June 23, 2014
A few days ago, a momentous occasion passed. Because I’ve been so incredibly sick, I managed to barely notice. I was vaguely aware of it, though, so when I finally felt well enough today, I checked the calendar. Sure enough: on June 23, 2014, one year and five days ago, I made the choice to get on my bike and start a solo ride across the country. I will never forget standing there, with my backpack on, hopeful but incredibly apprehensive. I remember asking a confused older Asian woman to take my picture. I remember going back up into my apartment at least 3 times for things I thought I’d forgotten. I remember that first 5 miles riding through Golden Gate park, and then over the bridge into the Great Beyond. I never quite made it all the way, in the literal sense, but in another real sense, it was possibly the biggest success of my life, and still the thing I am most proud of to this day. It’s hard, being here, back in San Francisco, to have the right perspective on all this. It doesn’t help that I still feel so physically lousy. I’m sitting in one of my favorite diners, right near my house. My throat hurts, my head is pounding, my back hurts from coughing. My mood is not positive. When I left on the ride, I had no idea what would happen, but I hoped that it would transform my life. Sitting here, back in San Francisco, back at the beginning, working for a tech company, it’s easy to feel like nothing has changed, like the trip didn’t “work”, like I’m stuck forever. But that would be so very wrong. Everything has changed for me. I see now that the bike trip didn’t change things, rather it was an expression of that change. It was the beginning of the middle of the end of the story.
There are moments I will never forget, from that trip. I still get flashes of moments, when I’m falling asleep. The man in a bar in California who was there drinking with his mom, and offered me a room in his house for the night, complete with Golden Retriever, and made me breakfast. Riding up a mountain pass in Central Oregon, out of water, being chased by a bee, and the tourist who gave me a bottle of water at the top. Sitting in a river, bare feet in the water, bicycle propped against a portable bathroom, and then staying in a church’s basement that night. Laying on a bench in a coffee shop somewhere on the coast, staring at stumps of trees, and calling my parents to tell them how I was doing. Names of people and places have started to fade, which is why I’m so glad that I kept a blog. I will forever treasure that blog. I may even read it to my kids, someday, if I have any.
When I returned from the trip, I was confused. What should I do next? What will happen to me now? I remember getting back to SF, riding back from the airport, and being suddenly lost. What am I doing here? What happens now? Well, what has the last year brought? I spent a few months trying to piece together contracting gigs. I signed up for another charity ride, raised a bit of money, then quit. My younger brother moved out, and we fell out of touch (I miss him). I taught some yoga. Searching for what to do next, I remembered riding through Bend, and how much I’d liked it there. Poking around on the internet late one night, I came across a program in “Outdoor Leadership”. Sooner that I could imagine, I was in my tiny red car, headed for Bend, enrolled in 14 credits of community college classes. I spent 3 months living in Bend. Halfway through I met a woman, who is still in my life. I had my first kiss in a long time that felt like it meant something. I moved back to San Francisco. Then I moved to Portland. Then I moved back. I climbed Mt. Thielsen and almost died. I climbed Mt. St. Helens. I climbed South Sister and made myself sick. Along the way, I realized I owed the IRS about $20,000. I spent an awesome Christmas with my parents. I drove my scooter halfway to Portland, got stuck in a storm, had a wild adventure, rented a pickup at the smallest airport you’ll ever see, threw it in the back with the help of some strangers, and drove it to Portland, where it now sits at the airport. I sold my TV. Someone stole my laptop. I tried to give my yellow bike away, twice.
In short, things have not turned out according to plan; and yet, they have turned out exactly according to plan. One of the profound realizations I had during my trip was the sudden clicking of everything into a coherent narrative. It may just be human nature to see patterns in randomness, but suddenly the story of my life - at least the last couple of years - made perfect sense. The order of things, the movement of relationships and jobs and places, suddenly it seemed like everything had to happen just the way it did; even some of the crappy bits. I had to hit new dating lows in SF to realize just what was important to me about relationships. I had to ruin my body running marathons to discover yoga. I had to be in a relationship with a nutcase to find meditation. And I still feel like I’m on that track. I don’t believe in organized religion, but I understand now the idea of feeling like someone else is calling the shots, and right now that person feels like a benevolent despot; perhaps like I’m the main character in a novel, but that novel comes from the Young Adult section, not Horror. I will admit to feeling a bit down in the moment, today, but when I take a step back, it really feels like everything in a broader sense is on this grand sweep towards something great.