One week down, thirty-one to go.

My apologies for the lapse in the blog. I’m finding it particularly hard to sit down and articulate all these memories in a way that recognizes all three of our unique perspectives. Today is our 8th day on the road. Having a week of trudging, pack adjusting, and diet experimentation behind us, I think it’s safe to say were beginning to fall into a stride. Lets recap the week;

12 Monday: Woke in Dockweiler Beach, showered quickly and hoofed along into Marina Del Rey. We weighed our packs at a nearby Fed Ex, Kona being the lightest came in @ 45lbs, Brent in the middle @ 50lbs and I @ 55lbs including my guitar. We made it into Santa Monica sometime that evening and talked to a few people while snacking. We were shown to the local REI which happened to be two blocks away. We had our packs fitted and learned that Kona’s was one size too large and would have to be replaced as soon as possible. After leaving REI, I realized I had left my guitar by the counter and called to arrange to have it held until I could pick it up first thing the next morning. My friend Stephanie D. drove down to meet us and brought a few supplies from my house including a smaller backpack for Kona to use, some foods and a couple toys to sustain that inner child of ours. The resupply was lovely, thank you Stephanie for the gifts and the generous delivery. We spent some time walking around and ate at a diner before saying goodbye and parting ways. Finding a place near enough to REI and secluded enough to avoid any unfavorable encounters in Downtown Santa Monica was tough. We settled on a little dead-end stairway at the back of an empty parking lot. Finding a comfortable position to sleep in was a joke but a bit of contortion and I drifted off with my stun baton in hand.

13 Tuesday: Poor nights rest, was woken multiple times by passing homeless. Brent and Kona went to the local library while I went to REI to pick up my guitar. When I rendezvoused with the guys, they were wrapped up in conversation with a few of the homeless.  They seemed to take quite an interest in conversing with us. Up the coast a ways we stopped at Topanga beach to stretch. A few children were taking interest in us, and before long drew us into conversation about our trip. The kids belonged to Randolf? Who’s name we sadly cannot quite remember. They were a family living by alternate means and quite humble and kind. He knew of a beautiful spot nearby on the beach secluded and safe and took us there. Brent and kona were suddenly overcome by playing children while Randolf and I talked about life and laughed with each other. That night we had a great night of rest.

14 Wednesday: The morning was slow, probably on the account of how comfortable that spot was, sitting under a tree, the sound of the waves crashing and only a slight cool breeze creeping up from the surf. We washed up at the state beach shower and had breakfast. Randolf was nowhere to be found, so we reluctantly pressed along. We had lunch at Taco Bell carefully calculating cost to calorie ratios and did some food shopping at Safeway. Coincidentally, we ran into Amanda H., an old friend from Highschool. We chatted for a bit and she kindly offered us a place to stay the night if we wanted, but we decided we were going to press along. Immediately afterwards we ran into Glenn. one of Brent’s old superiors from when he worked at Safeway who had transferred to this location. He looked kindly on us when he learning about our trip, and generously donated a $50 Safeway gift card. Thank you Glenn. Many meals have procured from your support : ) We pressed on all night and ended up at Zuma Beach. Exhausted and concerned about being arrested for trespassing, we set up camp on a bluff behind a large log that hid us from the searchlight of a police cruiser whom I figured had been notified of our presence or something of that nature.

15 Thursday: We woke up and got showered and squared away. Brent and I backtracked a mile or so to the local supermarket and grabbed some coffee and groceries while Kona watched the gear. We made it back and headed North when we were stopped by a man who wanted to contribute $20 for lunch at a nearby deli. He referred to himself as only “Me” We figured he preferred to remain anonymous. He quickly made off after the kind gesture, slightly confused but warmed by his generosity, we obliged and enjoyed a delicious lunch by the beautiful Zuma Beach. Thank you Mr “Me”. We pushed along until nightfall and made our way to Malibu RV Park where we hoped for a warm shower and laundry facilities. We were met by a terse old woman who insisted that a tent spot would cost $57 dollars. Immovable, I knew I wouldn’t be able to reason with her. We moved along and figured we’d press on towards one of the many state parks that pock the coast of Malibu, but a third of the way to our destination, a young visiting French couple stopped us and asked where the nearest camp ground was. We shared directions and the lovely Jeremy and Sonja offered to drive us to Point Mugu State Park. We almost declined because the implications of hitch hiking are muddled and we weren’t yet comfortable with the concept. However, because we had just left Los Angales, we figured we might as well. It was 12 miles to Point Mugu State Park, and relieved to have avoided another all night trudge, we split the cost of the camp site and and enjoyed some very broken conversations with the  beautiful couple.

