After 5 days on the bicycle, I have come home for a rest. Instead of the relaxation and insipration I had anticipated prior to departure, the tour wound up being a physically and emotionally exhausting event which, at times, filled me with great sadness, depression, and true fear for my life.
The tour also reaffirmed and validated my gross disgust with the (North) American way of life. If I had previously been filled with even a small sense of hope that we, collectively, could live our lives any differently, my hopes were crushed by what I witnessed and experienced over the past week.
Now, more than ever, I am certain that I do not want to be surrounded by this utter train wreck any longer. The tour left me feeling angered, frustrated and depressed by all that we have become (or have let ourselves become), and there is simply NO way I would ever elect to raise a child within the framework of such a horrible manifestation of human existence.
As you read this post, please bear in mind the fact that this entry is being written immediately upon my return home after a long day of battling tough climbs and harrowing traffic, and, therefore, my appraisal of the situation may be somewhat abrupt and emotionally charged; yet, it is an accurate account of life-on-the-road as I experienced it over the past week.
Here is my day-by-day account of the trip:
Day 1:
Miles Cycled: 100.52
Maximum Speed: 26.6 mph
Rolling Time: 7 hrs, 51 minutes, 27 seconds
Average Speed: 12.8 mph
Day 1 was a big day. As I left home and climbed south out of
I struggled mightily most of the day, hauling my load through rolling farmland in Central Oregon while getting my first taste of day-long battles with passing traffic (everybody and their dog owns a car here in Oregon, or so it seems).
The day ended late, and with dusk setting in, I kicked hard to reach the peaceful
confines of a National Wildlife Refuge near
Day 2:
Miles Cycled: 105.16
Maximum Speed: 36.5 mph
Rolling Time: 11 hrs, 30 minutes, 45 seconds
Average Speed: 9.3 mph
As I climbed back into the saddle on Day 2, I immediately knew something was different. My bicycle computer was now recording my speed as being twice as fast as the previous day despite similar efforts to Day 1 in grinding the gears. It turned out that I had actually covered twice the distance on Day 1 than I had originally thought (what a relief!).
Buoyed by my new ultra-fast kick, I set a lofty goal of reaching the coast by the end of Day 2 – a feat which would require a fast traverse of the coastal mountain range. As the road to the coast consisted of mile after mile of consistent downhill, the goal of reaching the coast by nightfall become more attainable as the day progressed.
As I continued to descend, I pondered hopeful
delusions that I would be caught up in some bizarre M.C. Escher alter-reality
where my return trip to
I continued to cycle hard and made great gains on Day 2. I then learned a very important lesson: when it comes to directions, always trust the locals. While trying to find the "scenic" way to my destination (instead of taking an easy 14 mile jaunt along the highway to the coast as recommended by a waitress I had talked with), I put myself in a very dangerous situation in which I felt true despair and fear for my life.
It turned out that the back road I had selected was a seldom traveled-upon strip of pavement and gravel through a national forest consisting of a steep climb over a mountain pass. The grades were punishing and the track narrow. I had been cautioned to follow "the gravel road" when I found it. After pushing my bicycle and trailer up countless switchbacks, I finally found "the gravel road", which I began to follow (I should mention that my ascent of the "scenic" route began after an 80 mile day).
The road began to get very rough and the best effort I could muster was to push bike and trailer uphill, hoping to avoid any serious mechanical issues that would leave me stranded, alone, and in a real bind. For some strange reason, I held onto this stubborn notion that, if I just stuck with the ever-narrowing dirt track, the trail would spit me out on the other side of the mountain. My stubbornness nearly cost me dearly. With the sun setting rapidly, I wound up deep in the forest with the trail dead-ending in a small, make-shift cul-de-sac. I can still see that small clearing in my mind's eye and remember the great sense of utter despair and fear it produced in me. My passage to freedom, curtailed unfairly by a woody dead-end. I guess I took the wrong gravel road.
I honestly could have cried at that point I was so
disappointed. Here I was, a several hour walk down a rough and tumble trail in
the middle of the wilds of
It was at this point that I learned a great deal about myself. After cycling nearly 90 miles on Day 2 and reaching a dead-end deep in the woods, I managed to summon the energy from somewhere in the depths of my being to swing the bicycle and trailer around and begin the long, 10 mile trudge back to the trailhead (and eventually civilization). At this transitional moment, my attitude changed and my body went into auto-pilot. I removed myself from the reality of the situation and let my physical being do the job it was called upon to perform. This is not to say that I was entirely psychologically absent - in fact, I felt a strong spiritual connection developing with the entity which walked by my side. I can say with great certainty that I was not alone on the return voyage to the trailhead, and I was grateful that somebody (or something) was keeping a watchful eye on me on the evening of Day 2.
As I returned to the trailhead, I paused to eat some food and rest before jumping back on the bike for the final descent of the mountain. This was the wrong move. With environmental temperatures dropping quickly, my core temperatures also began to cool. Faced with a long and steep descent (with little lighting to help guide me), I was quickly running out of dry clothes. I was also badly dehydrated. It was at this point where I began to feel despair creep back in. Would I ever make it out of these woods alive? And to think, I could have just taken the coastal highway. Angered at myself, I began the descent.
After a harrowing trip down the mountain, I finally reached the base of the hill. I then used a final burst of energy (possibly coming from the sausage I had consumed shortly before the descent) to make the 10 mile journey back into the small town from which this whole escapade had all began in the hopes of scoring a campsite and some water.
