A WILDERNESS INSIDE

I have spent all too much time away from this blog, and after re-reading many of my thoughts, I have found an inner peace I have forgotten in this last semester at school. But here is a link to that video of my trip, and I hope it shines some light on my adventure. A Wilderness Inside HD In the time I have been away from this blog, I made the video, submitted it to the Banff Mountain Film Festival, and saw it obtain the status of "less than worthy to be shown at Banff" (not a direct quote at all, just kinda how I immediately felt...it was subjective judging afterall). I am excited to see all the amazing films that did make it this year, and as I keep adventuring, I hope to make more films that may have more of a chance in years to come! Thank you all for absolutely everything. That link again...

cities, slugs, and the end of the beginning

I have no idea where to begin the end of the journey, which I am surely sure will be clearly mark the end of the beginning of my bike touring adventures. This was the first time I had ever really gone and done something on my own, all by myself. At least something of this scale. The first night spent in Lee Vining, California, at the gateway to Yosemite National Park, was the first night I had ever slept outside alone. I should have probably been a little more frightened that night, but I was not, in any way, scared. Of that. I was scared, though, of the miles to come. I had no where to turn back to and I had no one to protect me, both mentally and physically, but my self. I was about to ride a bicycle loaded with 50 pounds of gear, stuff, essentials, whatever, up through the interior of California, out to the coast, and up and up and up to Vancouver. 

So I made it to Vancouver. The way everything worked out, I spent 5 days there in the American Backpacker's Hostel. It was a very strange transition going from biking every day, eating well, and sleeping alone, to sitting in cigarette smoke all day, wandering around the city not quite knowing what to do, and meeting more interesting people than I could have imagined in such a short time. The experience at this hostel opened my eyes to a world I never really knew existed. And I almost fit in. But I was an observer and I knew I was the whole time, and in that sense I can never truly fit it, anywhere.

The youth hostel said no one over 35 was allowed, but I found out they were flexible for a few people. But mostly it was kids from all over the world, exactly my age. 20, 21, up to maybe 25. Just traveling, enjoying life, and not knowing what to expect. They were from Japan, England, Australia, Germany, Greece, and many other places. The hostel said they could fit about 95 people and to stay was $10 a night. Most of the people there were long term since it was so cheap to live there, and the community that resulted provided some amazing music, good smells from the kitchen, and interesting conversations. Not many of them really had any kind of concrete direction, and I thought that was amazing. It helped to me step back a see that I have never not had a plan, and that in some ways might be crippling. It was a lot to take in, and to be honest a whole trip in itself. It was almost difficult being there because of how eye opening it was, after going through such a massive change in the previous weeks of pure biking. 

I left Vancouver by train for Seattle, and took another ferry across the Puget Sound to Bremerton for the last night of camping on the trip. I was very much relieved to be in silence again, with only myself to keep me company. That night camping, I woke up around 2:30 in the morning. I was feeling around for my shoes and found them...with slugs in them. It was nasty and though I was annoyed, I was proud of myself because I didn't really care. I got up, and picked them off with a stick. I then picked the others off that found their way to my cooking pot, the fuel bottle, and a few other places. I repacked my stuff and fell back asleep until the morning. Over the next two days, I was either getting ready to leave or actually leaving. I was finished with the trip, and I had accomplished what I had set out to do. Bike from California to Vancouver. 

So this isn't really the end, I will be making a video of my trip, and posting many many pictures, once I find some space on my computer and hard drives. I don't want to have to buy another drive as they just keep piling up, but this might be the time to do it. This post was very difficult for me to write, and I am still not all that satisfied with it. Maybe it was because I had the luxury of time, and the ability to reread and edit and revise. I had way too much time to think about what to say, and so much of what I really wanted to say just didn't make it in. 

I haven't read a single word from the actual biking posts, and I am now excited to read them, to see the transition I made for myself. I have not looked over them, not even when I was writing them, for my time was limited, or at least it felt that way. 

Please enjoy all that is here then so far, and I will continue to add thoughts and pictures and video as the summer progresses. Thank you to everyone here at home in DC and along the route that made this trip unforgettable and absolutely life changing. Some of the changes I can clearly see already, and others I know will come up and hit me like a train in years to come. But thank you so much for keeping up with me and I hope that everyone gets the chance to experience themselves like I just did. 