16 Friday: Jeremy and Sonja departed early the next morning and Us three took our time relishing in the comfort of laundry and warm showers. It was considerably dewy and packing up was messy and uncomfortable. In my mind I was trying to get familiarized with the wet-cold figuring it was going to get well-acquainted with us at some point on the trip. An unfortunate incident left my guitar thrashed inside of it’s soft case, and I decided it needed a new home. I picked an unassuming and warm-looking family to offer my precious sentimental work I had painstakingly carried across the country the year prior. Bill smiled and kindly took it off my back before we continued our journey onward. Halfway to Oxnard, we closed in on a large sand dune. Brent and I naturally climbed to the top while Kona made convo with some nearby people. We got to the top of the dune where the sand turned to stone and we continued climbing until we reached the top of the small cliff overlooking the bay. Some photos were procured and we had a fun time shimmying/falling down the rockface back to Kona who was wating with a grin on his face and a mason jar in hand. While all three of us were occupied, two beautiful girls whom had greeted us in passing had made it to our packs at the bottom of the dune and left a lovely letter wishing us safe travels and a jar brimming with what I made out to be about $10,000 wroth of rare magical balsamic lemonade. Were were ear-to-ear with glee. Allison and Wendy. How they knew about our shared affinity for lemonade, or posses such a wealth of the magical splendor is beyond me. Thank you both. We wish you had left some sort of means to thank you. We made it into Oxnard and stopped at a Starbucks to make our game plan. We bought a dozen doughnuts and plowed through them like m&m’s. We were going to press through downtown Oxnard and squat nearby a laundromat so we could get a load in first thing in the morning. But it was already near midnight and when we got there, there was no obvious place we could set up and get some rest safely. Across the street was a subway with enough seclusion I might have been able to get some wifi action goin while Brent and Kona got a few hours of rest, if not for the overzealous security officer. He approached slowly at fist observing us from a distance. As soon as I greeted him, he buzzed over and nearly screeching to a halt poured out of his golf-cart and waddling over to where I was sitting with my netbook with his had on his gun. He angrily angrily objected to our our use of the public wifi and Subway’s power outlet. It took a great amount of self control in my exhausted state to hold my tongue. He warmed up after we had packed up and suggested a secluded spot underneath some stairs leading to a nearby office building. I felt slightly offended at his assumption that we wanted to hide our presence, but we ended up taking his advice anyway and we spent the night once again “squatting”

17 Saturday: The morning was cold and unwelcoming. Oxnard had woken up extra early and was bustling by the time we packed up. We did laundry and dropped into Radioshack where we met Bill. He was curious about our trip and we talked for a bit before he parted us with an incredible $40 contribution. Very much appreciated Bill. We dropped into taco bell and did some more calorie crunching. It’s shocking how much energy can be contrived from fast food and for so such a small price. Brent found that a McDouble and two apple pies is somewhere around 900 calories for about $2 at McDonald’s not that you’d want to resort to that level of fast food for long periods of time. there was another Starbucks between there and the beach we planned on heading to that night, so we relaxed and enjoyed some coffee and convo with interested passerbys before heading to Mandalay State Beach. The spot we picked was a ways into the park, and very secluded. The waves were crashing nearby. I could hear the faint rumble of some sort of treatment plant off in the direction of a few high-powered spot lights that illuminated the vicinity of the debacle  and obscured the view of the beach beyond it. I knew that it was a sign that the water would be questionable to swim in and I kept that in mind. The moon was rising low and gave the view of the beach a kind of desolation, but I put it aside. I had a feeling the beach would be beyond welcoming and the weather was said to be very warm the following day. The guys had passed out in their tent, but I wasn’t ready to sleep. Instead I took my journal and went for a walk. I noticed a certain familiarity with the scene almost dejavu-esque. The night got even stranger when I started following the distant sound of laughing and voices of teenagers. I never did find them, instead I got hopelessly lost in the immense rolling dunes and bluffs of the state park. It took all night to find camp again where I, exhausted, put myself to rest.

18 Sunday: Spent the morning relaxing in the sun and jumped in the water for a bit. Oatmeal in our bellies, and sun on our backs we headed into Ventura but didn’t walk for very long. We stopped in at Starbucks where Kona met a local named Brandon. He lives in a communal beach shack lovingly named “Chateau De Relaxo” We were given the grand tour and introduced to the people residing. Thank you Brandon, Ronnie, Agent Utah, Christian, and Daveski for your hospitality and kind gestures. I noticed Brent and Kona seemed particularly moved  by the hospitality of these kind strangers, and I was warmed and thankful but not nearly as intrigued in the existence of such a welcoming venue. I can’t decide if that’s arrogant of me, or simply just Brent and Kona’s first taste of the awesomeness that exists in the most unsuspected places. Perhaps it’s me missing the Weis family and all the other incredible people and places I’ve seen along my prior travels. In any case, we all had a wonderful night.

19 Monday: We woke up in the lovely Chateau, and had a filling breakfast of oatmeal and eggs. I spend much of the day writing for the blog and enjoying the friendly environment. After a few games of frisbee and some songs played on the upright piano they had sitting in their driveway painted in bright colors, we headed north. The route out of Ventura took us along a path right between the beach and the city fairgrounds. Isolated and dimly lit, we knew it was not an ideal place to be. We found ourselves in a tough situation involving a group of questionable people and I’d rather not get into it, but lets just say we’re going to need to find a better way to defend ourselves or deter future conflicts. Thought I didn’t mention it, I was carrying a 1,000,000 volt stun baton, but it broke a few days prior. We ended up pushing well into the night in order to put some space between us and outer Ventura. Picking a spot a few miles out of town we decided to settle there and shoot for Carpinteria the next morning.

20 Tuesday: Almost 10 days on the road now, and it’s hard to tell if we’re making good time. Food is a decent repetiton of Top Ramen, pasta, beans, tuna, oatmeal, bread, and peanut butter. We’re certainly getting stronger, but also becoming frustrated as the distance between cities is getting greater. We woke up ate and packed up before falling into a gentile stride north. We had a long way to go so we paced ourselves taking frequent breaks to eat and stretch. The coastal scenery was beautiful but at this point was being polluted by the freeway commuters and the occasional oil pump and passing train. We got into Carpinteria around 9:30 pm and b-lined to Starbucks. There I finished up this blog and even sat outside after hours to make sure I didn’t put it off another day. Brent and Kona already headed to the State Beach where we planned on camping, and I expect to join them shortly. Much love  reader and again, my apologies for the late post. Perhaps we’ll make an attempt at video blogging sometime soon.

Starting a new adventure.

