Jeff Mentzer's Web Log

Words Of Guidance

2011-10-14T13:39:00.000-04:00

Namaste and welcome. I've been working hard on getting caught up with the blog, and I'm excited for people to check out some of my new work. As the years go by, my blog mentality is changing. I'm using this blog more and more as a home for writings that might not have a place in my books.

There's lots of new work here, and I'm still adding more. But blogs are weird. I mean the way they are organized. As you read, you go down, of course. But as you go from one piece to the next, you have to move up--the top being the newest. And the more I think about it, the more I realize the different needs of different readers.

So, perhaps you want to know what's new. If you're after the brand new stuff, you can scroll down or click on these: a poem about fall, a story about buzzards, some writing notes, some car writing, more thoughts on writing, words on my first march, a D.C. mission, and some words about the good old sweat garage.

Or, perhaps you haven't been here in a long while. In which case you might want to check out: the sparkling forest, thoughts on soccer and sound, a link to free music, a NYC mission, the spider walk, a big travel piece with writing and photos, or some wild static.

And if you've never been here. There's all kinds of stuff, such as: one from the old bike tour days, a piece about President Obama's Inauguration, some barefoot weirdness, thoughts on things, and of course, the always popular, travels with Marley.

Thanks again, and have fun and safe travels,

Jeff

green and gold and the magic of fall

2011-10-13T13:42:00.002-04:00

I started walking today

without any words in my head,

just walking,

out the door,

up the sidewalk,

make a right

and down the street.

but when I made

that right turn

I saw something beautiful.

it was October,

leaves were starting

to change,

still lots of green

but the gold was growing.

down low,

the locust trees

were almost all gold.

up high—

and here comes the beautiful thing—

the tulip poplars were still very green.

high above

the neighborhood rooftops,

my eyes found

one big and very unique

poplar tree.

its great bulbous canopy

was nearly all green

except for a pocket

of golden leaves,

near the center of the tree.

the golden patch

stood out exquisitely

in the true and even light

of a rainy afternoon.

I saw this poplar

tree and now the words

were springing up

in my mind.

but Marley didn’t

want to just stand there.

his dog-eyed

view of the world

was taking him forward.

he had lots of smelling to do,

lots of p-mail to check.

“okay Marley,” I said.

as we walked on.

then,

maybe fifteen minutes later,

we came to the turn-around moment,

one of the happiest

parts of the walk.

once we turn around,

I am no longer walking away.

now, I am walking back,

back to the pages that

are waiting to be filled

in my writing room.

I walked a little faster

on the way back.

now, not only did I have the

writing to look forward to,

but I had this poplar tree

with the golden patch in the center.

and I was singing the song

in my head as I walked along:

“I’ve been to Hollywood.

I’ve been to Redwood.”

then we came to the place

where I saw the poplar

tree for the first time.

I looked above the rooftops.

there it was,

with leaves undulating gently

to the subtle action of the air,

a quivering image

made from trillions

and trillions

and trillions of cells.

the tree had a confident stance,

tall, straight, with leafy chest

puffed out proudly,

and in the center

a huge

ten-foot

heart of gold.

Bike Lights Are Pretty Bright These Days

2011-07-21T22:07:00.003-04:00

I decided I'm not going to document this summer's trip on the blog. I'm not feeling it. It just doesn't feel right to divide up a big beautiful summer adventure into little posts on a blog. I still believe that books are the best way to tell these stories. I'm not saying I'll never blog about another summer adventure. I probably will. I'm just saying that right now I'm not. But I am going to write about the road.

There's something I have been meaning to write about. It happened a little while back, just another evening in the universe. I needed to go to the store, and I decided to ride my bike. It wasn't dark yet, but the sun had set. It was twilight, that great time of the night that I love. I rode to the store, locked up, and did some quick shopping.

When I came out of the store, I saw buzzards flying and bedded down for the night in the tall pine trees behind the grocery store. Also, there were buzzards on top of the store (I couldn't see them, but I knew they were there from my other observations). As I was unlocking my bike, I heard a big horn go off--one of those can-sized air horns. A store employee was trying to scare off the buzzards. It made me kind of sad. Some flew away. But I had a feeling they would be back, later. The store wasn't open that late. Or maybe they would go somewhere else. There were lots of great trees around.

I was thinking about the buzzards as I got on my bike and turned on my lights. I have a set of bright lights: a strong two-watt light in the front, and a super blinking red light in the back. They really do have some great bike lights out there these days. The LED technology makes things possible. I was also wearing my bright green safety vest. I didn't really need the lights to see the road. I had them on just for safety.

I started riding up the hill. I was still thinking about the buzzards, because as I rode up the hill I could look over and see them in the pine trees to my left. Then I felt my right pocket vibrate. I pulled over to the right side of the road and took the call. It was my mother. I forget what we talked about. Because soon after I picked up my phone, a car pulled over next to me. It was a Camero or something, some blue sporty thing. A young guy was driving with a young girl sitting next to him. They weren't teenagers, but they were younger than me. I was still on the phone, but I looked at them. They had the windows down. I sensed their fear. The driver said, "Are we being pulled over?"