I've made the crossing

First off, physically, I am in Canada. I crossed over by ferry from Port Angeles to Victoria on the 14th of June, 2011. The smile never left my face, and I was proud of myself. I really did just bike from Lee Vining (close to Mammoth Lakes, essentially Yosemite), to Vancouver Island. Later today, the 16th of June, I will be getting on a ferry to arrive in Vancouver. I accomplished what I set out to do, and looking back on the days of snow, and hail, and lonliness, and mile after mile of amazing biking, well, I don't have words to describe what I've seen and been through. Erika, my most wonderful teacher from Semester at Sea, has it right when you've got to just read between the lines of this blog to really understand my thoughts.
But I'll try. A few things. I have crossed over physically, but also mentally. I can sense a mental bridge I climbed, and got over. In a few ways. One, I realize I was doing a lot of biking, and not a lot of touring, over the first weeks through California and Oregon. Once I reached Astoria, I realized wow, I do have some extra time, and now I can enjoy this trip. I set out to expect the unexpected, but I made the miles more important than the memories. So I strayed off the route, and went along the Washington coast, in and out of Olympic national park, and took it easy. I even stopped at 3 one day! I crossed into Canada, and I had no plan, no direction, and no idea where to stay. But I was fine, and I made it up the coast, and last night camped on a beautiful island in Nanaimo.
However, the other bridge I crossed over, more importantly I'd say, is that the alone time is now no longer a burden, but a gift that I absolutely love. It is peaceful, and I feel very free. I have no set goal, no plan, only relaxed riding and exploring. Maybe it is the beautiful scenery of the coast along Vancouver Island, with amazing homes overlooking the water with farms throughout the ride. It is probably just the nice weather, I finally am getting some sun without the clouds.
My time is almost up, but I have one more thought. I camped on Cresent Lake in Washington the night of the 13th. A guy said to me that I was brave. I gave that a days worth of though on the 14th, and I know now that I might have been walking a fine line between bravery and foolishness this whole trip. I have written pages about this in my little thought journal, but basically, if I had not been foolish, I wouldn't have biked that far in such a short time, I would have taken it easy, and I wouldn't have made it to Vancouver island. No way I would have. And I am in love with this place, again. It is beautiful with its small towns and organic farms and amazing homes and harbors and cafes and islands and forested hills and starfish in the water and the list goes on and on. So maybe, it is being brave about my foolish decisions that have gotten me to where I am. It has all been through the heart, the trip that is, and if I would have thought a little more about it, it wouldn't have happened or turned out the way it has. I have two minutes left, and I'd love to say more, but until next time, thank you all, again, so much, it has been an experience of a lifetime. Absolutely.

So Far...

So far I have traveled 914.14 miles on my bicycle. I have done this over 15 days. 5 of those days were in the Sierras in California, 1 on a ride from Peanut to Hyampom and back, and 9 days along the California and Oregon coasts. I have sang a small collection of Harry Chapin's songs out loud more times than I can imagine, and American Pie about that many times as well. Every time I sing different versions, but every time they get me a couple miles further up the road. I have stayed in 4 motels, 3 of which were in the Sierras, camped "on the side of the road" 2 or 3 nights, and found campgrounds for the rest of the nights. I haven't slept in a motel since the day I rode 89 miles from Peanut to Fortuna, my first glimpse of the ocean since the rooftop bar my brother Kevin took me to in Laguna beach. I cried when I saw it, in all its glory. I was so glad to be out of the Sierras, with the snow and hail and freezing rain and mountians that seemed to be endless. I have broken exactly both of my kitty litter panniers, and fixed them with exactly one whole roll of cheapo camo duct tape. The tape sucks, and I imagine they will be breaking on me again soon.

Every day has been an experience, and a story could be told of every day. Some days would be more interesting than others, but all help and are necessary to describe the essence of this adventure. I am alone, and that is by far the most important factor in understanding this trip. Aside from my butchering of songs, making up lyrics of childhood tunes, and talking to myself, I am silent on the road and my thoughts get the best of me everytime. Sometimes they are good thoughts and everything is working out. If I am feeling good, I am feeling very good. The views are spectacular, the road is smooth, and the trip is working. Other times, I get inside my head and it starts eating away at my mind. Why am I doing this. My back hurts. I am hungry, I don't want to ride anymore, will I make it to Vancouver, where will I sleep tonight, how much money do I have left, my video about this trip will be terrible, I could never convey this experience, I want to do it again, I know I won't, I miss my friends, I miss my family.... It is all highs and lows. But it is all, every second of it, the experience, and I can't change any of it.