The idea is to walk from Redondo Beach CA, to Vancouver Canada. Over the span of about 8 months. With my two closest friends Brent and Kona accompanying and three backpack weighing in at what we guess to be about 50lbs each, we should cover about 10-20 miles per day.

Sunday morning and running late. Brent Kona and I are frantically grabbing at our gear sprawled about my living room floor and cramming it away into our backpacks. Later to realize our rushed departure would send us off forgetting more than a few things here and there. I had personally underestimated the challenges of collaberating with others on these types of endeavors, so as we stand we’re already 2 months behind schedule. No matter. Today is our second day in and we’re all enduring and hoping our bodies get used to the weight of our backpacks soon.

A few notes about this blog before I get into the details of our first day backpacking; This blog is my personal adventure blog, but for the duration of this trip and the sake of convenience I’m making logins for both Kona and Brent so they can blog as well. Their posts will accompany mine here, and will most likely be published together in a way that will help readers identify which one of us is writing. On to the juice!

Our first day walking; We had planned to get out on the road at day-break but we miscalculated the amount of last-minuet things that had to be done. After all, leaving behind your things and your loved ones in a gracious and professional manner is a serious undertaking and one that requires thoughtful attention and much more time than we originally gave ourselves. We left Brent’s house in South Redondo around 2PM and walked… walked and walked… I have to point out that there really isn’t anything of interest to say about the walking aside from the aches and pains we have to tend to and the difficulty that I hope lighten as we go. It’s not as complex or as interesting as bicycling long distances, and it’s quite a bit more fatiguing, so I’m looking forward to the distraction of my loaded backpacks fading with time and my ability to bring to my readers better observations that show the optimistic side of this. We sat and ate near an overlook at the top of a bluff were people gather to hang glide somewhere near El Segundo. There we watched the sunset and looked out across the bay to Point Dume. I reflected on what I could imagine of the days to come, and was happy we were finally on our way. After changing into warmer clothes, we set off again in the dark and passed the campers and late-night camp fires at Dockweiler Beach. We picked a concrete gazebo in Playa Del Rey to set up camp and slept in the open. I had a decent and almost uncomfortably warm sleep, and felt for Kona who seemed to have a slightly restless night. The next morning we washed up, and packed away. We played a little “squidgie” which is like frizbee but a foldable floppy rubber version that Brent and Kona have grown slightly attached to. I expect this “squidgie” is certainly going to become some sort of staple of entertainment for us. We got underway around 9AM and hope to be somewhere past Santa Monica tonight.

Walking is slower than cycling, so naturally we’ll be walking much more of the day, and sleeping longer to recuperate leaving little time to blog so though I’ll try to blog as often as possible, expect to have inconsistent updates. Our facebooks will probably be a better way of checking up on our status. Much love readers and we all look forward to a great trip with many new trials and tribulations.

Mississippi, Alabama, Florida.

So for the sake of this travel blog of mine, I’m going to skip ahead to today, and fill in on the past few weeks as we go.
To squelch the confusion, I’m in in the panhandle of Florida. In the Big Lagoon state park to be exact. Four days prior and after recuperating from a nasty cold, I left Jarred and Laura O’s lovely home in Wiggins Mississippi to head South East towards Bluff Creek Camp Ground in Vancleave. I left mid afternoon which meant riding into the night, and jumping at any chance of a shortcut. Well I found one about halfway through my ride. Instead of heading six miles south then 12 miles East, I thought I’d head Southeast and meet up with my route later. The road turned to dirt and lead me through some backwoods. I came near a few ponds speckled with lilies whose surface was was broken by standing swamp roots. I stopped to take a few photos and tried to articulate how I was feeling at the moment. A few locals slowed their cars as they passed me curious of my business there. “These people live here” I thought, “They look over this pond as they pass every day. Nothing new or interesting to them. But I see this pond. They live here and have never seen this pond.” I then realized the significance of innocent eyes. Some things you know exist because you have imagined them, read about them or figured they’re out there somewhere. Some find it adequate enough and blunder through life with vague regard for all the beautiful little things that are around them. I took a moment pondering the vast misunderstandings people harbor and profess, shrugged, and moved along. I got back to paved road and approached Vancleave. It took me awhile to find Bluff Creek CG with Google maps relaying me false locations. I guess out in the boonies where people rely less on GPS and internet mapping, the information available is less reliable. Anyway, the manager gave it to me straight. $30 a night to pitch a tent, $40 for a cabin. I had a feeling he was trying to jift me, but I had no will to haggle or argue. I opted for a cabin, and was not disappointed. Complete with a radiating heater, I had a refreshing night of music, phone calls, and warm rest.

