it was definitely a rough climb. As I’ll get into, I was trying to make this a record day, and I was deep in the middle of Hell’s Canyon, which is pretty much what it sounds like - the surface of Mars. Way up ahead on the cliff, I saw the two from the diner. Slowly, steadily I caught up to them until I was within sight of the woman, who was about 25 feet behind. Despite the incident in the diner, as I passed by her I gave a cheerful “hello!” She stared at the ground and said “hi”, quietly. The two of them began to pull over and get off their bikes in the gravel by the side of the road. As I caught up to the guy, I said
“Where are you guys riding from?”
“San Francisco.” He looked away. I felt weird getting off my bike, so I didn't, but I was going really slowly up the hill, so there was time to chat.
“Cool! Me too!” There was a bit of awkward silence. “Are you having a good time?”
He stared right at me. “No”. My enthusiasm flagged, but with my newfound social extroversion, I plowed right through it.
“Well, where are you guys camping tonight?”
“Oxbow.” (Oxbow was about 25 miles away; they were going to have a long afternoon, but they would definitely make it). “That’s a good plan!” I said.
I started to pull away from them, up the hill. As I passed, I said the first thing that came into my mind back over my shoulder: “Remember, it’s the journey, not the destination!” Then I laughed, maybe a bit too cheerily. I guess I couldn’t think of what else to say.
Just around the next bend, just out of sight of the couple, the hill finally crested, and I started to coast down the other side. And I realized, in that moment - much like the moment in the river a few weeks ago - I was having a *fantastic time*. I was just having a *fantastic damn time*. The sun was out, it wasn’t really that hot, there were no bugs and almost no cars, I was well on my way to setting a personal record day, and I was on my bike, for god’s sake, in god’s country, gazing out over hills and dales and pulling my own weight across the world. It was an amazing moment, I was so happy. The contrast with the couple was so stark. I knew, instinctively, that it was a moment I would remember forever. I’ll quote from the book I’m reading, Blue Highways:
"It was one of those moments that you know at the time will stay with you to the grave: the sweet pie, the gaunt man playing the old music, the coals in the stove glowing orange, the scent of kerosene and hot bread…I thought: It is for this I have come."
A few miles up the road, I pulled off for a bit at a rest stop, and watched them bike past me. I gave them some space and rode behind them to the junction at a small town called Halfway. They passed the junction by, and I went towards town. But I saw them pull over about 500 feet up the road (still about 15 miles from Oxbow). They were obviously consulting something, or maybe arguing, I couldn’t tell. Anyway, I wasn’t in Halfway very long, and I never saw them again, which means either they suddenly sped up quite a bit, or they ended up stopping in Halfway for the night. I hope they have a happy life. I also sorta hope I don’t see them again.
Now begins the commentary part. :)
This story, this incident, hit me pretty hard, for a number of reasons. I think in some ways it kind of sums up what the trip has meant to me so far. First of all: the obvious. I know I spend a lot of time complaining about the attitudes of people in San Francisco. I am aware of the dangers of finding what you’re looking for; it’s easy to reinforce your own conclusions. I also am very much aware that every place has happy people, and every place has grumpy people. But I can’t help feel like it’s quite a coincidence that after 1200+ miles of biking - and 1200+ miles from home - the first grumpy people I meet on my *entire trip* are from San Francisco! I almost feel like the universe is trying to tell me something.
I realized, too, in that moment, that life really is what you make of it. Here we were, both in the same place, but we could not have been having different experiences. I craved the physical challenge, I welcomed the sun (it had been freezing that morning when I left), I cherished my freedom, meeting new people, getting out of the city. They saw sun, and heat. Maybe they were having an argument with each other, who knows. Either way, we saw the same things, but we saw different things in them. (I also thought to myself: Why are you here? Nobody is ever forced to ride their bike 1200 miles across the country. If this sucks so much for you, stop! Give up! Do something you like doing!)
So, today’s topic is: Fun. As in, I am having a metric ton of fun. It occurs to me that, re-reading some of this blog, I focus too much on problem-solving, on the negative. I haven’t given enough of a sense of how awesome this trip really is. So, let’s fix that: this is awesome. I am having a great time. The joy of hitting the bed after a long day of riding, the erotic pleasure of fresh, cold water on the tongue when you’re parched, the feel of the linoleum counter at a diner, discovering new people in new places, moving from $20 hostel to $30 motel in the middle of nowhere, the satisfaction of relying on my own two feet - you can’t buy happiness and love like this, and it’s fantastic, everything I dreamed and more. I don’t think this trip is going to suddenly fix everything about my life, but it’s already put me in a better spot in so many ways. And it makes me happy.
On that note, I decided to set out to make today a record day - and I did!! My goal was to get to Cambridge, ID, but that turned out to be a bit optimistic, so I ended up here in Gateway, with some awesome folks who run a very, very cheap motel in the middle of nowhere (with A/C and wifi!). But I did 122 miles, with at least 4000 feet change in elevation. It was about 10 and a half hours on the bike, and another 2 and a half off it. I rode through barren desert, along the Snake River, stopped off in the Oregon Trail Interpretive Center, and generally rocked it. In honor of this moment, here is a list of
Top Five Things Adam Theoretically Could Not Possibly Do And Then, In Fact, Did:
1) Ride 120+ miles in a single day. I was repeatedly told that was so unlikely as to be impossible. Not only did I do it, I did it on a hilly, hot day. I think on a cool, flat day I could rip out 150+.
2) Take a carbon fiber frame across the country. Well, I’m 1200+ miles in, and it’s totally fine. Including those 20 miles on washboard gravel, throwing it over 2 barbed wire fences, straight up inclines, straight down declines. Dear guy at the Sports Basement: you were wrong, and I was right.
3) Ride with most of my stuff on my back. You wouldn’t believe how many other touring cyclists look incredulous when they see me pull up. It must say in some book someplace not to take a backpack, because they all, universally, can’t believe it. Most common comment: “Doesn’t your back hurt?” Answer: No.
4) Ride without either camping outdoors, or spending a fortune on motels. It turns out that, if you just plan ahead a little bit, and ask the right questions, there are places all over the rural parts of this country where you can stay - with a roof over your head, a shower, and usually wifi - for $20-$30/night. The only times I’ve really had trouble are when I’ve been in slightly larger cities, like Bend or Ft. Bragg. But rural folks always seem to save a bed for travelers, especially here along the TransAmerica.
5) Ride “this late in the season”. Apparently if you ride this late in the year, it’s too hot, and there’s an awful headwind up the coast. Well, I never really noticed the headwind, and yeah, it’s kinda hot, but it’s not *that* bad; it was worse in Texas, honestly.
People are just pessimistic! Don’t let them tell you what you can’t do!