I want to write down all the clever little things I think of as I bike along every day, but I never remember them, and unfortunately they won't ever come back to me. Probably. But more will come, and I will be amused by them, and forget them once again. I realize I will probably only post once or twice more over the duration of this trip, and they will surely recap more of the experience, so I will write a few particulars here in the 12 minutes I have left on the library computer.

I got to ride with a friend Steven Gaspar from Bandon to Lincoln City, Oregon. It was a completely difference experience riding with another person, and I loved every second of it. I was no longer lonely, and I was never down. We cooked smores and ate amazing pasta and chili, and laughed and made fires and even met another friend from school named Ashley who came to hang out for a night.

Last night I camped in a campground with not a single other person there, and I couldn't find the camp hosts until this morning. I was scared, but surprisingly alright with it. I woke up more refreshed than I thought I would be.

I broke one of the kitty litter panniers two nights ago, fixed it with duct tape, and yesterday it broke again. I figured I could switch them to different sides and the new sides would last me until the end of the trip. I caught myself saying this, and about 20 feet down the road they both broke. I had a blast yesterday. But I managed to get to the campground and fix them and hopefully now they'll last with a little love and not so many fast bumps.

I wish I could write more, but I have 4 minutes left and I must look up the lyrics to those songs I have been butchering the whole trip. So enjoy, and I will probably be on again soon enough. Until then, please keep keepin on with those words of encouragment and please think about donating to 350.org in my name, there is a movement in September being coordinated with biking as a huge focal point, and they need all the funds they can get to do it. Thank you again, and see you all on the other side. Washington State, here I come!

The Meat and potatoes (or Juicy stuff for the vegetable folk)

It was not easy for me to get this far, and in this post I hope to convey a little bit of the feelings and thoughts that almost stopped this ride short. Also, I'm sorry this and the past post are so long, I just don't have much time to make them any shorter.
A stomach full of butterflies is the best way to describe how I felt when my brother was pulling out from the campgrounds in Lee Vining. I was really in it, and I was completely on my own. He left me with the advice of taking this journey one step at a time, and I could never explain how much that helped me. I was a nervous wreck, and I needed to get on the road to turn that energy into something productive. Over the first day of biking, I talked to a few people about my ride, and it felt terrible. Saying I was heading for Vancouver, and not knowing if I could make over the next day's mountain pass, made me really question what I was getting myself into. They must have been laughing at me behind their interested smiles and nods, as I surely would have been in their position. But maybe I hid my concerns well enough. I wanted out more than anything. My parents got the worst of it, and I could never thank them enough for helping me get over the first bit.
It took me about 4 hours to get up and over Monitor pass, that monster climb I will never forget on the second day. Around every winding turn was another snaking road, leading me from rocky banks to dry treeless foothills through forested switchbacks to a landscape of snow and wind. I felt much better after that summit, knowing nothing I would approach from then on would compare.
I was wrong, because the winds the next day were so bad I had to walk by bike up some of the way over Luther pass which leads into Lake Tahoe. Please keep in mind my bike weighs nearly 60 pounds with all the gear on it. Later that day, the rain came in full force, and it didn't take long for it to turn into snow. I was back in January and was not prepared. I really could have used gloves, but then again, nothing compares to the cold fingers felt during the March mornings of crew on the Potomac. The next day it was still very cold but also very clear, and I had a beautiful ride along Lake Tahoe and then Northwest to Truckee and then Sierraville. Finally, the ride from Sierraville to Greenville was equally beautiful and through patches of rain I rode 70 miles to meet Susie.
In the beginning, I wanted nothing more than for a pickup to just stop and ask if I needed a ride. I would have said just take me as far north as you are going, and I'd of been one happy camper. But not one stopped, and I am glad they didn't. I am also glad my thumb never made it up in the air either. I just kept going, one step at a time. And I got through it.
So I say I wanted to experience the unexpected. I have. And I didn't expect any of it, including the insanely immense feelings of loneliness and cold, of a sunburned face and relatively not sore butt. I really didn't expect how few bikers I would be seeing, though. Except after finishing my riding on Friday, I saw exactly 0 bike tourers along the whole route, over the whole week. I talked to one biker at the base of Monitor pass who was training for the Death race.
And nothing on my bike has broken, yet, but one other crucial piece has; my video camera. It literally just stopped working while filming my ride down from Monitor pass. I really hope I am able to still come away from this with some kind of a visual story. We will see. That is all I have for now, hopefully this all is conveying a little bit of this journey so far, and from now on I'll try my best to keep them more concise and frequent. That's the plan, and it'll probably go wrong. 