I packed up and headed east feeling great. The scenery was changing, and I could tell I was approaching Alabama. While playing with my pone, I realized that I had my GPS locator turned off. Laughing at 5 months of painful navigation, I turned it on. It wouldn’t help with false information, but it improved my location accuracy to 3 meters (opposed to 3,000 meters). I crossed over into Alabama and while passing through a town named Dees halfway between me and [my destination] Grand Bay, my cyclist radar picked something up on the horizon. Could it be?! another cyclotourist? It was. Glenn was indeed a fellow traveler. He had spent the past two years traveling the North and East by kayak, and was on his way West by bike. Quite an inspiration. His rig was a solid Salsa Fargo (if my memory serves me correctly), with a bob trailer, disk brakes, and bubble tires. He was running a single speed which was impressive to say the least. I imagine it’s heaven not having to mind keeping a rear derailleur in good working order, but hard on any kind of hill. I’ve never used a single speed I might be wrong. A fellow cyclotourist told me back at a campsite on the West coast only a few days into my trip “I can tell you’ve just started because your rig is still clean.” His was immaculate, and mine was, well… functional haha. Glenn if you’re reading this, please keep in touch! I made it into Grand Bay Alabama, and decided to call it a night. Google maps showed Grand Bay RV Park nearby, but again, it was false information. I had to go to the RV Park’s website on my phone, pull the address, and manually search for it. It’s kinda laughable how reliant even a traveling cyclist is on internet maps and GPS. I spent a meager night without power or internet.
I took a nice long warm shower in the morning, and pressed on. I was approaching the gulf coast, and noticed that all the houses, mobile homes, and businesses were on stilts. I got into Bayou La Batre which seemed to be heavily influenced by seafood trade and fishing. I thought it was interesting, but I was too excited about the Gulf to explore. The thicket and trees started to clear giving way to tall grass and marsh. The air was thick and cold. The smell reminded me of Kings Harbor back home. On my left Mobile Bay came into full sight, and on my right marshland trailed off into the distance and met more of the coastal water. I stopped to take some photos. My first sight of coast in five months, and I wasn’t disappointed. Off in the distance, I saw my route took me over some extensive bridge. Excited, I hurried along taking as many pictures as I could. Riding into Dauphin Island, I was overcome with the sense of retirement and recreation. It was only a short ride to the Ferry. $5 dollars later, I was along my way across the Bay. This was my second ferry ride, I don’t think It’ll never get old. Back on the road in Fort Morgan, I rode east crossing beautiful bluffs, tropically-colored resort homes, and gorgeous white sanded beaches. I almost forgot I was still in Alabama. I was shooting for Gulf Shores which was only 12 miles from the Florida state line. When the sun began to set, I stopped in a gas station outside of town and changed into warmer clothes, which I prefer. When I’m dressed for warmer weather I look more like a common vagrant, but when I’m dressed for cold riding I look more professional. I defiantly feel a different sort of impact on people I meet at a glance. Gulf Shores is a city heavily influenced by vacationers and beach living. With seafood restaurants on every corner, and a Surf “Style” shops every few hundred feet, the nature of this town was comical, teetering on uncomfortable. I was mislead by google maps yet again, and was pointed to a nonexistent RV Park along the Oyster Bay Channel’s edge and under a highway bridge in a desolate and dangerous part of town. A kind local tried to offer me a bottle of Bud Light by throwing it at my head from their car window. It hit my helmet and shattered a few feet away. Slightly shocked, and without time to respond, I watched them drive away. Disappointed in their taste in beer, I continued to search for the ghost RV Park when I realized it was directly across the channel. I crossed the bridge and set up camp. I was completely out of funds, and got in contact with my dad who arranged to have some money put into my account the next morning.
I left the RV Park in the morning to pick up the money order. Returning to pay the park fee, I headed south towards the beach. I stopped to take a few pictures, and thought the granite sand was strange. it seemed surreal for a moment. I stayed for a while and played with the wet sand which I though looked like cream of wheat. No one was swimming, and I had to fight the urge to get wet. I continued riding towards Perdido Key, and passed resort hotel after resort hotel. A lone police man was following me in his squad car keeping an eye on me, and I had a feeling I’d be hard pressed to find a safe place to stealth camp. My route took me across a few highway bridges that offered some gorgeous views of the beach. A Dairy Queen caught my eye, and I sat down to enjoy an Ice cream cone while I laid out my plan. Big Lagoon State Park was ten miles down the road, and only about ten miles form Pensacola. I made it there by night fall. Riding around the park hoping to find some laundry facilities, I ran into a group of kind volunteers enjoying a campfire. They were there providing maintenance in some of the sites, and offered to let me set up my tent near the fire pit. They even brought me some hot chili and pie. Thank you! I wish for the life of me, I could remember your names. I spent the night next to a warm fire.

So here I am. Sort of eating into the daylight to write this. But I have a feeling it’s going to be a great day. I have a meeting set up with a Couch Surfers host, and I’m excited this being my first time using this particular hospitality network. Also today is my 22nd Birthday! This is probably going to be my most interesting birthday to date. I’ll touch up on my stay in Baton Rouge, my visit to New Orleans, and my stay with Jarred and Laura in Mississippi in future posts. For right now, I’m just glad to be back on the blogging train. Much love readers!

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De Ridder to Baton Rouge.

I apologize for the lapse in my blog. I have a lot to cover, so I’ll split it into three posts. The first one begins shortly after my arrival in Louisiana. A town called De Ridder.

I stayed up late Wednesday night in the laundry room at Pine Grove RV Park. While my laundry washed, I was taking liberties on the wifi access typing away while I ignored the cold creeping in. My feet were numb before I gave in, calling it a night and crawled into my lair. but sorely disappointed was I. My damp mess-of-a sleeping bag had completely slipped my mind and lacking the energy to do anything about it, I grouchily climbed in and slipped away. I dreampt of tall forests, winter meadows and strange unfamiliar places I haven’t yet been.

