Norcal

Two days ago I departed the lovely city of San Francisco. I bid farewell to the Brydon’s, who I would like to thank again for their relentless and unmatched hospitality. I was in no rush as I made my way to the Golden Gate Bridge along the hilly and car-packed streets. Needing new reading material, I stopped momentarily to pick up A Clash of Kings, the second book in the Song of Ice and Fire series. It was a good buy if only because my desire to read it has been actively motivating me to crush miles so that I can get to camp early.

I struggled to find the bike path for crossing the Golden Gate Bridge until a local biker pointed me in the right direction. The crossing was gnarly. A couple folks remarked on how poorly I was dressed in just my biking shorts and sleeveless shirt. I thought they were exaggerating until I made my way across the span where I was blasted by cold wind that actually almost blew me over on several occasions. I stopped at a small market to stock up on food for the next week and a half: rice, beans, cheese, and oatmeal. It would be easy to say that I regret so much recreational spending in the last few weeks but I am somewhat looking forward to embracing a low-budget, simple lifestyle until the end of my trip.

I made my way up some unexpectedly large climbs into Muir Woods, surprised at how my body was performing after being off the bike for a while. It started getting dark, so I pushed my bike up a trail right off the road and made camp on an overlook of the bay. I kind of fucked up my dinner, apparently northern beans need to be soaked for several hours before being cooked. I ate them relatively raw before reading and crashing around 9.

The next day I continued north along the scenic Highway 1. It was really the exact opposite of what I was expecting from the California coast. Since leaving the city I have seen few cars and have been mostly alone along the hilly, forested roads. Very little sunlight makes its way through the dense fog that shrouds the land between the ocean and the barrier of mountains to the east. It is cold and damp, although easily bearable. The ocean itself is rough and unwelcoming, the water crashing against cliffs and jagged rocks that in no way invite you to stop for a quick swim.

None of this is to say I don’t enjoy it. Northern California maintains its own kind of rugged and unknown beauty. It’s quiet and desolate, only once every 20-40 miles will a small village emerge along the coast and towering eucalyptus trees. Each of these little villages has a gas station, a post office, some sort of restaurant and inn combined that also serves as a general store, and really not much else. As far as biking goes, I make sure to charge my phone (having misplaced my extra battery) and fill my water every chance I get.It kind of reminds me of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.

Yesterday while breaking in one such village I was approached by a very friendly couple who saw my bicycle and wanted to hear more about my journey. It wasn’t long before they offered to buy me lunch next door. I was far beyond stoked to have good company on top of a meal, peanut butter and honey in a corn tortillas was getting redundant. They even wrapped up extra French fries and half of a grilled cheese sandwich that I ate for dinner last night. To top everything off they also bought me veggie wrap AND and Snickers bar, which I have been eating sparingly today. Those folks from New Hampshire sure were good people, I am grateful for their support.

I continued along the highway searching for campsites until I passed a town called Valley Ford. The sun was getting low. Upon seeing a decent spot off the side of the road, I waited for any cars to clear before throwing myself and my bike over the fence and ducking in. I discovered the fence was electrified but elected to risk camping in what was clearly private property rather than biking through the dark. It was a nice spot. There was a nice little grove of trees with a creek that poured out from a tunnel beneath the highway. With nobody around to watch me eat I dove into the grilled cheese and french fries like a wild dog before retreating into my bivy to read.

Tired, I closed my book and tried to get some sleep. Several minutes into the process I heard the splashing and clicking of hooves. I put on my glasses and poked my head out. Looking through the concrete creek portal I could make out the silhouette of several cows, wide-legged, alarmed, and staring in my direction. I immediately realized that the cows wanted to move through the tunnel into the field on the opposite side of my bivy. I mooed at them and they bolted. This happened several times that night.

I woke and packed up without a trace by dawn, hoping to avoid any likelihood of being confronted by a pissed-off NorCal cattle rancher. I passed the beautiful Bodega Bay and am now in Jenner munching on the veggie wrap wrap. I have just under 40 more miles to Gualala, my goal for the day. From there I will continue north on the 1 towards the Humbolt Redwoods and then Eureka.

Peace!

Livin’ Easy

It’s been a while since I my last post. Typing on a smartphone equipped with an incredibly irritating auto-correct has gotten old and I’ve been pretty busy with having as much fun as possible. For that I apologize.  It will be much easier for me to upload photos and posts for the next two weeks while I spend some time in San Francisco and Yosemite. Now that I’m in the big city (pictured below) and equipped with the computer Jeff was so kind as to transport to Frisco for me, I’m ready to write an obnoxiously long entry!

Santa Barbara kicks ass. I ended up staying for over a week, crashing on the couch of a good friend Kelsey who stayed with us when she came to visit Jeff in Breckenridge. She lived in a 5 bedroom house with 11 other folks in the college town just west of UCSB called Isla Vista. Needless to say, the house was well-loved. The unit was located on Del Playa Drive, a road that parallels an oceanside cliff and hosts a number of waterfront properties that I reckon will one day meet a salty, wet demise thanks to erosion. Waking up to the smell of seawater and the sound of waves every morning was pretty great.