Wow. I just looked at this guy. Were my lights really that bright? I guess some combination of the lights and my official looking vest and my helmet, and maybe even the phone. Or maybe his guiltiness was part of it. Jeez. I just looked at this guy and couldn't believe it. And I was still on the phone.

"No, man. I am not a cop." I could see him and the girl relax a little. They had gotten away from a beast that wasn't really there. Now they were free. But for a few moments, they were trapped and busted.

The car drove off and I finished the phone call. A very weird and wonderful moment on the side of the road. I thought about it, did a little Sherlocking, but it was hard to get any firm conclusions. People do things and people think things. Go out into the world, and things will happen.

Well, it'll make a good story, I concluded. I got back to riding. Same old road, but different thoughts. I kept thinking. It had to have been because of the lights. My lights were on the flashing mode--which kind of makes a hectic strobing that does resemble those car-top police lights. And there's the brightness. The light really carries. Like I said, bike lights are pretty bright these days.

Desperation Days -- Phish 2011

2011-06-13T15:32:00.002-04:00

The desperation days were upon me. It was June. Soon it would be time to leave. I still had lots of pages to write so I could get to the last sentence of the book. The goal was to keep the wordflow going--write a good book and get to the end and then celebrate with a road trip. I had to finish the draft before I left.

I was used to writing all day and all night. The writing days had been good. I just kept on moving forward. One of the biggest challenges to the modern writer is little thing called writer's distraction. There's a lot going on. You have to focus.

And what do you do when Phish comes to town? I knew I had to see them play, but I also knew I had to write. Phish was playing two shows. On Saturday, I wrote during the day and went to the show at night. On Sunday, my day was occupied. My plan was to skip the show and write at night. Then I got the idea: why not do both. I would go to the show, bring my notes, and sit there and write with pen and paper. Phish would play and I would write.

This writing mission actually worked better than I ever thought. The show was about three hours and I wrote about ten pages. I sat near the back, near the trunk of a great tree. I wore ear plugs and I sat on the ground. A lady named Carol came over to talk with me a little bit, but for most of the show no one said anything to me. I just sat there and wrote. Phish was working. I was working. It really felt good.

Later on, these two guys stopped by and I got one of them to take a photo of me. I needed to document the desperation writing (see photo below).

The title, desperation days, is just what happens when you get deep into a book. Every moment becomes this precious thing, and you work all day and night, as much as you can, just moving toward the goal. The desire to write is so great that it's incredible. But you still want to live your life and have fun--maybe go to a concert or two. The mind makes things possible. I'm glad I got the idea to do both. Desperation days call for creative thinking.

The thing with desperation days is that you know they are happening. I even told Carol that I was in my desperation days. I said, "I absolutely have to finish this book before I go on the road." She seemed to understand. She was sitting maybe thirty feet in front of me. She liked to look back every so often. I just kept writing. It's the only way.

The Museums Are Like Libraries

2011-05-22T23:06:00.000-04:00

It was Ilyse and Travis and I on this D.C. mission. Travis thought of this photo. I took it. We were outside the National Gallery of Art. I believe the Allen Ginsberg photography exhibit was gone at this point. It was almost closing time, but we still went inside and enjoyed the permanent collection for about thirty minutes.

Museums are like libraries for the fleeting fine art moments of time.

One Night in Princeton -- I Could Write Ten Pages About This

2011-04-11T14:18:00.004-04:00

Travis and I went to the Shawangunk Mountains of New York for another training trip. The climbing was great. And driving by New York City was an exciting thing. We almost stopped on the way back. But Manhattan was a little out of the way, and we were fatigued from an all-day climbing session.

We went to Princeton instead. Princeton, New Jersey. It was right on the way. We got there around eleven o'clock on a Saturday night. We unpacked the folding bikes (Travis always keeps bikes in the car) and we set out to explore the campus.

It was a great night to see Princeton. College kids were walking around. I was going out of my mind overhearing conversations. We biked around, stopped to listen, rode up and down some cool ledges and ramps and hills, and at one point I said, "I could write ten pages about this night."

It's true. I really could. But not right now. We saw hemlock trees and heard the silly talk of young passersby. We finished the coffee we had and then got more coffee. We kept biking. The buildings were all lit up. All the old stone buildings and the lights reminded us of Loyola in Baltimore, another campus that was good for cruising.

One highlight for me was this moment that happened by this fountain. I had been mostly observing everything that was going on. My camera hand wasn't quite as active as it often is. Anyway, we were by this fountain when I got the idea for a photo. I told Travis to ride by slowly. I knew how to set my camera, and I got the shot on the first take. Here it is, a combination of the fountain lights and Travis on his bike and the Princeton night:

Training For Summer (And the Drums of Old Rag)

2011-03-27T13:39:00.003-04:00

The days are really filling up. It's fantastic. I love it. So much to do. I won't use the four-letter B-word like so many people do (you know, B-U-S . . . ). That word gets overused and it often has a negative connotation. Everything is okay. Every week I'm awake for about 112 hours. That's so much time. It really is.