This time, my evil alarm wasn’t enough to pull me out of my Icelandic hibernation, well enough. The cold was much more distant in my dreams, and not so much so in my tent. So I slept in, tried to dream some more. When I finally came around, it had warmed up a bit and I regained consciousness in the middle of eating breakfast which was startling. I thought “Well this has never happened before.” and I imagined all the ways that could have gone terribly wrong. Nothing puts a dampener on your day like waking up halfway through eating a stick of deodorant. It was later in the morning than I usually head out, but before I left, I got a picture with Rodney and Tina from Pine Groves RV Park, in De Ridder. They were eager to help me out and kindly provided me with a tazer to help me feel more at ease in unfamiliar places. It’s a beast of a thing, and it definitely makes me feel more comfortable. Thank you Rodney and Tina! The road East was reminiscent of Eastern Texas, with red barns,  grazing horses, and open prairie. But it wasn’t going to last long. I approached a junction named Sugar Town (again, I’ve no idea how it earned it’s name) where inside the gas station convenience store, through an unmarked entrance, is a quaint restaurant. I almost walked right into the most gorgeous girl I’ve seen in months who’s name I hope is Kaitlin, but sadly I can’t quite recall. She was the only waitress on staff, and though I wasn’t hungry, I ordered a side of fries just so I could have a reason to talk to her. My confidence is like a shy dog sometimes, especially in this type of situation. I got to know her a bit, and learned that her interests were refreshingly down to earth, and that she enjoyed being out in the country as much as I enjoy being in Southern California. I gave her my card and I regret being so formal, but I feel it’s the best I can do in a situation quite like mine. I really am the perfect stranger. I headed East with a happy heart, and enjoyed the transition. The road was carved wide through ticket, forest, and marshland. Trailers and larger properties were popping up here and there, and the occasional ranch stood in between. It had a very southern feel. I arrived in Oberlin late in the afternoon, and rode around town struggling to find cellphone reception. I sat inside a shell station typing and trying to decide where I’d set up camp. Near closing time, a police officer came in and I asked him for any advice as to where to pitch my tent, and he suggested the Fire Station. I had a good night’s rest.

Christmas Eve and up early. It was around 30 degrees so I wore an under-layer, my normal biking clothes, leg warmers, hooded sweat shirt, jacket, fleece gloves, and three pairs of socks. At first it was very comfortable. But as I started to sweat, there was no way for my layers to breathe. I spent a very damp, chilly and uncomfortable 40 mile ride into Ville Platte. I found that the cold took a lot out of me, and keeping my hands and feet warm was almost impossible. Having left so early, I arrived in Ville Platte early even with my relatively slow pace. Ville Platte had a bigger population than it’s neighboring towns, so I decided to spend Christmas night here. I rode around scoping out a good place to spend the night, but didn’t feel too comfortable in the community. I checked a few churches, a few empty lots, but ended up settling for the public library. I set up camp while fending off the horse-fly-sized mosquitoes, and set off a few firecrackers before settling in. All kinds of fireworks are legal here, so I shared the night’s air with explosions and report. It somehow helped lull me to sleep. A phone call woke me up. Kevin My mom’s boyfriend wanted to put me up in a hotel room for Christmas eve. Excited and cold, I packed up and headed to the nearest hotel, and was able to sleep in a wonderfully comfortable room and enjoy watching A Christmas Story on TV. A thunder storm ended up rolling in during the night, and I was so happy to be inside. Thank you so much Kevin!

The next morning was gloomy and damp. I contained the hotel room gear-explosion, and got packed up. After a continental breakfast, I was back on the road and fighting the headwind. It was a slow ride along the grass lining the road. The Louisiana drivers are significantly less  aware of cyclists. But there was a warmshowers host about 25 miles southeast in Opelousas, so I got in touch with her. Sara, who was out of town for the holiday, was kind enough to host me regardless. So along my way to her address I explored Opelouses a bit and found it to be quite a strange city, particularly the roads. They, and the sidewalks shared a specific disparity, an oddly mismatched collection of raised walkways and awkwardly spaced shoulders. No two blocks were quite the same. Navigating was difficult to say the least. When I arrived at Sara’s home, I was met by Charles who was one of Sara’s friendly neighbors. He invited me to have gumbo the next afternoon which I thought was very kind. I settled in with a smile. It was lovely to have somewhere warm and comfortable to spend Christmas Day. Thank you Sara so very much! I visited Charles for lunch on Sunday and enjoyed some great conversation over some home made gumbo. I wasn’t particularly looking forward to the ride out of town because It was off the map. I had to guesstimate the safest route towards Baton Rouge (which ended up being terribly wrong). The roads I chose took me through swamp and thicket where the only roads were long bridges called spillways. With no shoulder and only two lanes, I had no choice but to press as hard as I could and hope that the driver behind me wasn’t impatient. I noticed in the distance ahead of me huge billowing pillars of black smoke. No one seemed alarmed, so I assumed it must have been normal. A shame though, that much smoke in the air doesn’t speak kindly to me. I eventually made it into Port Allen, One of Baton Rouge’s neighboring towns across the Mississippi. My friend Talia from back home had put me in touch with some of her family in Baton Rouge. Talia, you rock! The sun was setting in Port Allen, and riding along the interstate was getting more dangerous. Ms. Gail, who lives in Central Baton Rouge offered to send her lovely daughter Marin, and Marin’s wonderful boyfriend Chris to come pick me up. And so begins my time spent in Baton Rouge.

