3/21/18 - Remembering, Reflecting, Rewriting

It’s been more than a year since my cross-country bicycle journey came to an end.  I still remember waking up for the last time in Joshua Tree National Park.  Covered in a blanket of gray clouds, the sun was not there to greet us like she usually was.  It was by far the dreariest day I had seen in my month of staying in the park, a sign that our plan to leave that day was the right choice.  

Vinny and I crawled up off the ground and sleepily started packing up.  When the first few rain drops fell, we started moving much more quickly.  Driving out of the park for the last time was an emotional experience that the heavy wind and rain emphasized quite nicely in a sad sort of way.  Our 2.5 day drive to Austin, Texas had begun.  From there, Vinny would travel South to Mexico and I would fly home to Massachusetts.  

I was truly excited at the time, I had accomplished what I set out to do and the most rational thing next was to go home and process everything that had occurred.  At the point of walking through my front door for the first time in 7 months, everything I had seen and done on my journey was such a blur, a long strip of film balled up and stuffed in a box in a drawer in a desk in my head.  But now, more and more, I can simply close my eyes and find myself reliving all the little moments of my trip in great detail: the feeling of crossing into New York realizing I wouldn’t be back in Massachusetts for a long time; rolling over the hills lined with corn in Illinois and Iowa; the subtle shifts in the landscape once I entered South Dakota; the moment I saw the Pacific Ocean in Oregon and all the miles I rode next to that great expanse of blue all the way down to SoCal.  I’m still transported when I listen to music I heard on the seat of my bike and just the smell of peanut butter brings me back inside my tent where I ate many sandwiches topped with m&m’s or trail mix.

It’s almost eerie in a way to be able to jump back in time with such clarity by a sound or smell or simple thought.  I can understand how soldiers coming back from war find it difficult or impossible to return to civilian life.  At least my trip was a positive experience.  And its positive effects on my life seem to be getting clearer and clearer.  Since I’ve been home, all I’ve been doing with my time is making art.  Lots of images just came out of me as I was trying to get back in the habit of drawing and learning how to use watercolor.  I just wanted to make pictures.  But now, a year into making art full time and rewriting my artist’s statement for maybe the fourth time, I finally see how much that bike trip has influenced my life and how much of painting is processing the memories and emotions experienced on that ride.

It’s hard to remember what life was like before I left for the West coast, it really is.  My life was a certain way for so long and having such an intense experience makes me feel like a different person now.  Maybe it’s just that some part of me is more alive.  After graduating college I did not have the same dedication to studio time as I did when I was a student.  In fact, I felt devoid of all ideas, direction, and inspiration, lost in the act of “trying to make a living” through an unsatisfying job.  After a few years, I didn’t quite know what I wanted, I just knew I didn’t want what I had.  And so began the planning for the trip of a lifetime.  I pulled a U-turn on the dead end road I was driving down; or maybe I just parked the car and left in the opposite direction on my bike.

All I know now is the act of making art is an attempt to portray the power of the journey, the spiritual evolution that can occur in a person when they give in to the unknown and allow it to guide them.  Without my cross-country ride, I don’t think my life would be the way it is now, pursuing a career in art, full of fire and inspiration, a healthy relationship with myself and a wonderful relationship with a man I love that’s been blossoming almost since I came home.  A lot of great things can happen when we make the changes we feel are necessary in our lives.  However, a lot of tension and anxiety can build and consume us if we don’t go after the things our heart truly wants.  You might not know what you want but, acknowledging you have something you don’t want can be the first step of a new and exciting journey.

What follows is the latest concoction of words I’ve used to describe my intentions in making the art that I am making, thanks for reading:

A journey begins with a conscious decision to stray from the path that we tread every day, a willingness to encounter the unknown and allow it to guide us in hopes of discovering a better understanding of life and ourselves.  I once felt trapped by the decisions I had made and in trying to work my way out, everything changed.  Life seemed to unfold before me in ways I had never experienced or imagined possible and I portray the feeling of liberation and continuous mystery of life in my art.