I only have a few months till I'll be on the road with Travis and Graham. I need to get ready. I have books to write before I leave. I have books to read too. There are climbing techniques to learn. We're going to Yosemite. And there will be many days of rock climbing. It's time to train and get in shape.

My mind is pretty tough--writing days and book days will do this to you. But sitting all day is not the best for the body. I've been riding my bike more. And I've been climbing more. It's the only way. The best way to train for something is to do that something that you're going to be doing.

Recently, I've been climbing a lot with Travis. We've been talking about big walls. Yosemite has many great big walls. We've been climbing locally and also going on weekend trips.

One weekend trip took us to Old Rag. Travis and I went with Hilary and Graham. We drove down on a Friday, camped, woke up, then climbed to the top of Old Rag. We went up and over and found the rock climbing area. Old Rag is great for hiking, but you can also climb there. Anyway, Travis and I got up on the rock. Hilary was reading. Graham went off to explore. Then I heard a banging. Graham had found a dead branch and was banging on a dead tree with it. I heard this and I saw this from up on the rock. I really enjoyed his drumming. It was really beautiful. "Graham, that's beautiful," I said.

"I'm just banging on a dead tree," said Graham. "I might be getting bored." I told him to keep drumming, but he could only do it for so long. Travis knew a cool place, a nearby ridge. And Graham went off to explore the ridge.

Travis and I kept climbing. It was nice being up on the rock. We could look down and see Hilary with her book. And we could look off and see Graham on the rocky ridge. The sun was out. The buzzards were flying nearby. Everything felt right. And I could still hear that great hollow wooden tune that Graham had been drumming with a big broken branch and a dread tree trunk that was lying on the mountainside.

Crazy Times At The Symphony

2011-02-25T13:06:00.001-05:00

The plan was to write all day and then go to the symphony at night. The writing went well, and then it was evening, time to pause the writing and eat some food and then go outside for a walk. Then I got dressed. My writing clothes were too casual. I put on some nicer pants and a button-up shirt. As for shoes: my main dress shoes were my leather boat shoes, and they had become my indoor house shoes (for the winter). So I wasn't in the mood to take them outside.

I saw my old brown dress shoes and they spoke to me. They were dusty. They had been hanging out in the shoe holder on the back of my door. They were more than ten years old, but they were good shoes. They were the oldest shoes I had. But they still fit. I laced up my old brown shoes. It was time to go.

My mother and I drove to the symphony building, an old high school building in Annapolis, Maryland. We parked the car in the big parking lot and walked toward the building. My shoes felt more comfortable than I remembered, as if there was more cushioning or something.

When I got to the sidewalk by the old brick building, I noticed that a few little rocks had stuck to the bottoms of my shoes. When you're walking on a smooth hard surface, little things that are stuck to your soles tend to stand out. I heard the scraping, stopped, looked shoeward, and pulled off some of the little rocks. My mother saw me. I said, "I guess there's something sticky on here from a long time ago." You see, I hadn't worn the shoes in years.

We went inside, got some coffee, drank it, then got ready to go into the big room where the symphony was warming up. Like a good concertgoer, I made use of the bathroom before taking my seat. It was then I noticed the problem. The soles of my old shoes were falling apart. Little chunks of old rubber had broken off. I saw them on the bathroom floor. I locked myself in a stall and looked at my soles. They looked like shit, full of parking lot pebbles and dust and dirt, and also around they edges they were breaking. Little chunks of rubber broke off like little brown icebergs. Okay, I thought, I'll just have to walk carefully.

I walked as easy as I could. I tried not to bend my soles. This was hard. You bend your soles a lot when you walk. I walked slow and easy--a floating shuffle step. The area by the auditorium doors was all crowded. Good cover. I casually looked down. Little brown rubber chunks on the old granite floor. I smiled. It was funny. But I also felt a little self conscious. My big fear was that someone would see my shoes and the rubber chunks and call me out. I was not in a crowd of drunken rock and rollers. Classical music fans are usually pretty sharp. Did they see me? Did they notice? Was anyone following the bread crumbs my shoes were leaving?

Instead of the main isle, I took the side isle. I walked to my seat with cool confidence. It's the best way anyway. Once I was seated, I was safe. Of course I had to explain my old shoe breakdown blues to my mother. Luckily no one was sitting right next to us. I took off a shoe and showed her. They sole looked even worse, with big cracks and crevasses and jagged rubber edges.

The Annapolis Symphony Orchestra started playing. I tried to enjoy the music, but my mind was going wild about my old shoes. The shoes themselves provided some craziness, but there was also the walking. Challenges walking, walking blues. I felt trapped. I felt trapped in a crazy kind of way. When your shoes fall apart at the symphony, you can't really walk around in stocking feet. I looked down. I enjoyed the music, but it was impossible to turn off the flow of thoughts in my mind. The craziness had found me. I was in my own story. But what would happen?