My days usually began around 7:30am with several hours of biking or roaming about the beach and local natural areas. The sounds of crashing waves and singing birds provided pleasant ambiance for much needed solo time that has seemed relatively unobtainable since leaving the Rockies. These mornings quickly became my favorite part of each day. There was always a dense haze rising over the ocean, clouding the distant Channel Islands from view. The waterfront was littered with kelp and various sea-life, and the receding tide made the sand solid and all the more perfect to run on. At one point I did a pretty big ride to Santa Ynez Mountains. Nice winding roads all the way up, fantastic for bombing back down.

When I watch movies or television shows depicting college life I feel as though many things are largely exaggerated. Massive parties, chairs being smashed in the streets, people dancing on roofs… My experiences at several schools certainly involved partying and plenty of moments of inebriated nonsense but for the most part students seemed to be primarily focused on academics. This was not the case in Isla Vista, where I reckon most representations of college life in the media were inspired.

I would usually return to town by noon, about the same the time students were recovering from their hangovers. Every day around that time music blared from at least one house on each block as folks gathered in front lawns for afternoon beverage-related festivities. Heavy bike traffic filled the streets as students went about their business blowing stop signs and disregarding the slow progress of those dumb enough to drive cars among them. I usually spent this part of the day exploring town by longboard or lounging at the beach. The moments of recuperation were well earned and much needed for I too often indulged in evenings of mayhem.

One morning I received a call from Jeff, “the waves are decent today, we’re going surfing!”  Jeff, my roommate from Breckenridge who was also in Santa Barbara for a weekend, surfing in May was much like powder days back in the mountains: every once in a while a good wave day would present itself and all the surfers in town would take their everyday responsibilities less seriously and head to the ocean to ride cohesive water molecules during the small window of opportunity they were provided. Jeff, Ben (my other roommate from Breck), Kelsey and I jumped right on the bandwagon, bouncing around town collecting sufficient wetsuits and surfboards for each of us before heading to the ocean ourselves.

Surfing has a pretty steep learning curve. Paddling from shore whilst being relentlessly pounded by waves is a major challenge in itself. Once I finally made it out past the shallower breaks I would to turn my board parallel to the shore and wait for an oncoming wave. Soon enough a massive swell would approach and pointed towards the shore I would begin paddling when the wave was roughly 10 feet behind me. Once I caught the swell, I would begin to stand up and attempt to ride the wave.

I totally ate shit nearly every time. The fitness required to surf proficiently was well above me. Every time I tried to stand my arms were so fatigued from paddling that I could hardly push myself up. The surf would force me under and spin me around relentlessly. I usually didn’t put much effort into trying to surface since I was at the mercy of the ocean. I would simply hold my breath as it tossed me around like a rag doll until I could resurface. More often than not I’d get slammed again as soon as I had a chance to catch some air.

Regardless, every time I was able to break from the mayhem I would emerge from the water laughing. Immersion in the nature world is a hell of a lot of fun, and its power is to be respected. Even though I only made it onto my knees every time I caught a wave, and only stood up once, I had a really good time. Being entirely surrounded by mother nature and at her mercy while sharing the experience with people I love was worth it in itself. I wish I had more time to practice surfing. Part of me is compelled to stick around California a bit longer.

Later that week Jeff, Ben, and I made our way north into to do some hiking. We made our way up a 4,000 foot ascent to Santa Ynez Peak along a winding and relatively unmantained trail. When were told there would be epic vies at the summit ridge but we were greeted by a dense fog. The hike was enjoyable and scenic nonetheless.

Afterwards we made our way to a really cool watering hole called Red Rocks. There was a massive spire rising out of the canyon from deep, teal pools of fresh water. We indulged in a bit of mellow scrambling and jumped into the water from some decently high ledges.

Another afternoon I was chilling on the beach with one of Kelsey’s roommates when she suggested that we swim out to the kelp forest a decent way offshore. It took longer than I imagined to reach it, when I glanced back people hanging out on the beach were no more than specks on the shore. I won’t lie, coming from the Great Lakes where there is no fear of being stung, bitten, or eaten by any sort of sea creature I had a little anxiety being so far from shore. Shortly after joking about “dolphin-rape,” incidentally, a small mist of water emerged from the surface no more than 20 feet ahead. My mind was blown as a dolphin popped in and out of the water right in front of us for the next minute as it made its way up the coast. It was so close I could see its beady little eye checking us out. It was definitely one of the most genuine encounters I’ve ever had with a wild animal.

My evening routine generally involved preparing some dinner and enjoying a shower beverage in anticipation of evening festivities. Usually by then everyone was out of class and a contingent would rally to head to another residence. On one occasion while drinking on the porch of a waterfront house a pod of gray whales emerged from the surface, spraying water from their blowholes as they migrated North for the warm season.