My paintings depict figures wandering through dramatic and colorful landscapes often pulled from my imagination based on memories and emotions felt on my own journey.  The inhabitants of my images are often a smaller part of the composition which gives the environment it’s own presence and power over the figure.  Humans aren’t as dominant in the world as we like to believe, there are forces much greater than us and we can see evidence of that in all the diverse and dynamic landscapes Mother Nature has shaped.

I want the viewer to feel small, like standing on top of a mountain or at the roots of a mighty redwood; the same feeling you have in your gut when you realize you’ve never been so far away from home and suddenly you get a sense of your scale: a tiny spec, untethered, roaming across a world that, by chance, came to be and has existed for what seems like an infinite amount of time and will outlive us for even longer.

Jump to my Gallery or Website to see or read more.

Day 70 - 12/1/16 - Pacific Beach, San Diego to Chula Vista, CA

It’s nice to take it slow in the morning, to get out of bed and do things on your own terms.  Chula Vista is only 25 miles from Stephanie’s place, a little more than a 2 hour ride.  I didn’t leave until 1:00ish when Steph had to go to work, and even then I didn’t rush to Rafaela’s place.  I guess it’s her family’s place since she lives in Vermont now.  I’ve never met her in person, we’ve just talked over the phone and via text, a good friend of a good friend, that pretty much means we’re good friends already.  Someone that offers up her family’s house as a place to stay for the weekend is a very good friend, I’m very grateful and very excited to give her a hug when I see her in tomorrow night, she’s flying back for her mom’s surprise birthday party that she already knows about.  

It’s funny to think I’ve met Rafaela’s whole family before meeting her in person.  They’re good people, I can tell where she gets it from.  Luis, her step dad let me in and gave me water and talked to me until David got home, Rafa’s younger brother.  We talked about my trip, what he’s studying in school and life in general.  He’s studying kinesiology, that might not be right but, he studies the way the body works and what a person needs to do to take care of themselves.  He wants to help people be happy in their skin through diet and exercise, something I believe in as well.  Nearly all personal problems, self esteem and self image issues can be alleviated through a little physical activity and eating some good food.  A donut here and there can’t hurt either.  When Connie, Rafa and David’s mother came home, the four of us went out for dinner, Mexican food.  I had a burrito for lunch but, I could eat a burrito every meal of the day and not complain.  Rafa and David have a younger sister but, she worked late and got home after I had already gone to sleep.  

Getting absorbed into someone else’s family is a beautiful thing.  Sharing what you have with someone who has nothing is a very human thing.  I never thought I’d be so dependent on the company of others, the warm feeling of being in the bosom of a family even when it’s not yours.  It’s truly the family that makes the holidays the holidays even if you have to borrow someone else’s.  I’d like to think my presence has a positive effect on the family, makes the weekend a bit more distinct than others knowing they’re doing something very kind for me.  Maybe years down the road the Rodriguez’s will remember having a smell biker for some added company around Connie’s birthday just a few weeks before Christmas.

Day 57 - 11/18/16 - Day Off at Andrew Molera State Park, Big Sur, CA

Laying on a picnic table under the starriest night I’ve laid eyes on in Big Sur after what feels like the best day I could’ve asked for – I’ve seen 9 shooting stars with my back on the Earth and my eyes in the sky.  But how many days are in the vault labeled something like, “Best day I could’ve asked for”?  

These special days are filled with beautiful moments, scenery, hills, laughter, eating...and this trip is full of so many days like this and it’s all going by in my mind like one of these shooting stars in the sky.  Some day, I’ll be 50 years old and I’ll have twice as many “Best Days” in my memory, piled up and disorganized like random clutter in a junk drawer.

I’ll say things like, “10 years ago –or maybe 15” before I start to tell a story.  Maybe one day I’ll tell the story of when I ate some shrooms at Big Sur and walked to the beach and became a bump on a log, a blade of grass, and a shrub on the side of a cliff and sea hawks hovered and flew over me, their wings sharp like blades.  The waves crashed and made intricate curved patterns like veins or smoke; out in the distance the water looked like 3D shapes all floating and bumping, catching the glare from the sun.  