The big work that night was the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto in E Minor. I dug this piece, and the soloist was good, of course (you don't become a touring soloist unless you got it), but my mind kept going back to my shoes. I had taken my feet out of the shoes. My theory was that they heat from my feet was warming up the rubber and facilitating the breakdown.

I heard the music. I watched the musicians. All their shoes looked so good. All black and shinny under the bright lights above the stage. When the music got wild and crazy, it seemed to be soundtracking right along with my mind. A tightness was building in my bladder. I was contemplating one word at this point: intermission. I had to walk to the bathroom. And I had to wear my shoes. But my shoes were getting worse. My big fear was that the whole sole would just cleave off, and someone would notice and call me out. Because how do you hide from your shoes?

Intermission time came, and I took the less-traveled side isle (right by the auditorium wall), and only a few chunks fell. The floor of the auditorium was carpeted. I left a few chunks. Then I left a few more chunks in the hallways and the bathroom, where I checked my soles again. The crevasses were getting bigger. The broken off chunks were getting bigger too.

I slow-walked back to my seat. "It's getting pretty bad," I said to my mother. "Big pieces are falling off now." I decided to pick off the ones that were hanging on. They came off very easy. Some were as big as Matchbox cars. I put these chunks in my program and wrapped them up. Like I said, I was glad no one was sitting next to me. I was sitting near the end of a row, near the wall.

And when the gig was over, I walked out of there and I felt about one inch shorter. I dumped my sole debris in the garbage and walked out of the building without looking back. It was a big relief to be outside. More rocks than ever stuck to my soles in the old parking lot, but everything was fine. I had embraced the craziness of the night. And I was excited to write about it. And my mother and I were laughing about the incident. We talked about the music. Yes, yes, the music was great. The soloist really knew her Mendelssohn. But we kept going back to the shoes. And I was thinking about my footwear in a whole different way.

When I got home, I carefully put the old shoes back in the holder on the back of my door. I might not ever wear them again, but there was a crazy beauty to those shoes, and that was something that was worth saving.

The Adventure of the Snowy Night and the Buzzards

2011-01-28T20:00:00.000-05:00

I knew the snow was coming, but for a while I wasn't paying attention. I was upstairs writing on my old Smith-Corona, working hard and writing in the groove. Then the power started to flicker. I knew the snowfall was for real. We lost it for a bit, but it came back. I turned out the lights and worked at the typewriter with just my headlamp. I wrote three wonderful pages. Then I played some guitar. It was around 11:00 at night. I came downstairs and everyone was going to bed. Some more guitar, jamming in the key of D. Then I looked at Marley--and I could see the big snowfall outside the front windows--so I knew it was time to go out. Normally, I would cringe at taking a long break from writing, but on this night I felt good; my cells were churning away with total splendor. And when things feel good, I've learned to keep moving forward. Thirty years on a planet will do something to you. Thirty-one will do more--so my point is not the exactness of the age, but rather the experience. If the wisdom is flowing, I blame my thoughts and the phone calls (to VA & CA & CO) & of course the lesson I learned from the Great Buzzard--but that is skipping ahead, and so I will pause, sip, think, and then write logically. I must also scrounge up a new page because this one is almost full. Yes, I wrote this thing with pen and paper, but we'll get to all that later.

So I geared up & Marley & I went out the front door. It was a dark night, but the world was white. About eight inches had fallen. My neighbor was shoveling and I saw him and talked with him for a few seconds. "Well, I'm going to go exploring," I said, & my words could not have been any truer. First, we ran up the sidewalk. The fresh snow felt great. Marley ran with big bouncing strides--into the night! Nowhere to go but forward. A playful mind comes easy in the snow. Feet can find the old forgotten joys. Up the street, snow on cars, streetlight glows, the Great Quiet of snow, a quiet I love--the stuff must really dampen sound. But the sky was clear--very nice out, 35ish for sure. 32 and up is heavenly.

Then we left our neighborhood & went running down the street. I decided to let Marley lead the way. Of course we followed our usual walk route, but Marley tended to go to the great powder path of the road. But I led him back to the sidewalk, and we ran on. I had to stop and ventilate, take off my gloves and unzip my jacket. Running in the snow felt great & for a few moments I had a great life vision--I've always been moving forward and going where my good steps take me. "This is most certainly a real life experience," I thought.

And down the road I saw my first plow truck. It looked like a monster. Then we walked down the hill. I saw two people. Marley saw them too but he didn't care. He had his p-mail to check and with all the snow his job was harder (the inbox will fill up). I followed the two guys down the hill. They went to meet three other guys who were shoveling in the road. All five guys were standing by this giant snow mound, like the kind of mound you see near parking lot peripheries in the winter. But this big 7-foot high mound was in the road. One guy had a snow-skate, a skateboard deck mounted on top of a snowboard-like bottom. In the pre-communication moments, my mind ran wild--I thought this kid was going to ramp off the mound and do something terrifyingly cool. But he just piddled down the hill toward the mound.