As the night went on, casual drinking would escalate into a realm of roughly organized mayhem. Thousands of students filled the streets in a massive and shameless pilgrimage along Del Playa Drive. In Isla Vista there were chairs being smashed in the streets (though there was order, the culprit was thoroughly chewed out by the police). People were indeed dancing on rooftops.  Bros ran amok, girls were dressed like it was spring break in New Orleans, and we actually encountered a shirtless man so drunk that he was stumbling through the street while his entire upper body slumped to his left side.  Everyone was inebriated. Many homes became venues for DJ’s and bands, music could be heard from every other house whilst American academia’s finest danced below.

My last night in town I made my way to a beach house where a band, The California Honeydrops, was performing. Not long into my attendance did it become clear that this was not The California Honeydrops’s first rodeo. Easily a hundred people were grooving below the deck where they jammed away. There was saxophone, trumpet, keyboard… all the good stuff. Although up until this evening it had been pretty well enforced in Isla Vista that all loud music goes off at midnight, the Honeydrops didn’t stop. As a finally they joined us in the crowd for an encore. The lot of us danced on until 1am when the crowd finally dispersed, drunken and mind blown.

I don’t recall ever seeing anybody do homework.

Two days ago Jeff, Ben, Luke (another friend from Breckenridge) and I made our way by motorized vehicle north along Highway 1 towards San Francisco. Fog blanketed the ocean as we drove, the highway winding along cliffs rising hundreds of feet above the crashing tide. Regrettably, I ended up reading Game of Thrones and sleeping for the majority of that ride. We planned to spend the night in Big Sur and arrived there in time to take short walk over to the iconic McWay waterfall for a phenomenal sunset.

The night camping in the campgrounds ended up being an interesting experience. The lot of us posted up in different tents about the campsite, me in my bivy with my bug net open. On multiple occasions throughout the night I heard rustling in the woods around us. It would come closer… stop… then closer, and closer. At one point I actually yelled out, “that’s close enough,” only to look up and see the silhouette of an animal standing about a foot in front of me.

I would just like to take a moment to make it known that unless I’m grizzly bear country I, for better or worse, instinctively yell as loud as I can as a defense mechanism when I see a wild animal at night in the hopes that I scare it the fuck away. These damn raccoons kept me up all night (and in doing so directly attributed to keeping up the entire campground all night) probably trying to get whatever the could smell in the food bag I so sensibly placed next to my tent.

At one point I recall singing Bicycle Race by Queen to keep them away by using my phone to google the lyrics. That was when I felt something bump into the side of my bivy. I rolled over onto the raccoon and it frantically tried to escape. I woke up yelling yet again, realizing I was dreaming the entire time.

Fuck raccoons….

The following morning we went for a hike in the mountains before heading north to San Francisco. As expected it was beautiful.

 

I’m in San Francisco now and will definitely be doing a lot of exploring this week so I look forward to generating plenty of blog content. I’ll update again before I head to Yosemite on the 21st!

Peace

Beverly Bummin’

I took a lot of time getting my body hydrated and fueled up for the ride that day. Alright, so maybe the bed was super comfortable too and I took plenty of time to enjoy it. Needless to say, I left Las Vegas a little late.

Navigating downtown Vegas was culture shock and mayhem. As expected, there were tons of cars and tons of people… people who were seemingly unaware of what was going on around them. Needless to say the town isn’t very bike friendly, and I was pretty happy when I finally navigated from the bustling metropolis.

I knew it was going to be hot, but the first few hours were absurd. The sun beat down on me unhindered and hundred degree temperatures pushed my heat tolerance to the limit. I drank nearly a gallon of water before I left but the heat of the desert sucked the water right out of my body. As I was biking I was going through at least a liter ever half hour, and about 15 miles in I felt some wicked heat exhaustion coming along. I immediately found the first and only spot of shade around beneath a billboard and made the decision to stop for an hour to get out of the sun.

After drinking another three liters and putting on sunscreen I ended up getting lucky as a light overcast made its way over the mountains and provided some relief from the sun. I made my way onto I-15, which wasn’t nearly as bad as I expected. The shoulder was more than adequate and there were plenty of cops hanging out every couple of miles, keeping the crazies coming in and out of Vegas from raging all over the road. There were also a lot more places to stop than I thought there would be, and I made sure to eat plenty of ice cream and Taco Bell every chance I could.

Soon enough I got to the state line and the sun began to set as I approached a massive and unexpected uphill. I was fortunate to be able to do the climb at night because it ended up being much larger than it looked, and doing it in the heat of the day would have been deadly. It took me about 3 hours to reach the summit of the hill… and yet again JUST before I reached the pass my bike decided to break down. Luckily it was just a deflated tube caused by the small wires that litter the from semi-trucks blowing out tires. A quick patch had me back on my way in less than a half hour.

I hoped to cover a lot of distance by night to avoid the heat during the long ride the next day, but the unexpected climb on top of 60 miles weighed down by all the water I was carrying left me exhausted. I stopped at a gas station after 10 miles of downhill and posted up in my sleeping bag in a lot full of semi-trucks, surely sticking out like a sore thumb.