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Into Louisiana

My cell phone alarm got me. It was an unintentional but surprisingly convenient alarm. The one you set once but keep forgetting to turn off -I might just keep it. 7:30 am in Texas, and none of my friends or family are up yet. Not back home in California at least. I rolled around in my blue sleeping bag, and executed my stretch and yawn routine, at least as much of one my single-person tent would allow. I could barely contain my elation at the sight of my carefully-organized tent. I spent a good part of the previous night arranging the gear in a way that would allow for a fast clean up, and break down of camp. I knew then that I was getting back into my touring routine. Once I was back on the road I made good time. I rode into Silsbee where I was greeted by Wallgreens, McDonald’s, Subway, and other familiar city conveniences. Wishing there was something I needed to buy or money to waste, I reluctantly continued on towards Kirbyville. The Interstate Highways are a cyclists wet dream. Everyone I speak to assumes that I’d want to stay off of them at all costs, but on the contrary. Devoid of hills, or any major stops, one can make great distances and with a decent shoulder and a little tail wind, Texas might have as well laid out a red carpet. I made the 50 miles into Kerbyville before late afternoon and with time to spare, I explored the town a bit. A magnificent roofed amphitheater caught my eye. The acoustics were superb and with no one around to hear, I broke out my guitar, climbed onstage, closed my eyes and pretended it was my live debut. -Full house. They loved me.- After my fun, I found a spot nearby and made camp. A couple of teenagers were hanging out in a park not to far from where I was, and they were fixated on what I was doing. I have to say. I don’t blame them. -So this guy rolls up with a guitar on his back, a bike loaded with gear, wearing a spandex superhero costume. He then proceeds to set up a tent in the middle of a public park- I would totally stare. I watched Eat Pray Love, and went to sleep hungry and brimming with anticipation for the Creole cuisine that awaits as I journey deeper south.

The prodigal alarm pulled me into swirling world of discomfort and shock, as I realized I was sleeping in a tiny pocket of warm surrounded by a freezing pool of what used to be sleeping bag. Somehow, my relatively dry body found the reason and means to drain Kerbyville’s entire water supply into my tent, and I was swimming in it. Cold and miserable, I packed up camp and made out into the morning chill. My route took me through more beautiful country road, and one or two small, dilapidated mobile-home communities. Many of them had windows completely covered with tin foil, which seemed very peculiar. I continued on, and came to a metal salvage yard where cranes were picking up cars and dropping the into the eviscerator. It reminded me of the old children’s book Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel. I must have read that book a thousand times when I was young. Pressing east, the shoulder became narrow and I was often forced to ride on the grass or wait at bridges for trucks to cross. The mist slowly danced into a light drizzle and as I approached the Texas and Louisiana border, I was absolutely drenched. My rain covers were on my panniers, and my guitar was Micky-Moused with trash-bags safely inside it’s case. But after this morning’s fiasco, I’m confident I could handle whatever kind of weather she decides to hit me with. She’s got this unfamiliar personality about her, and if she’s kind to me, I might be inclined to figure out her sordid little secrets. Here I am in Deridder, a day ahead of schedule. Downtown is nice, but many of the shops are closed, likely feeling the squeeze like most of these small towns. I’m posted at an RV park, and so happy to be able to blog, do laundry, and shower. I hope that all of you enjoy your Holiday with family, in a lovely and warm dry place. Much love readers.

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Sheperd to Honey Island

Though I had planned to leave Rock N RV Park on Sunday morning, my fever ended up getting the better of me, and I stayed one more night. I slept all day, which luckily took care of whatever bug what making me miserable, and I made it out of there early Monday morning. It was overcast, and the wind scraped the tops of the forest walls sending trails of brown leaves flying by. This was particularly winter-esque, and though it was beautiful, it had a cold warning about it. The locals are talking about a cold front moving in on Friday, and if any rain is to come, that’s when it would prove itself. I made it through Sheperd, Dolen, Romayor and Rye. Trucks carrying freshly fallen pine trunks blundered by leaving a wooded scent lingering, and the vauge hint of smoke made my mind numb to everything else. Its beautiful out here in it’s own respect. I pressed on through Votaw, where I stopped at a fireworks stand and bought some firecracker because I could, and because they’re illegal in California. I rode into thicket in the early afternoon, and decided to press along. I ended up missing a turn and didn’t realize I was heading south towards Saratoga until about seven miles in. A kind couple saw me and offered to give me a ride back to my route, and I graciously accepted. Thanks mystery couple (I forgot your names sorry!). So once I was back en route, it was only about an hour and a half into Honey Island. Contrary to what it’s name implies, There isn’t much in Honey Island. Passing a few churches I might be able to set up camp nearby, I dropped into the local General Store, and enjoyed a cold sprite. I felt an unusual vibe coming from the only customer, and the clerk behind the counter. Strange. I left after I finished my drink, and set out to find a good spot to pitch my tent. I found a descent place off to the side of a church that offered an electrical outlet, and some coverage just in case it decided to rain. I spent the rest of the night making Ipod playlists, chatting with friends and family, and watching the lunar eclipse. For those of you who missed it, it was spectacular. I made 60 miles. Only a few days ride to the border of Louisiana. Much love readers, and I hope you’re planning on a wonderful Winter Holiday.

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Pumpkin, Evergreen and Coldspring

I woke up behind New Waverly’s library, and struggled the wind to  get my tent folded and rolled, but eventually got everything broken down and packed away. I emerged from behind the building and was facing a sheriff who just stared at me through his windshield with a blank expression. After an awkward moment, I continued along my way. The shoulder on the side of the road was slowly replaced with grass, and I was forced to ride on it when cars wanted to pass me. I eventually made it into Pumpkin, a small mobile-home community. I had a nice conversation about the customs out here, particularly young marriage. I pressed along past Evergreen which doesn’t stand out in my mind at all, and into Coldspring population: 544. It was getting to be dark, and I was having trouble finding a place I could take a warm shower and wash my clothes. I resorted to using google to find a nearby RV park. It was another 6 mile ride, but I had no other choice. Night riding is a whole other game. It’s confusing, and uncomfortable, but at the same time exciting. Especially when the only light you have to guide you is a headlamp. I pulled into Rock N RV Park around 7:30 and was allowed to sleep in the laundry room where it’s heated.