The delicate flowers were black against the sky and their ends broke off and became pelicans swooping into the blue.  Becoming human again and coming off the cliffs I backtracked down the trail, the mountains in the distance caught the last bit of sunlight and glowed a bright pink that darkened to red and then purple, like a bruise, until the sun dipped and it all went gray.  

I lay on the ground and watched it all.  One of the mountains looked like a sad, tired face and I felt like it was mother nature and she was telling me, “it’s okay” and I felt loved.  By the time I got back to my tent the stars were already coming out.  I got in my sleeping bag but, hung my head outside my tent to stare up at the starriest night I’ve laid eyes on.  

Or maybe I’ll have an even better story to tell of an even better day and my night in Big Sur will just go by the wayside, into the junk drawer of my mind, just like a shooting star blazing across the blackness, and those keeping count don’t remember a difference between the fifth and the ninth shooting star, they’ve all been bright and beautiful.

Days 16, 15, 14, 13 - 10/8/16 - Honeydew, CA

I might be missing a day, or I might be adding a day, I'm not sure at this point.  It doesn't matter much.  It's an emotional day.  I parted ways with Flo, Lau, Will and Martin to head back up North to work on a farm with Vinny and Nelson.  I wouldn't have broken up the gang if I didn't think this would be the only time I get to hang with Vin.  I'm also excited to kill some time and make some money.  I'm not trying to spend more than a week in the hills but, who knows. 

The five of us took a day off at Burlington Campground yesterday.  Will wasn't sure if he was going to stop and work with his cousin for a couple weeks.  I was also waiting to hear from Vin.  And we were also just resting beneath the redwoods, not much of a rush to get away from these beauties.  We woke up slow yesterday, all of us.  It was cold, no excessive amounts of dew, it was dry, cold and dry and we loved it because it wasn't wet. 

Blue came over, a bowl packed, ready to hit the road.  He's an old-timer, 64 years old but lookin' like 70 and talkin' like he's 17, a real nice dood.  We convinced him to hang around another day although, he didn't come on our hike with us to Founder's Grove.  It was a short walking trail, just four miles from the campground. 

We took turns reading the information from the pamphlet like we were on some school field trip.  We learned about how the trees are all part of one big system, how they share nutrients and how even dead, fallen, decaying redwoods are as much a part of the system as any of the other trees; there's something to be said of that, living things are just trying to live, we ought to be helping each other do that but, I guess humans aren't always as smart as trees. 

The five of us didn't arrive at Burlington Campground all together the day we first got here.  Will, Martin, and I rolled in mid-afternoon after we had eaten some blackberry popsicles we got from a roadside fruit stand along the avenue which happened before we stopped for lunch under the giant trees in one of the many groves along the road.  I was worried that Lau and Flo got separated from us and that we wouldn't share the experience of riding through the avenue together. 

Just before the sun completely disappeared from the sky, the two French Canadian girls came rolling down the road, yelling to us at the campsite as we were prepping the fire; our group was still whole.  It's such a beautiful, unparalleled experience to find like-minded, crazy people on the road that are equally excited to ride with you as you are with them.  Friendships blossom fast, bursting open with sparks and colors like throwing a whole package of roman candles onto a campfire at once, all shooting and popping in unpredictable directions, striking this and that, illuminating familiar surroundings in beautiful and strange ways never before imagined.  And then it's gone, dark again, smoke covering everything, and you're alone.  That's how I felt when all my friends went South and I back North. 

But nothing is ever over until it's over and can anyone really ever say anything is truly over until they die?  That's almost claiming ability to see the future.  I know the road works in its own way that doesn't necessarily correspond with the nature of time; it's very possible I'll see all my friends again on this trip, just as much a possibility of never seeing them again. 

Everything comes down to the flip of a coin, seemingly random but, the forces that send that coin up and bring it back down are part of the same system, guiding objects up in the air down to the timeline of events one way or another with careful intent or distant apathy, who can tell?

Days 12 and 11 - 10/5/16 - Elk Prairie State Park, CA

Just outside of Crescent City is Stout Grove, an old growth forest where there are mighty redwoods up to 2,000 years old.  We couldn't pass up the opportunity to see these massive creatures.  From the church, it's about a 16 mile round trip, a trip we wanted to do early so we could get on the road to ride to the next town. 