The next day started off pretty rough. I had thought the wind would have let up once I left the mountains in Utah but I was greeted by some pretty irritating 30mph gusts when I woke that morning. I got on the road early, anxious to make good time across what is known as “The Loneliest Road in America,” a vast stretch of highway with almost no stops between the state line and Barstow. I made good time during the first few hours and took a moment to rest at my last opportunity to fill up my water. I got Subway for lunch and took advantage of some quality gas station shade as I ate and hydrated for the long stretch ahead.

A nearby bro brah was chatting away with a motorcyclist who was also traveling the west. Bro brah was clearly impressed, but upon seeing me he diverted his attention and asked, “hold up, are you riding that thing across the country?” Zach was rolling in a pretty sick 1960’s Volkswagen bus he received from his father who had several he was looking to sell. He was in the process of driving the well-loved vehicle from Idaho to San Diego to ship it out to Hawaii where he lived. It didn’t take long for Zach to offer me a ride through the desert, and I wasn’t about to turn it down so I loaded up my bike and we hit the road.

The next few hours were filled with good conversation, the loud rattling of the bus, and many thoughts of how much it would have totally sucked to bike through the desert as I watched it pass. I had never planned on going out of my way to go to Las Angeles, but when we finally reached Barstow Zach told me he was heading into the city to visit a friend and asked if I wanted to go. Not having any real agenda and being open to exploring a new place, why not?

We ended up heading over to Westwood to meet his buddy, Abe, a professional yoga teacher in town. Abe was dating a girl who attended UCLA and we used her ID card to access the campus swimming pool. We spent the next couple hours lounging by the pool and chatting it up, a nice change of pace after being so focused on traveling the last few weeks. The air was warm and the coastal sun was not nearly as relentless and intense as it was in the desert… life was good.

Abe left to teach a class while Zach and I headed to a local taproom to have a couple beers. As the night approached I had pretty much decided that I would be posting up somewhere in Las Angeles that night, the beach being my tentative plan. My agenda, settled we continued to drink and soon Abe joined our evening shenanigans. Turns out Abe was living in some multi-million dollar mansion in Beverly Hills, and although we couldn’t go to the house he told us it would be cool to park the bus in the street. It was there in the heart of Beverly Hills, surrounded by mansions that cost more money than I can comprehend that I passed out on the fold-out bed in the back of a rickety old 1960’s VW with a person I had only known for half a day.

The people I meet. The places I end up.

Zach headed out around 7:30 the next morning and I took some time at a gas station to get ready for the massive ride that day. Las Angeles was slightly overwhelming after time spent in the vast landscapes of the American Rocky’s and to be frank I was ready to get the fuck out. I set my sights on Santa Barbara hoping to break my record for distance covered in a single day. I made my way west out of Beverly Hills towards the ocean along the scenic Sunset Boulevard. Although I couldn’t afford to waste much time I couldn’t resist running out to the ocean to dip my feet and bike in the water when I arrived at the famous coastal Highway 1.

I made sure to grab some Taco Bell (who should be sponsoring me by now) before heading north along the coast. Highway 1 was a pleasant, scenic ride. I was flanked by ocean and cliffs for the first 40 miles and the scent of the Pacific Ocean embellished my ride until I approached Oxnard. The air became gradually more and more hazy and soon I could smell a massive forest fire burning in the mountains a few dozen miles away. I made a couple wrong turns in Oxnard and at one point my tire went flat which properly pissed me off for a couple minutes. I recovered from my frustrations, had a quick lunch, and pressed on along the highway to Santa Barbara.

I was filled with excitement as I was finally found myself biking through the bustling, trendy streets of the beautiful coastal town. I still had several miles to go to reach Isla Vista, the college town where I was offered a couch to crash. By the time I reached my destination 12 straight hours and 113 miles of biking were behind me. I was pooped and passed out early.

More on Santa Barbara later. Right now my plan is to stick around here for a week or two and enjoy the ocean.

Summer Journeys

After yet another windy day of riding, I finally made it to Durango. I’ll be sticking around here until Sunday for my Wilderness First Responder re-certification course.

As some of you know, upon conclusion of the bike tour in Jackson I will be spending a week in the Tetons and Yellowstone as a trip leader for Summer Journeys. The program is based in Grand Rapids, Michigan and was founded in 2008 by a friend of mine, David Buth. The objective is to provide adolescents with an authentic learning experience that will assist in helping them become strong leaders and contributing members of their community. If you want more detailed information on the program, the website has everything from its mission to detailed trip itineraries.

Needless to say, I’m pretty excited to be a part of the program. I’m sure I’m not alone when I say that I absolutely hated sitting in a classroom all day working on redundant assignments and reading textbooks. Programs like Summer Journeys provide so much more than that. Immersing students in the natural world to learn about ecology, geology, leadership, and outdoor skills not only makes the learning more enjoyable, but brings substantially greater and longer lasting rewards. When students learn in an artificial classroom they rarely look back on their learning experiences with joy and accomplishment in the years to come.. Learning in nature is real and genuine. I allows students to remember their lessons for life and ensures a more lasting impact on each individual.