The next morning, I had breakfast, and started on a trail that meandered around the rv park’s 72 acres, but somehow got lost. I ended up finding myself on a hunting trail. It being Deer season, had me worried because I’ve heard storied of vindictive hunters retaliating if you scare off their game. I approached every hide away with caution, as I got deeper and deeper into the thicket. I hiked for a few miles before I saw something familiar and I got my bearings. I made it back to camp in the late afternoon exhausted. I was also beginning to get sick, so I slept most of the day.

This morning, I’m struggling with dehydration and some sort of stomach bug. I still plan on heading out around 9. Much love readers.

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4 Days in the East Texas Country

The last four days have been a blur for me, but I am getting used to the pace of travel again. The motions of setting up camp and breaking down in the morning is beginning to come back to me, and my legs and mind are starting to grow accustomed to the distance. Now allow me to go over the last four days.

Monday the 13th, I woke up on the floor of the Winchester Depot, and with the owner’s permission fixed myself breakfast. Dana who owned the store came by and we talked for awhile. I learned that the store is actually very new. It’s not even listed as a service for that town, which basically equates to no one knows it’s there yet. I told Dana about the Adventure Cycling maps, and how the Southern Tier route goes right through Winchester. I left her the numbers she would need to amend the map with her store’s location, and made off. I followed some nice country road and ended up stopping for a rest near an unkempt field overgrown with vines and brush. Near the center of what  appeared to once be a cattle ranch of some sort, a tree and bench were planted next to each other. the whole scene reminded me of Agnieszka Holland’s (1993) The Secret Garden. I Spent an hour or so eating lunch and observing the wildlife. Pushing myself onward, I eventually made my way to La Grange which reminded me of a slightly more urban Big Bear California. I made myself sick trying to eat what Texan’s pass off as fast food, then headed downtown. La Grange is filled with Realtor offices and other various types of firms. The pinnacle of La Grange entertainment was sitting quietly in a cafe sipping what the barrista thought was a cappuccino and browsing the internet. But on the account of the cold weather, I actually enjoyed myself. A lady who appeared to be homeless came in and was immediately helped inside and to a seat. And when the lady started trying to order in gibberish, the kind stranger began mediating. I was warmed by the good will filling the room, and thought to myself “you don’t get that kind of solidarity in California.” I strummed my guitar outside as it got late and enjoyed the setting. The next few days would be miles and miles of unforgiving countryside and forest. I was in no rush to hurry the night. It was particularly cold, and I decided to find a cheap motel. Right as I pulled up to the office, I got a flat. I signed the motel’s cyclist roster, and made myself at home. The tire was put on the back burner, and I had myself a warm nights rest.

In the morning, I washed up, ate breakfast, fixed my tire, and got everything together. I headed out and started the days journey east. I passed Rutersville and Oldenburg which comprised of seasonal antique warehouses, closed fairgrounds, and an occasional ranch spread about. I Got into Warrenton where an RV park caught my eye. I was getting tired of fighting the wind, so I decided to turn in here. I set up camp, and played guitar until it got dark. The sun set behind a huge Oak tree and the swing that hung from one of it’s branches and the bench that sat below suited the scene. I slept soundly.

I started the next day with a sparse breakfast and a warm shower. The plan was to make it through Round Top, Burton, Longpoint, Independence, and William Penn before ending the day in Washington. Round top was a quaint yet busy little town, and I wish I could have stayed longer, but I pressed on. Burton was pleasant and seemed very busy. Again, I pressed on. But in my rush, I missed a turn. I ended up heading south towards Brenham, and missing Long Point, Gay Hill, Independence, and William Penn all together. Quite a disappointment. My new route ended in Washington, so I went with it. This ended up being a shortcut, and I made it into town right as the sun was setting. There seemed to be a happening at the local Grocer and Pub. “R Place” was hosting a Christmas party for the employees of the local Washington on the Brazos state Historical Park. I quietly ordered a scoop of ice cream, and talked with the owner. He offered to let me camp out back, which I gratefully accepted. I spent some time with the party before I turned in.

I awoke to a gloomy and dismal morning. It was significantly colder than usual, and the sky was overcast and murky. I broke down camp as soon as possible, and got on the road. Heading towards Navasota, I remember the scenery became more industrious, and the small ranches turned into huge cattle farms, and grass fields. When I got into Navasota, I stopped at a diner for coffee, and hit the local grocer for some munchables. I stopped at a Mcdonalds on the edge of town to use the internet, and to my horror, found it was filled with young teenagers. I was seriously uncomfortable being around all the angst and dysfunction. It was starting to smell like Axe and Paris Hilton. So I left there in a hurry. Just a mile or so out of town, scenery transitioned back into farm land and ranches. I got into Anderson and stopped in a cafe for a hot cup of coffee. I enjoyed some good conversation with  some locals, and met a very gorgeous and very married girl who was more than likely younger than I was, and talked about the marriage customs of small towns like hers. But lets save that one for the book. I pressed on into Richards where the scenery was beginning to transform into forest and thicket. I filled up on water before I entered the National forest. It was a 23 mile straight shot from there on to New Waverly, and I rode it like a champ. It was unlike any forest I’ve ever seen. the side of the road seemed to be cleanly trimmed grass, and about 40 feet to each side sat an impenetrable wall of thicket and Loblolly Pines climbing at least 60 feet tall. The sun could barely shine through, and I enjoyed every mile of it. It ended up getting dark about 8 miles out of New Waverly, so I sported the headlamp, turned on my tail lights, and continued with caution. I made it into town at about seven, and was a bit concerned about where I was going to spend the night. With some help from the employees at a nearby gas station, I was directed to the local public library  where I found a power outlet in a conveniently private area out back, and were I could enjoy the luxury of wireless internet. Tonight was a pleasant one. Much love readers.