hello again internet

Wow, is this really me, back on a computer? It is, and back at home, no longer biking. It was very, very difficult riding, and I just wasn't up to the challenge. The Sierras were absolutely insane (breath-takingly beautiful and breath-takingly exhausting) and the cold days and even colder nights were just not my cup of tea...Okay, all true, but not truthfully told.
I am in Peanut, California with my very special family friends Susie and Joseph (Susie grew up a couple doors down from my mom in upstate New York). I consider their home a special place where a lot of my thoughts on creating a more meaningful life for myself took root several years ago (more on this later).
I didn't give up on riding either, I just cut it a little short. Instead of them picking me up in Red Bluff on Sunday the 29th, Susie so kindly picked me up in Greenville (oh you've never heard? don't worry) on Friday. I covered roughly 276 miles in the Sierras with a lot of ups and downs in between, the largest being Monitor Pass, a climb from about 5,000 ft to 8,314 ft. But more on the biking in the next post, I want to just give a brief overview of the week before biking because it was important to me and it should not go without mentioning.
I got to Chapman after about an hour of biking the streets from Corona del Mar to Orange. It was an amazing ride, felt faster than ever with my nice black shorts and new tires. Looking back, I think it was only the wind that pushed me.
I was stoked for every second I was at Chapman. I got to see so many friendly faces from over a year ago now, and honestly just felt cool telling people I was leaving that week to take off on such an epic-sounding adventure. I was excited and very full of energy and those who saw me at Chapman could tell you. It was an amazing time, and I wish it could have lasted longer.
Back in Corona del Mar, my brother and I went out in the Camaro to a rooftop bar overlooking the ocean, then to an amazing restaurant called Maro which was all sustainable and all so tasty. It would be the last time seeing the ocean, I now well know tears will start to roll once I see it again in about a week or so.
We left for Mammoth and rode all day Saturday, it was a little slushy but by the end I was getting used to it. I got a pretty bad goggle burn and I am still currently peeling that off as I am typing this post. Between that and some scratches incurred from Chapman, the trip has been more uncomfortable than it should have been. Sunday I got the last few things ready for the ride and my brother drove me to Lee Vining, the "Gateway to Yosemite" or something like that.
I'll stop here for now, and hopefully tomorrow (if Susie and Joseph don't give me too much work to do) will tell you all the details of the biking so far. Thanks for the continued interest and support, it really did help me get this far, believe me when I say I would NOT have gotten this far if it wasn't for all the positive encouragement, and crew...

It actually worked...

Firstly...check out meetthemoment.com - the video (on the site and below) is spectacular, the whole campaign struck an interesting chord within me, I think you'll all see why. Create a moment yourself so Clif Bar will donate some money to some good causes...and to not let the words "the east is making you soft" from A River Runs Through It come true. We've got nothing on the west right now. And no one steal my postcard's words of something along the lines of - "I will always, try my very hardest, to remain in a constant state of stoke."

To say that I had a plan for getting to California would be correct. My flight was scheduled for Tuesday, May 17th, at 3 in the afternoon. My bike was securely packed up, and everything else I needed for the entire trip fit into my snowboard bag and my camel back/camera case/tripod bulky carry-on luggage outfit. Upon arrival at the ticket counter, I found out I was exactly a day early. Good job Will. Basically, I was going to go back home, but instead payed the extra $100 to get on that day's flight. After the most helpful ticketing agent (I think Christine, but I could be mistaken) found out I was riding for a charity, they let my board AND bike fly free. I now love JetBlue. I will fly with them again. They even upgraded my seat and I sat next to a very very nice couple and we talked for much of the flight. I never got their names, but I will always remember them as my first new friends of the trip. I could tell I was already thinking differently, I'm now in the traveling mindset. Yes, and with this traveling mind comes an open mind ready to be filled with new people, exciting adventures, and new experiences to learn from. Feeling vulnerable might not be such a bad quality.

The bike is now all back together in one piece and it's time to hit the road and find my way to Chapman University for a fun fun night seeing some friends from the ship.

And by the way, searching the internet for directions to Chapman from Corona Del Mar, I got distracted and found this video. It was part of the Banff World Tour that came to State College, and it was one of the two that provided some of the inspiration for this trip and what I might want to be capturing. The other was called Salt, it was AMAZING, LIFE CHANGING, and here's the website for that... http://saltdoco.com/