"That's some pile you got there," I said to the kid with the yellow jacket and the cigarette.

"Oh yeah," he said. "Hey is that a husky?" but he didn't even give me a chance to answer before he was off talking with his buddy.

"Oh, I see," I said. "It's a car."

A car had been stuck on the hill and in the road and these guys had covered the car with snow, which was probably a terrible idea--but they were young and perhaps they knew the owner.

Now that other people were involved, my night was getting weird. A car roared down the hill, threading the needle between the kids & the car/snow mountain. "Asshole," said one kid. The driver was going way too fast for the conditions. It was time to get off the road. I went a little farther down the hill, then off the road to the right.

I knew instantly what I had to do. Forget those silly boys, the buzzards are the thing to see. So I went down, just a little farther, until I was standing in the right place so I could see the place where all the buzzards had gathered. (I say buzzards, but you could also say vultures. They were turkey vultures.)

"This is where they live," I said to Marley. Bang! A snowplow clipped a curb. The birds didn't care. Marley sat down in the snow. I looked at him as he looked at the birds. He saw them. Words formed in my head & I wished I had a tape recorder: I saw the buzzards, thirty or forty buzzards resting in the treetops, creatures about the size of turkeys, dark birds silhouetted against snowy branches & a light-colored sky.

The birds were sleeping on treetops, branches, and on top of a nearby supermarket where the heat was surely welcome. Marley and I watched them for minutes. They were mostly still. But sometimes: a fluttering of wings, which sounded wonderful. If I had wings, I would flutter them all the time.

Then Marley began to growl. He was pointing to a dark spot in a bush top. I thought it was actually just a dirty old plastic bag. But no. It was the lone vulture, sleeping down low away from all the others. It was about 20 feet away, a big black bird with shaggy feathers. No need to look at the far away birds. Here was my subject, my teacher. This bird was the one. "Marley, be nice, no growl." Marley looked at me. "We must treat this animal with respect."

It was a big bird at the top of a not so big bush, bending the branch that it sat on. But it was a stable position. The bird seemed tired. He or she had just weathered an all-day rainstorm that had morphed into 8 inches of snow. It was deep in bird REM, so much so that I worried about it. "But if the bird was dead, it would surely fall," I thought. Birds live outside on much colder nights.

Soon the guys that were by the car/snow mound walked away. Marley & I continued down the street to the shopping center where more plow trucks were working hard, cashing in on the crop of snow. These plow drivers must know about coffee. They probably go all night and go all over trying to get as many plowing gigs as they can. The one guy was ramming forward, then speeding in reverse back across the parking lot to where he started so he could bite off another chunk. I guess it was easier than turning around. It's not often that you get to see a car doing 20 in reverse in a parking lot. It looked dangerous. But the driver was in control. The best part for them (besides the cash) was surely the ramming of the plow into the big pile at the end of the lot. People rarely get to ram their cars into stuff. Marley seemed like he was ready to walk back. And I was too.

So back we went. I of course had to stop again for silent council with the wise old buzzard. Marley did not growl. The bird was still there. I crouched down low so I could see this animal's beak silhouetted against a white backdrop. The bird rested smoothly like an ancient champion. I was thinking about evolution & and quote of my own that I should ask my friend about, when a plow truck came to the street corner where I was standing. The car/snow mountain was nearby, and so I acted. I flagged down the plow truck. They rolled down a window. "Hey, how's it going?" I asked.

"Good, how's it going?"

"I just wanted to tell you guys that there's a car in there." I pointed.

"What? Stop playin'," said the driver.

"No, he's right--I see the mirror," said the other man in the car.

"I wanted ya'll to know & I don't know what the right thing to do is. Maybe you could radio."

They weren't really sure either, and they drove off to make more money on the next gig. I checked for traffic & went to the snow-covered car. I put my right glove (which was the first one I grabbed) on my left hand & started uncovering the car. The moment I touched the car, a big blue flash filled the sky! Lightning, or perhaps a power outage. Then darkness, a flicker, and then the street lights were soon back. I went back to uncovering the car. It was a Chrysler. I made it so you could see the lights--reflective I hoped--in the front and back. It was no longer a beautiful snow pile waiting to get rammed--it was a dangerous obstacle & I knew that I had done the right thing. Shit, I might have even saved a life.

We walked home, walking around fallen limbs & being careful not to walk under sagging branches. Marley was still checking the smells & marking his territory with urine. A few cars drove by & I was reminded of the lonely beauty of the road late at night.

Then in our neighborhood, I saw a big truck stuck in the snow at the top of the street. The guy got out. I went over. He had a plan & a shovel, but I noticed him looking at me in a bit of a weird way. Yes, it was almost one a.m., but lots of people were out on this starry night.

And as I walked off, I realized it was the glove, the black glove on my left hand. Being a righty glove, the glove's thumb faced out, not in, and it looked as though I had a horribly misshapen hand. Oh well. I had work to do.