A little behind schedule we got to the sign that read, "Stout Grove 4 Miles" at the threshold of where pavement became gravel.  It didn't take more than three seconds for us to stop in our tracks and stare straight up at the towering redwoods.  We knew it would be a slow 4 miles to the short walking loop that is Stout Grove. 

We stopped and stared many times, smoked beneath the shelter of the trees –"these trees are tall, we have to get high"–the five of us crawled inside a tree and had plenty of space to stop and dance and then crawl out like clowns coming out of a tiny car.  Lau and Flo turned back before we got to the end but, Martin, Will and I rode to the grove and then continued the journey of foot. 

The journey became more intimate.  We walked on the soft forest floor made by thousands of years of pine needle build-up; we walked on the remnants of fallen trees, cut down trees, and got our faces up to the gnarled knots and twisted burls in the trunks like we were wandering through some museum of modern art. 

We high-tailed it home, Will actually skidded off the road he was going so fast, and got their much later than planned.  We still had 30 miles to cover with a couple massive hills to get over. 

The sun came out for us, a beautiful afternoon to ride through.  The hills were indeed massive, winding up endlessly next to more redwoods and the downhills did not disappoint.  It was a ride through a magical forest, a preview of Avenue of the Giants, the scenic route I drove through last year with Nick, Vic, and Adrian.  At that time in my life, I never thought I would be back over here a year later on my bike. 

Life's funny that way.  I feel like that trip happened last week.  Time is so fucked in my head; it's lost its linear nature, every experience is new while still calling back to the past causing this strange overlap in my mind like everything is happening all at once.  If only everyone could live outside of time for a while.  Now, the morning after, we're all still hiding from the rain in our tents.  I just saw two deer, a mother and her child while I was taking a leak outside. 

They were so close but did not seem afraid, just kept eating the cold, wet leaves.  Who knows if the rain will let up but, there's no rush just yet so I guess we'll smoke a little and see what happens.

Day 10 - 10/3/16 - Crescent City, CA - Day Off

I think a dozen people stayed here last night in this church, folks from all over, traveling solo and traveling in pairs, teaming up and joining forces on the road like a snowball gathering mass and momentum resulting in several pairs of wheels and hundreds of pounds of gear rolling down the Pacific Coast.  When I'm by myself and people ask me where I've been and where I'm going, I'm always happy to answer them and chat til their heart's content, I don't ever mind.  But when this many people with this many miles and towns and stories under their belts, the whole spiel of "where'd you come from" and "where are you going" isn't necessary. 

All that matters is the road has brought us all under one roof.  This roof just happens to be over a church under the care of Katie Berkowitz, a kind, hospitable soul who opens her doors to traveling cyclists in exchange for hugs.  Places like this are brilliant for taking a day off, doing some laundry, and making some real meals with the other friends of the road around you.  That's what Martin, Lau, Flo, Will and myself are doing today, relaxing.  Five others packed up and left this morning.  We all slept in different areas of the same open room, the walls lined with piles of panniers, chairs draped with wet clothing and maps unfolded and open on every table. 

We wished them all well, Herbie, Laura, Peter, Dave, and Jackie as they rolled out into the early morning drizzle.  Breakfast happened in stages; oatmeal and coffee, french toast, and juicy, tuscan cantaloupe.  Then the five of us set out to do laundry down the street.  Will rolled a joint on the folding table and we smoked it out front.  Then we all fantasized about another family dinner like we had last night: stir-fried veggies and rice with plenty of garlic bread.  And beer.  Today, we decided on onion soup, pizza, kale chips, and an apple crisp made with apples that grow behind the church.  The sun has yet to come out today but, it has yet to rain more since this morning.  We made it back to home base with fresh, clean clothes and all the ingredients to make too much food again.  Joanna was holding down the fort while we were out; another cyclist traveling with her friend from BC to San Fran.  Like some sort of commune, we took turns teaching each other the yoga moves that we use before and after rides. 