Our current education system is designed to prepare students for standardized tests and college, bombarding kids with information most of which they’ll forget by the time they’re adults. Experiences like these prepares them instead to be successful leaders and contributing members of society. They provide opportunities for each student to form a deeper connection with their own self and their environment. The provide identity and direction for teenagers as they move forward through and beyond high school. This is how education should be. Our current system of institutionalized education is obsolete and ineffective, programs like Summer Journeys are as important as ever. Someday I would like to run a program of my own based on these philosophies.

Summer Journeys is a non-profit and operates off of community support. Many of the students actively participate in fundraising and do what they can to pay their own way. However, there are some kids who are not able to finance their tuition and rely on scholarships funded by donations from the community. It is incredible that this program is able to draw so much support, but its capacity to is limited by financial boundaries. Not every kid who wants to be a part of the program is always able.

This is where we come in. For the most part, every day this blog gets over 100 views and continues to draw more attention. I thank everyone for their support and interest, and now I hope to use the blog to change some lives by bringing more funding to the program. The program accepts donations until May 31st, and every cent raised will be used to finance the trip for a student going this year.

“All charitable donations are tax-deductible.  All contributions will make a difference for a local student who wishes to take ownership of his/her education and participate in a life-changing experience that will set him/her up for further personal and academic success.”

I encourage everyone to go to the website and learn about this awesome program more if you are considering making a donation! You can click here to get to the donation page, and if you would like to contact Buth himself concerning the program, his email is david@summerjourneys.org. Checks can also be sent to Summer Journeys, 675 lovett #2 GR MI 49506

Thanks everyone! I will be sure to keep you updated with the progress of the fundraiser as I post on the blog.

– Peace

Today’s Ride is Sponsored by the Letter “F”

When I left the Murphy House I immediately had a feeling that there wasn’t a chance I would be going over Wolf Creek pass. It was snowing slightly, and the winds were steady around 20mph with frequent gusts. Not exactly my favorite riding conditions, but the forecast over the next few days was questionable and I didn’t want to risk getting trapped in Alamosa.

As I pushed my trusty Long Haul Trucker west and passed my first fellow bicycle tourist the wind ripped against me. After several discouraging hours I decided I would stop in South Fork. The campsite I had hoped to set up at was closed until May 1st. Not giving many shits after a hard day of riding, I headed into the campground and set up my bivy under a tree beside the Rio Grande. My only visitors were two dogs that stopped by to investigate my presence for a brief moment before continuing on. The wind died down as the sun began to set and I enjoyed the sight of golden eagles soaring overhead before heading to bed.

I woke up early today to depart the campsite before anybody might give me trouble. Yet again it was windy. I ate a massive breakfast at one of the only inhabited buildings in town and hit the road by 9:30. Despite the intense gusts, I was feeling good from all the food and confident about my pace. I had been tackling a steady uphill for just over an hour when I saw the sign “Wolf Creek Pass Summit 10 miles.”

By the time I reached the first tunnel I was already getting tired, but at that point I had at least 5 miles to go. It became increasingly difficult from that point forward. Snow, more wind, altitude, fatigue… the elements quickly began to take there toll. Soon enough Wolf Creek ski resort emerged around a bend, indicating that the end of my ascent was near.

The album I was listening to ended, and in the moment my headphones went silent I heard a repetitive clanking coming from my front wheel. I looked down to see that my pannier rack had loosened and was continuously knocking against the spokes of my front wheel. Cursing at the timing, I dismounted and removed the pannier. I arranged my multitool to the bolt and proceeded to tighten it. Snap.

The rack fell to the ground with a bang, and I saw that half the bolt remained lodged inside my bike. Fuck word after fuck word rang through the cood mountain air. I dug through another pannier for my tape and ghetto rigged the rack back to my bike. I quickly packed everything back up and attached the pannier on ghetto rack… seemed sturdy. I biked for only a few moments before the sound of clanking disturbed my being once again

The snow continued on. Fuck word after fuck word reverberated through the cool mountain air. After a minute of deciding what to do next I determined that the best course of action was to throw my bike a thousand feet into the ravine across the road. Just in the nick of time a large orange snow removal truck pulled ahead of me and stopped. Kevin, the driver, had been headed down the pass when he saw me struggling and turned around to help me. He gave me a lift to the top of the pass, about a mile and a half from where I broke down. Kevin was a bro.

I threw on my backpack and secure the pannier from the faulty rack onto my rear wheel rack. The broken frame with no weight on it was stable enough and although my bike’s balance was slightly awkward I was able to proceed down the pass with only the front-right saddle bag attached.

I saw a mountain goat.