I went inside. Got a seat, paper, pen, blanket, cup, & my emergency Chivas. I knocked the snow off the crape myrtle branches (always good to ease the burden), leashed Marley to the tree, made a fine snow/scotch drink. And then I sat there on the front steps for an hour or so & wrote this story with warm hands, cold feet, and the sound of dripping snow water with also the sporadic clashing blasts of distant snow plows bashing into curbs and concrete.

And now I will take these cold handwritten pages & finish my drink . . . . ah . . . . cold drinks stay cold a long time outside on winter nights, & I will take Marley, who's all balled up in his Husky Glory, and we will go inside and enjoy the easy warmth of home.

[Note to the reader: As you know, I wrote this whole thing by hand that night, with my headlamp of course. It's nice to look back on these pages because you can see how I was writing faster and messier as the night went on. I was getting tired and I didn't want to stay outside all night. But I had to write the whole thing and get to the end. And I knew right away that this would be a nice thing to put up on the blog, but I wanted to keep it as I wrote it. So now, as I re-typed these pages, I only changed typos and major errors. I resisted the urge to add or edit. This piece is how I wrote it that night, with all those &s (something I often do to save time when I'm journaling or writing by hand). Thanks to the lone buzzard, and thanks for reading, Jeff]

Writing Notes for the New Posts

2010-12-14T12:37:00.000-05:00

Today is a day for working on the blog. I will finish some of the half-written posts that have been accumulating here in the secret regions of this blog in much the same way that the little handwritten notes accumulate around my desk.

The goal with this blog is to write some words for people to read, and to write at least one post a month. And even though I am behind on my one-a-month goal, I will get caught up. So thanks to everyone who keeps checking in, day after day.

Now I'll set the scene. I'm in the writing room. I got my guitars and other instruments in their cases and out of sight. The risk of distraction is too high. Sometimes I can see a guitar and walk away, but I don't want to test myself right now. But I will put on some music, as a way to satisfy the musical part of my mind. I've selected the The Pizza Tapes, which feature a power trio of the acoustic world if there ever was one: Jerry Garcia, David Grisman, and Tony Rice. As I sit here writing, I can see Marley in the hall to my left. The December sun is shining in from the window to my right. The music is turned up pretty loud, but it's coming in clear.

Sometimes it takes some searching to find the right music for writing. Most of the time I like to work in silence. But there's a joyful feeling in my bones today. I've reached a good point with my books where I'm happy to take a break, and I know I won't feel too guilty setting my words down in some pages that are not book pages.

I have already started going through notebooks and photographs and calendars to see what I've done and the order in which it all happened. When I started this process of looking back, I felt shocked: all the photographs and all the missions that have happened just in the last few months. There's many details in my mind and in my archives. But I'm going to try and go through and pick out some from here and there, and then set them down. I'll try to include some photos too, because I've gotten some requests.

Well, time has passed. The posts are coming together. I'm into my third listen of The Pizza Tapes. And now I'll pour some coffee from my vacuum flask and go back in my mind to the happy month of June, when the East Coast lands that I call home were very green, and the sweat of summer was thick upon my brow, and I was doing what many people in the world were doing: watching soccer and thinking about life.

Flowing Through November (And Writing In The Car)

2010-11-30T18:18:00.000-05:00

Now the flow has taken me forward again. And I can stop and look back at November. November came and I had to start planning for the holidays and the traveling and the time with family and friends. It's like this every year for me. Between Thanksgiving and Christmas there's about a month. There's a lot that happens in those holiday days. And I get excited, but I have to remember the flow and stay focused so that I can get my writing done and also get some other things done as well.

It's not good to waste too much time. A lot of good can come from only one or two hours. Not everyday can be an all-day writing day, but I've learned to write everyday, even if it's just a little, so that I can maintain the flow and the momentum.

But this November I came up with a new invention: car writing. Now this would not have been possible without my brother's help. Thank you Chris. Around the holidays there's lots of traveling to be done. Drive one place that is a couple of hours away, and that's a couple hours of writing that gets done. Driving somewhere else, and that's another couple hours. This adds up. The pages add up. I am happy.

Now my typewriter was not the right tool for the job. So I used my laptop, which is still quite new and has a good battery life. My writing seat in the car is usually the same: the back right seat. Sitting there I am away from Chris and less of a distraction. When I'm writing, there's the sound of my fingers working the keys, and the expressions on my face, and even sometimes little blasts of vocal delight that come out as I'm writing.

The first time I tried some car writing, it went very well. Of course I took some necessary steps that I knew would help me maintain the flow. I wore headphones or earplugs. I wore a hat with a brim that I wore down low to minimize my view of the world. The trick was not to get too excited about the sunlight and the road, but rather to stay inside that page.

And then there's the beer. The beer is there because I don't want to get motion sick. The hot acidic flow of vomit is not the flow my laptop needs. I do get car sick if I'm not looking around. And I've thrown up on boats before. But then I learned of a simple cure. All you have to do is have a few beers. Two or three is all you really need, unless you're out longer. I always thought the beer would make it worse on the boat, but then I tried it. It worked so well. And I haven't gotten motion sick on a boat since. So before I hop in the car with Chris, I drink a beer or two. Then I hunker down and work.