It was already close to
Finding secure shelter at the end of Day 2 meant the world to me, as did the genuine concern and kindness my new friends had shown for my well-being (despite my being a perfect stranger). I slept long and peacefully on the night of Day 2. Before putting my head to the pillow, I checked the odometer on my bicycle computer. It read 105.16 miles.
Day 3:
Miles Cycled: 26.73
Maximum Speed: 30.74 mph
Rolling Time: 3 hrs, 26 minutes, 25 seconds
Average Speed: 8.2 mph
I promised myself an easy day of cycling on Day 3. I cycled for only 26
miles on Day 3 before making camp at one of the many state parks dotting the
Lying awake in my tent that night, I became aware that my Achilles tendons were creaking and squeaking as I flexed and extended at the ankle. I had heard this phenomenon could occur with overuse of tendons, but had not personally witnessed it until Day 3.
I also had time to reflect on another strange phenomenon which I had noticed the previous day: perhaps my spatial awareness skills were failing me, but I seemed to have a genuine issue in judging whether the grade of the road was ascending or descending on long, gradual hills. I literally could not tell what was up and what was down. This confusion produced a strange situation in which reality betrayed my senses. The only means I seemed to possess to gauge whether I was climbing or descending was through the monitoring of the computer display on my bicycle and the strain I felt in my knees. Often, I would peer down the road, expecting an easy free-wheeling descent only to be disappointed when I realized it was actually a climb I was heading towards. Very strange.
Day 4:
Miles Cycled: 65.01
Maximum Speed: 37 mph
Rolling Time: 5 hrs, 44 minutes, 33 seconds
Average Speed: 11.3 mph
Day 4 brought with it the first ideological clash with RV culture - and it was not pretty. The pain and inflammation I had begun to feel in my right knee had already put me in somewhat of a foul mood, and I spent most of the day passing silent curses between my lips as I wondered, with utter bewilderment, what could possibly be the appeal of the RV lifestyle.
Let me share with you the process of RVing: the hardcore RV'er tows some sort of gas guzzling truck behind their mobile fortress, driving for countless hours down the coast, stopping perhaps once a day to spend 10 minutes looking at the ocean from the beach. The mobile fortress is then parked in a state park (which, by the way, cater almost exclusively to the RV brand of traveler), whereupon the fortress is unhooked and the vehicle being towed is liberated for a rip around town. Observing the odd bicycle strapped to these fortresses was comical.
It is almost as though these individuals are scared of actually living their lives, choosing instead to surround themselves with the familiar trappings of home (and in doing so, never actually leaving home). Of course, I kept my thoughts to myself, fuming internally about the incredible lack of sustainability punctuating this system of wastage, dependency, and attachment to a crummy way of life.
Adding to my depression was the sad state of many of the coastal towns I passed through. The towns were not at all what I had anticipated. I had expected quaint little fishing towns with economies based on artistry and the natural abundance of the surrounding area, but instead witnessed the true degree of uglification of the modern American small town. The state of these towns was a sad, yet powerful, indictment of the grotesqueness of the North American way of life, with big box retailing glory sprawling endlessly down the coast. I couldn't seem to rationalize how people could live comfortably surrounded by such ugliness (which more than spoiled the remarkable landscape).
In addition to this visual assault, EVERYBODY I saw was either A) grossly obese B) scowling C) piloting an RV or D) old (which, on its own, is certainly not a bad thing). In truth, A through D often came as a package deal. Particularly demoralizing was the fact that EVERYBODY was obese (and not just a little overweight). The majority of people I observed were not recognizable humans (at least not in the way we were meant to exist), but rather, seemed to represent another species which developed from a different evolutionary line. If one did not know that "nurture" and lifestyle decisions played such a large role in human health, one could easily be convinced that the evolutionary line had forked at some point, with gross obesity apparently being an advantageous survival trait to possess. It was deeply troubling to witness so many people fighting losing battles with their addictions. Most of Day 4 was like watching a helpless child flounder around and flail away helplessly in a straight jacket. I lost a small part of myself on Day 4.
Day 5:
Miles Cycled: 88.65
Maximum Speed: 28.0 mph
Rolling Time: 7 hrs, 45 minutes, 33 seconds
Average Speed: 11.4 mph
By the time Day 5 rolled around, I had seen enough. Fully disgusted with the
society I was a part of, I hit the road at
Schlepping uphill the entire way home (which crushed my earlier M.C. Escher hallucinations), I was afforded the opportunity to contemplate all that I wanted from my life. The solitary trip home forced me to think about not only the role I hope to one day fill in the community in which I will reside, but also about whom that community will be - essentially pondering the population I most want to work with as a doctor. It was quite clear to me that I will need to be in a location where there is a true need of assistance and a genuine gratitude on behalf of those I wish to serve.
This pondering naturally led me to thoughts on what are quickly becoming the
greatest dual passions of my life: international NGO work with health
organizations in the
I have much yet to learn in my life, but I will continue to look to the ideas and concepts which give me hope that we can live this life in a dignified and graceful manner. I would encourage everyone to make a journey or pilgrimage of their own, if for no other reason than to see the world in a different light. While this journey was not at all what I had anticipated, it did teach me a great deal about what I will, and will not, tolerate in my life. With this knowledge in hand, I am empowered to continue setting goals which nurture my passions and breathe meaning into my life.