The ride down the pass was quick and scenic. I was sore from the weight of my backpack and a moody from the challenges of the day. I made it into town and found a bike shop called “The Hub.” Eric, one of the workers, fixed the frame and rigged an aluminum cross bar connecting my racks over the front wheel, preventing similar tragedy in the future.

After leaving the shop I made it no more than minute down the road before fatigue got the best of me. There was no way I was camping tonight. I decided to throw down on a hotel that had a free breakfast I could use to restock my food.

Tomorrow I’m off to Durango. Lets hope it goes well.

Refuge

I took my time departing the dunes yesterday. I was anxious to get into town and take a shower, but departing such a genuine place left me feeling as though I was saying goodbye to a friend. I look forward to returning someday.

I headed South and then West, past the legendary Mount Blanca. As the fourth highest peak in Colorado its summit rises above and dominates the southern end of the Sangre de Cristo range. Known to the natives as The Great Mountain of the East, it has been used as a landmark for travelers since before the exploration of the Louisiana Purchase. Far to the North the flats continue out of sight, bordered by mountains on both the East and West. It is the San Luis Valley that regional Native Americans believed was the gateway for spirits in and out of the world.

Having few resources for a hotel but desperately needing a place to repair gear and plan my route through Utah, I turned to the internet in search for a crashable couch. This is how I met Liz. Liz is a godsend. She lived in Alamosa with 5 other girls and happened to have a spare room available. I was able to shower and repair some gear in the afternoon, but come nighttime people started flowing into the house and it became all too clear that I was about to make up for my lack of socialization over the past 5 days.

We made our way to a farewell party at a house across town. Food, music, spirits, and company were all in abundance. I was offered a drink unknown to me called a Boilermaker, a mixture of PBR and R&R whiskey. Don’t try it.

As I drank, I made conversation with an older gentleman, Joe. Joe, along with the girls at the Murphy House and many others there worked full time at a homeless shelter in town. Some of them, including Liz, were operating through Americore, but others were community volunteers. Joe took the time to fill me in on the situation in Alamosa.

25% of the population in the San Luis Valley live below the poverty line, many of them unemployed and homeless. Alamosa, the largest town in the valley is home to the largest non-government funded shelter in the country. The shelter has beds for 50 residents, however the fact that it is solely operated by the community allows them to accept whomever they wish and as many people as possible. In peak seasons, well over a hundred people will see refuge at the shelter, many of them sleeping on the floor.

A lot of the food, employee housing, and funding comes from the wealthier people in the valley such as the potato farmers and cattle ranchers. Aside from a small budget for veterans, the government provides little if any assistance. The workers at the shelter receive housing, food, and a small stipend once a year for their time. Most if not all of the volunteers work second jobs on top of their 40 hours a week at the shelter. Many of the volunteers I talked to at the party had been there somewhere around a year, but Joe was going on 5.

I made my way to the bonfire out back where the pleasant scent of Colorado’s finest filled the air and a large group of people enjoyed live music and good conversation. I ended up meeting a guy who was also from Grand Rapids who remembers when you could still smoke in Founders and play boardgames. I was able to learn more about the valley and the shelter from the people around the fire, and when I gladly accepted an offer to stay another night, I decided to see the shelter for myself today.

When I arrived today I was greeted by a woman and her daughter playing out front. I locked up my bike and headed inside to find Liz and she proceeded to show me around. There was a massive wood burning stove in the main hall, providing the entire first floor with heat. A handful of volunteers were busy in the kitchen preparing lunch while some of the residents relaxed on the couches. There was a large board on the wall with job listings and contact information, and another with daily chores for the residents. Liz told me that they were currently housing 40, yet the shelter was relatively empty since many residents were working.

I was guided past a dining hall to a locked door that led to the bunk rooms upstairs. The shelter will not allow residents upstairs during the day in an effort to keep them active rather than sleep the day away. There were multiple rooms separated by sex, each containing nearly a dozen bunks. There was also a private room for veterans. Out back there was a basketball net and some picnic tables in a fenced in yard. Behind the fence was a grow dome where the shelter composted leftover food and grew vegetables in an effort to stay sustainable. The dome was one of the only provisions given to the shelter by the state government.

As it neared lunchtime, I excused myself to a Chinese buffet down the road to get some food for myself. Here I am typing away at my phone, attempting to consume as many calories as possible while I type this.

I continuously made a point to mention how impressed I am by the shelter. I am not at all fond of government involvement in our lives to any degree and believe that the change our world needs is far beyond the power of our politicians. It is amazing to me how this shelter, now going on 30 years old, has been able to operate based solely on behalf of the community in a place that desperately needs it. Without any financial incentive, a small town in the middle of a high mountain desert helps hundreds of people simply out of the community’s compassion and charity. What is happening in Alamosa is testament to the reality that there really are great people in this world, and that as a society we have the capacity to help each other by our own will rather than by force of government. This is how local communities should operate, and I hope to see similar operations become more common.

I have learned a lot from this small town in the middle of nowhere, and am very grateful for Liz for providing the experience and hospitality that allows me to keep on going. Tomorrow I head 90 miles West over Wolf Creek Pass and to Pagosa Springs.. For now, I need to crush more Chinese food before heading back to the shelter to talk to some of the residents.