As for the actual act of car writing, many of my books are about my travels on the roads of America. And so there's a natural and good feeling to be felt when I'm on the road and writing about the road.

And so it goes--flowing through November, writing on the road, writing at home, getting into that warm and cozy state of mind which is the holiday-state-of-mind. You know what they say. It's a good life if you don't weaken.

Safe travels and happy days,

Jeff

Flowing Through October (And Some Words about Writing)

2010-10-31T14:19:00.006-04:00

I'm looking back on October. "On October," I say to myself. "On October," the sound of the words. It's easy to get stuck in one thing, one moment, one day. But thoughts can flow, if you let them. And I'm going to work with that, and get into the flow, and write about this past October and some of the things that happened and whatever else I might get into.

October is just the name of the month. What I really want to talk about is what happened in this little chunk of time: 31 days of living. You can do a lot with a whole month. I learned this long ago. You can travel thousands of miles. Or you can write hundreds of pages. But it's hard to do both at the same time. I write as much as I can when I'm out there on the road--and some good stuff often pops up when you're out there in the heat of the moment--but as far as productivity: it's hard to beat a long line of all-day writing days. That's when the really good stuff seems to come.

October was a month for writing and it was also a celebration month. It was one month after I finished my big 100 Days of Writing project. Day 100 happened on September 16. I worked as hard as I could that day and I reached the last sentence of the book that I was writing. That moment was a happy moment to receive in the brilliant solitary quiet of a late night at the end of a marathon writing adventure.

My 100 Days of Writing had been very productive. Now I had all this great writing momentum behind me. I kept writing. I was writing my way into the later half of my third book. Then Jake flew to the East Coast. He arrived on October 1. I picked him up from the airport. He asked me about my 100 Days of Writing while we were driving in the car. And before I knew it, he was recording what I was saying with a video camera. One take. I felt like I got it. But I wondered about my hair. Was it perfect? Probably so, but how would I know without a mirror. No, don't worry about that, just trust Jake, I thought.

Jake had arrived at a great time. We planned a big New York City adventure. It was exactly what we both needed and wanted. There were things to see and write about, and Jake was excited to take photographs. No bikes for us. We walked around Manhattan. We drank beers in McSorley's. There were friends to meet! Slices of pizza to savor! And part of me wished that I was still back in my 100 Days of Writing--so I would be able to write about what Jake and I were up to in the city. And maybe I still will. New York City is a great place to write about in a book. And being the writer, I can do whatever I want. Add some extra innings even after the 100 Days is over. Why not? Or maybe when I look back, it won't really fit. There's different ways to write about moments from the past. It's up to the writer.

What am I talking about here? It's really about the flow. The flow in life, and the flow in writing. It feels good to be so excited about life that you feel like writing about it. I've been alive for many years. And I've been a writer for over five years. Writing, by now, is very natural, just like living. I wake up in the morning and I do it. And maybe I take a break from writing and go to New York City. That's okay. Going to New York City is living, and living is research for writing. That's the thing with writing: it's tied up so closely with living. And why not? The full-time job that you end up working is a big part of your life. It's not your whole life, of course, but it's a good chunk.

And so, today, I'll do what I've been doing, and what I plan on doing for the rest of my life. I will get myself to my writing machine (I'm working on my book on the typewriter right now) and I will write. I will look at where I left off, and then I will continue writing. And I have my mantras. I've written mantras on little yellow pieces of paper that are taped where I can see them on my desk. These words bring me great comfort when I see them and say them: "Tell the story. Go in order." It's very simple and yet it is enough. Tell the story. Okay, I will. What's happening right here? Well, I'm pressing keys that make digital letters appear in a window that Google's engineers have made so that people can write their blogs. And right now, I'm not worried about what I'm going to write next. Because the flow is strong right now. I know where I'm at, right here and right now, and I know where I started. I started--we started--with October and the idea of looking back. And in the looking back, I saw all the writing that was there. And now that I'm writing about writing, there's been a shift (and I'm going to have to go back up and maybe add a subtitle to the title of this particular post).

And now I've jumped down to a new paragraph. Maybe the last one. I'm still not worried at all. If you write with fear in your heart--what good will that do? Readers are smart. Readers can see what's going on. People sense things. Confidence is king when you're laying it down on the page. Move forward with confidence. The typewriter has taught me many things about moving forward and keeping the flow going. The typewriter teaches. The writing days teach. A writer always has something to learn. You never get to the top. You just keep climbing. Steady progression. Look around. Might as well. Let the beauty fill your lungs so that you will balloon up, good and full and inspired, and then you'll be able to see what's going on right now and you'll also be able to see the options that are there when it comes time for forward movement. Tell the story. Go in order. I know this story, the one right now. I know it and I love it, and I will not be afraid to set it free when the time comes. Like I said, writing feels very natural to me, just keep the flow going, tell the story and go in order, tell the story and let it happen. One sentence ends, the next begins. One book ends, start another. Your life becomes your life because you live it. I'm lucky to have a job that brings me so much joy, hour after hour and day after day. Tell the story. Go in order. Okay, there's writing, and then there's joy, and then there is more writing. And then there's love--I've hardly written a word that hasn't come from my great lifelong love of writing. And of course there's the flow. And if you rise up and meet the flow, then the flow will take you where you want to go. The end.