Or maybe it was more like a birthday party for little kids, taking turns choosing the games.  We did stop to play some card games and share snacks.  I'm very grateful to have such good people to share this day off with.  I certainly have not been as productive as I'd like to be on my trip down the coast in terms of writing, reading, drawing and even taking photos but, this portion of my journey seems to be more about the social aspect since it's a major bike route, much more so than my random trail that took me coast to coast.  I'm in good company, I couldn't feel any luckier.

Days 6, 5, 4 - 9/29/16 - Sunset Bay State Park, OR

A hot cup of tea after a warm meal is a new thing for me; I did not have any cookware the entire time it took me to get across the country.  My life on the bike has improved supremely since leaving Portland.  Yesterday I made noodles for lunch right on the shore, winds constantly blowing, I felt like the man who invented fire.  We didn't get on the road til 11:00 this morning.  Julie and I, that is.  She's from Boston, riding from Seattle to San Fran and somehow we found each other out here. 

We met yesterday briefly on the road; her and another couple came up behind me while I was shedding some layers on the side of the road.  The other couple, two young Brits that got hitched less than a month ago and are traveling on bike around a handful of countries for their honeymoon.  The four of us didn't ride together too long, we were in a hilly area along the shore, a situation where everyone goes at their own pace. 

And with as many scenic viewpoints to peer out into the bright white distance, it wasn't a quick ride for any of us.  But, we all met back up at the same campground, Honeyman State Park, where a bunch of older doods were already set up and handing around a flask of whiskey. 

I had met one of them, Erik, at Cape Lookout State Park a couple days ago.  He takes interested folks out on bike tours as part of his job.  Where do I apply?  So 7 of us cyclists were gathered in this hiker/biker site with the ultimate hippie, Stephen, that has been traveling since '67, so he says, and has been wandering back and forth to and from different state parks with hundreds of pages he's written about all his life experiences on all the different planes of reality he exists in. 

But only Julie and I left the campground the following morning, everyone else had plans to stay another night, even Stephen.  It's hard to pinpoint anything specific about my journey down the coast thus far.  The weather has been beautiful and the scenery takes my breath away constantly.  It's hard to believe it will get better but, that's what people keep telling me.  Well, bring it on.

Day 84 - 8/30/16 Powell Campground to Lowell Campground, ID

Coffee is back in my life in a wonderful way despite my extreme commitment to kicking caffeine before I left on this trip.  Caffeine actually does an incredible job giving relief to sore leg muscles.  Dammit, I may just be a lifer but, I think I'm okay with that.  There was a lodge at rhe campground so once the 3 of us got packed up, we went on the hunt for that good, hot, black stuff.  

We found it no problem and also learned Dave and Marion were at the same campsite, we just didn't see them last night and they had already woke up and hit the road.  At one point on this trip I would have been an early riser and left with them without a cup of the good stuff but, I must be hanging out with the wrong crowd.  Inside the lodge, Wally was looking for butter to put in his coffee – that dood is Bill Nye and Rambo on 2 wheels – something about the fat getting caffeine to the brain quicker than normal, I don't know but I trust him.  

With no butter around we all got wired up as best we could and hit the road with Matt assuring us that we won't need to pedal today.  His statement was slightly hyperbolic but, no completely off the mark.  We rode along for 70 miles on the gentlest downhill ride of all our lives.  Yes, we all pedaled but, we rolled along with incredible ease at 17 mph for about 4 hours; I couldn't have dreamed a more perfect ride.  

We followed along the Lochsa River the entire way, a neverending chain of 'S' curves revealing wide, beautiful views of the water with layers of mountains above masked in hazy blue-green atmosphere from a distant forest fire that filled the air with aroma.  

Not once did this pattern of curves seem redundant; I nearly convinced myself I had died earlier on and this blissful ride was some sort of manifestation of heaven, like this was my tunnel of white light leading to the next plane, this series of neverending, always changing visions of natural wonder flying into my eyes like a universe being sucked into black holes.  But, at some point, the pattern broke and the 3 of us found Dave and Marion outside of the first restaurant we had seen in 100 miles.  

The 5 of us continued down the magic road another couple of miles to the campground which was right on the lovely Lochsa River.  Assured I was still on Earth, alive and well, I struggled to get on with the daily rituals that don't involve having a bike between my legs.