Peace!

R&R

I cheated a little on Tuesday night. After dinner, I jogged to the wind exposed ridge where I had placed my bivy and dragged it to the closed campsite nearest to me. I placed it behind an old bathroom, completely blocking it from the wind and its brutal chill. It actually made the night quite pleasant despite still having to wear all my layers to bed. Although the wind roared around me it hardly whipped at my shelter allowing me to really get into Game of Thrones (god damn this book is good).

Wednesday wasn’t nearly as bad as forecasted. The wind was gone by morning and the temperatures remained in the upper 30s for the most part. This was all good considering how restless one might become when trapped in a bivy for several days. I headed 2 miles up the road to the visitors center where I took some time to read, charged the battery a bit, and purchase a map of Utah. Aside from the lady at the desk the visitor center was empty. Phone charge and water bottles filled I headed back towards the dunes to spend the remainder of the day hiking.

Today I took it pretty easy. I spent the morning reviewing my route as well as fixing the bike and some faulty gear. I went hiking again:

Tomorrow I depart for Alamosa. After the fury of the weekend I think I’ll throw down on a hotel. I look forward to not smelling like garbage and looting a continental breakfast. From there I will head west over Wolf Creek pass and plan to spend the night in the San Juan Mountains before continuing to Durango for my Wilderness First responder re-certification course. Looks like I might have more weather headed my way… I’m out!

Hibernation

Yesterday was a blast. I woke up and headed to the dunes before anybody came to check the campsite. Freebies once again!

In the National Park itself there are three separate campgrounds along the eastern hills that are by gates. Being several months before prime tourist season only the first tier of campsites are open, the second and third blocked off by a gate. Lucky for me, I have a bicycle instead of a car. I biked around the gate and set up camp in the hills above the third campground.

The view is something else. Directly ahead of me are the dunes, shadowed by the Sangre de Cristo mountains towering 6000 feet above them. In the flats, whirlwinds and dust storms continue to rip across the landscape fiercely enough hide the distant San Juan mountains on the opposing side of the valley from view. To the east, behind me, are mountains and cliffs peppered with desert shrubs that remind me of the mesas and canyons in Gila of New Mexico.

My legs were feeling fresh for a hike despite the long ride yesterday. The dunes beckoned.

I’ve heard people compare their size to the dunes of the Sahara, not that I would know if that were true. They are certainly huge, at least a couple hundred feet higher the Sleeping Bear Dunes I know too well back in Michigan. I have to admit I prefer Sleeping Bear, nothing makes me miss home quite like running down a four hundred foot sand dune and not ending up in the waves of an unsalted sea colored every gradient of blue. Nonetheless, the Great Sand Dunes are testament to the power and creativity of our natural world and is a tremendously impressive place.

Last night I noticed some sketchy clouds rolling in and received a text from my parents about an approaching snow storm. I storm proofed my camp as usual, ate a Mountain House, and hunkered down early. I awoke around 3am to the roar of wind and snow hammering my tent. I was freezing my balls off. With much difficulty I moved within the constraints of my bivy and  donned every layer I had in my bivy. Managing only to get about an hour of sleep the remainder of the night, I hoped that it might let up by sunrise. Unfortunately it has worsened throughout the day. I decided to check weather.com for some information regarding the storm to discover that a blizzard warning had been put into in effect.

There was plenty of reassuring information in the warning: “35mph winds with 50mph gusts… 3-7 inches with large snow drifts expected… no visibility… life threatening conditions… do not leave your vehicle if you become stranded, people have died in storms like this before… enjoy your miserable existence until Thursday”

Though I may me a campground poaching, fee-dodging, stealth camping dirtbag I still am a considerate, happy camper. Unfortunately for me my food was secured 300 feet away in a bear-proof storage container. There was that issue. There was also the need to refill my water bottles and tend to the newly brewed shat in my belly. Leaving my tent was inevitable.

For a brief second the wind let up and I moved to throw on my boots as quickly as possible. I was promptly greeted by a sassy Mother Nature, relentless and clearly pissed off about something. I full out sprinted to the bear box, grabbed food and my bathroom bag and booked it to the campsite bathroom about a quarter mile away. I entered the bathroom just as serious concerns about frostbite and shitting my pants entered my head..

I took off my gloves, thrusted my hands into my armpits and proceeded to take a potty break. There I sat eating granola bars, probably with a really shitty look on my face, listening to the wind repeatedly blow open a door and slam it into the wall. I put on two extra pairs of socks, an extra pair of gloves, and every remaining layer of clothing before cooking a hot meal in the shelter of the bathroom.

I was no longer a good, happy camper and I had ran out of shits to give about bears that are probably still hibernating anyways. I sprinted back to the bear box and transported all of my food to the outside of my bivy where I can be easily accessed. Here I shall stay until Thursday, eating granola bars, reading, and not writing any more blog posts until this monster blows over.