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Bastrop State Park, Buescher State Park, and Winchester

Saturday night I had to settle setting up my tent off to the side of a road. There was a little bit of traffic, but and I had partial cover from view and that gave me some peace of mind. It was particularly windy night, and my tent struggled to stay erect. I was on the phone with a friend before I called it a night, and had a relatively sound nights sleep.

Sunday morning it was just to cold to get up, so I rolled over and waited until it warmed a bit to start packing up. I’m just not used to the motions anymore, and the dreaded breakdown and pack-up was once again a nightmare. It took me a good 30 minuets to get everything together. I stopped by Walmart to pick up a few things before heading east through downtown, and I have to say, Downtown Bastrop is pretty nice. It reminds me of Big Bear back home. I eventually came to the entrance of a Bastrop’s golf-course/national park, paid the entrance fee, and rode through some nice scenery. About 10 miles in, the road entered Buescher State Park where I enjoyed riding through winding steep grades and gorgeous forest. That’s something I miss tremendously. California, Arizona, and New Mexico have some beautiful mountains and forest. I have a feeling there isn’t going to be very much of either out in the East. It was already getting cold by 4 pm, and I came to a small town called Winchester about 17 miles from La Grange (my planned destination). I stopped in at Winchester Depot the local grocery store, and had a hot chocolate while talking with Hugh about small town life. I really enjoyed being there. It was a pleasant mixture of antique shop, deli, and grocery store. I was planning on pitching my tent in the park across the street when Dana Hugh’s daughter who owns and operates the grocery came by and they both offered to let me spend the night inside (which I am so grateful for) that night was going to be around 29 degrees. I had a lovely night and was so elated I wasn’t freezing in my tent. Thank you Huge and Dana!!!

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The Lost Four Weeks.

Let me begin by apologizing for the lapse here. The 13th of November while in Blanco, TX I decided to make my way towards some family in Killeen. I spent about three weeks there getting to know them (which I won’t get into). I considered this a holiday break. It was lovely getting to spend Thanksgiving with family. I arrived in Austin on the 5th of December to meet up with Olga and Kevin whom I met at La Lome Del Chivo during my time in Marathon, TX. Olga though very busy with work, offered to host me for however long I decided to stay in Austin. Thanks you much Olga!!! She ended up leaving me her apartment while she went out of town, and I Took the opportunity to explore Austin on my own.

Prior to this trip, Austin never really crossed my mind. Turns out, it’s a bustling city quite unlike any I’ve seen. Extremely bicycle and canine friendly, full of interesting and kind people, and shockingly not quite expensive as I had expected. I would have to stay for a month to adequately explore the city. The whole foods in Downtown was the original, and shopping there was an overwhelming experience. It was so much larger than the ones I’m used to seeing, and with so many products, it was hard to decide just what to buy. Across the street was REI where I bought some warmer clothes, and some camping supplies. I also visited Mellow Johnny’s Bike shop (Lance Armstrong’s establishment) and took a quick look around. Very Expensive. At the heart of Downtown was the Capitol Building. I rode by twice, and all I can say about it is that it’s gorgeous and that it has a monumental presence. A few notable things that stand out in my memory of my time in Austin; the cute neighbor who’s name I don’t remember (thanks for the wine you’re a sweetheart), meeting and having a nice conversation with Kimberly and Audry at Starbucks, and finding and returning a lost purse who’s owner was elated. I really enjoyed my time in Austin, it’s definitely one of my top ten most favorite places, and I plan on returning for an extended stay perhaps. I loaded up my bike last night, and left Austin this afternoon after grabbing a few things at Whole Foods. It’s a shame to have left, but the excitement of the unknown is slowly resurfacing, and I feel tremendously less guilty about leaving everyone hanging over the holiday. I made my way east out of downtown, and into the “bad part of town” which didn’t seem at all bad compared to some parts of Los Angeles. I was making good time after I got used to the weight of the bike again, and wound up getting lost due to old maps, and new construction. After I got that sorted out, I realized that my bike computer wasn’t registering my speedometer for some reason, and without a means to easily figure out my speed or distance traveled, I had to rely on my map reading skills which were a bit rusty. The route pushed me through some pretty narrow shoulders and oddly busy country roads before it started to get dark and I was nearing my destination. About 7 miles out of Bastrop, as the sun receded behind the horizon, I ran into a long stretch of road construction. I knew that it was going to be a long night. The right lane was demolished, leaving the left lane to accommodate the late night rush. It was too busy to ride on the road, so I decided to tough it through the right lane. It was compressed gravel and dirt for the first two miles which was rideable, but after that was three miles of tar and asphalt. In California, newly laid asphalt isn’t nearly hazardous. But this, this was some sort of joke. It was almost like they laid out gravel, and generously poured tar all over it. My bike and many of it’s parts were just saturated with the thick greasy and not easily removed goop. Not to mention the droplets and gravel my tires kicked up. It was just miserable. After the sloppy pool of hell, the road turned to sand and I was forced to push my tar covered rig to the next junction. From there, I made the last 4 miles into Bastrop. I treated myself to a grilled chicken breast with provolone at Subway without even bothering to explain why I had tar all over my legs and arms, then got myself as clean as I could without a hot shower before burning some time in Best Buy. I chatted with the employees there who seemed more laid back and talkative that most Best Buy employees. Now I’m typing to you taking liberties of Mc’donalds free Wifi.

I’m back on the road, and excited. Now to find a place to pitch my tent tonight. Much love readers, and please forgive my tired typing, I can imagine I’m not used to my blogging process, but It to will come back to me in time.

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