Cheers!

The Long Haul

I woke up around 9 and made good time packing up. Within a half hour I smashed breakfast, said goodbye to Steve, my fellow cycling friend, and hit the road.

From the moment I started peddling the wind came blasting in from the west keeping my pace nice and slow as I headed straight into it towards Poncha Pass. At the base of the climb a sign read “7 miles to Poncha Pass Summit,” something I felt pretty good about after Hoosier Pass. I made it to the top by noon, much sooner than expected, and took some time to obliterate some well earned power bars while I mapped out my next move.

I gazed towards the high mountain desert before me, slightly intimidated. Tentatively I had planned on camping somewhere in a canyon or behind a hill before I lost my opportunity to set up camp upon entering the flats of the San Luis Valley. I could see massive dust clouds in the distance, indicating that continuing would mean another battle with the wind. In the distance I could barely see my destination for the following day, The Great Sand Dunes, far in the distance.

Surely the best course of action was to activate beast mode and go for the dunes. I bombed down the south side of the pass and took a quick snack break in the next “town.” It wasn’t long before it became known to me that every settlement in the valley was likely to be comprised of nothing more than a small general store, a post office, and maybe a gas pump.

60 miles into my ride I posted up outside one of these shops for another break and map check. Crestone Peak, consider to be one of the most difficult fourteeners in Colorado, loomed ominously in the distance. The shopkeeper, Bob, came out and remarked on how beautiful it was. Bob had been working the shop in exchange for residency in the loft above it for the last eight years. He receives no financial compensation, but sells his art from the store to save money for food and other basic expenses. He mentioned that he lived in Boulder for 16 years before his move to the valley. When I asked why he chose to switch to such a remote location he turned towards the mountains and opened his arms.

I like to be around people and I enjoy cities, but it was clear the Bob was profoundly connected to his environment. His life was simple but he loved it and I can’t blame him for that. In every direction enormous mountains stand like sentinels above the vast, empty desert. In the distance I could see tornadoes and dust storms dominating the flats while raptors soared overhead searching for prairie dogs. Although desolate, this valley is a truly powerful place with a pure, subtle energy that I can actually feel.

Bob kindly filled my water bottles for me before bidding farewell. I continued on for several miles before I approached a gas station that sold highly processed calorie-packed microwaves meal, one of which I eagerly feasted on. Before heading out I snagged some rice pouches for dinner the next few days and was pleased to discover that the wind had died down when I stepped outside. I peddled hard over the last several miles and reached the Dunes just as the sun had set. After 10 hours, my 90 mile ride was over.

I am now posted up in a campsite just outside the park that I think might not yet be opened for the season. In any case, free camping again!  In exhaustion, as well as anticipation of a rude awakening tomorrow, I’m now off to bed.

Peace

Hot Water

I’ve always been told you get what you pay for when it comes to outdoor equipment. The Outdoor Research alpine bivy kept me dry through the rain last night and relatively warm despite 20 degree temperatures. It was an uphill battle finding the motivation to remove myself from my humble shelter but I was pleased to see the sun pop over the hill across the river just as I poked my head out.

I was eager to cut weight and increase space in my saddlebags so it was snacks for breakfast that morning. I took my time packing the bike so that my equipment could dry and enjoyed the fine porcelain provided by the park in which I wasn’t supposed to be camping before hitting the road at 11.

The beginning of the ride was pleasant thanks to a lot of downhill and thousands of prairie dogs chirping me along with enthusiasm as I rode. Then the wind came, along with my first “fuck this” moment. If you’ve ever slowly biked downhill in your lowest gears for four hours you might actually be able to understand my frustration during those moments.. I cursed everything: canyons, mountains, llamas, and especially those prairie dogs.

By the time I got to Poncha Springs I was considerably pissed off and exhausted. I was planning on camping at the bottom of the 2000 foot pass I needed to ascend before heading into the San Luis Valley, but to make matters worse my front racks were falling apart. I eventually decided to head east into Salida to try and find a place to camp closer to civilization so I could work on my bike.

After about an hour of sitting in McDonald’s I decided the best course of action would be to stay somewhere indoors to prepare for the next portion of my ride. It was then that I discovered the Simple Lodge & Hostel, my home for the evening.

I’ve really been diggin’ this place so far.  The man signing guests into the hostel happens to be the brother of a patroller I knew back in Breckenridge. He and another guest played guitar together while he sang. His voice was incredible! Allegedly he had a lot going for him before some sort of operation damaged his vocal cords. Another guest was an older man posted up with his two boys after a couple days of mountain biking. He had a pretty accomplished history touring on his mountain bike and provided a lot of solid insight on my trip. He referred me to Absolute Bikes where they fixed up my bike quite nicely and set me up for the climb. I also took my first shower in four days and it was excellent. Needless to say, I’m glad I made the decision to spend a little extra and am tempted to stay another night.

Time to get off my phone and socialize, the next couple of days will be pretty lonely.

Peace!