On the Bus, On the Road

2010-09-11T17:44:00.000-04:00

Well it's about time for a post. I've been a little behind with the posts, as you may have noticed. But my excuse is a good one: I've been working hard and writing a lot. Except I haven't been writing here on the blog--which is pretty much the only place you can read my words right now, as I'm still searching for a publisher for book 1 (if you have publishing contacts in the narrative nonfiction world, please email me).

Anyway, jeez, where are my manners. I shouldn't start advertising before I set the scene. At this particular moment in time, I am on the bus, on the road, literally writing as this bus is headed south from 33rd Street, New York City, to Penn Station, Baltimore, and with the free wifi, and all my writing/traveling energy, I've decided to end another blog hiatus, and write some words for the world to read.

Of course, you must realize that I will soon go back and complete the past posts for July and August. I started a few, but never got around to posting them. So, in the future, there will be new posts that are below this one, which might be a little confusing from a reading standpoint, but I'm not worried. You all are smart and I know you can handle it.

Yes, I'm feeling very relaxed now. Party because of the last three big days of writing in New York City, but also because of the fact that I happened to get very lucky and was able to finish a crazy sprint (with backpack and beard bouncing and all pockets jangling), a sprint across the city, which put me on this bus (the Bolt), just one minute before the driver headed out. I knew it was going to be close, but that was awesome.

The reason for my crazy sprint mission across the city: I had been down at Ground Zero, observing and remembering and talking with some people. Today was the ninth anniversary of September 11, 2001--yet another day that has sadly gone down in infamy.

So, being in the City, I felt I should go down to where the Twin Towers fell and pay my respects. Near Ground Zero, there was a building set up as a World Trade Center tribute/visitor center. It was a tremendously powerful and sad exhibit to walk through--as was seeing all the people, out on the street, and all the uniformed Fire and Rescue people, and the Police people, and all the cranes with the flags flying half-mast on their down-hanging crane cables. It was a special place. I had to linger. I had to buy a beer, and stand in the doorway looking out at the cranes, and sip slowly as I thought about death and life, and life and death, and the island of Manhattan (which means a lot to me and millions of others) . . . and then, I looked down at my watch--oh no! My bus was leaving in twenty minutes and I was so far from my bus! Time to run! Sprint to the Subway, grab the first uptown train, and hope for the best.

And I made it. And I think when I write the whole thing out (which'll be in the book version, of course), and explain exactly how I made it, it'll make you smile. For now, you'll have to trust me.
The city certainly made me smile. I decided on Tuesday night to take the bus from Baltimore to New York City so that I could stay in the City and work. I left on Thursday morning and spent Thursday, Friday, and Saturday (today) in New York City, mainly Manhattan. I got a lot of work done, and now I feel good, especially because this bus has an electrical socket by which I can power my laptop/writing machine. I will be able to write the whole way back to Baltimore. I hoped I could do this. And now I am happy. I picked a seat with a working socket. You never know with buses.

Now is the perfect time to head home. My camera batteries are just about done (I hardly ever let this happen, but it felt right today). My food is gone, no more sandwiches. My cash is gone. I have a little coffee and that's about it. I will hydrate later. I will eat later, and bathe later too. But now, I must write!

(Written and dedicated to all New Yorkers, past and present, and especially all Emergency Service Workers, on this, the 11th day of September, 2010.)

Reclaiming The Dream (My First March)

2010-08-29T19:13:00.000-04:00

The day was August 28, 2010. If you know your history, you know that August 28 is a special day. This year was the forty-seventh anniversary. Forty-seven years since August 28, 1963, which was the day of the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom. Forty-seven years since Martin Luther King, Jr. gave his "I have a dream," speech.

It was a Saturday and I woke up early, very early. They were calling for big lines at the metro stations. The '63 march was being talked about for weeks and weeks. A new march was scheduled. I was going to go and march with my friend Debbie and all the thousands of others. This 2010 march was called the Reclaim The Dream March. It would be my first march.

Another event was planned for the same day. It was a rally of conservatives, happening not on the mall, but actually on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, a bold very move by the conservatives. Of course no one group of people owns the history of America. It's there for all of us. And although I did not agree with the talk and viewpoints of these conservatives, they were entitled to gather and say what they wanted. The conservative speakers who were going to broadcast their voices on this day were not in the White House. I was comforted by this. Times have changed.

But I was worried. The word conservative, taken in a political context, often rings very strangely in my ears. I'm willing to bet that in the 1963 march--as well as in the civil rights movement--that conservative participants were in the minority. Now, on this day, two very different groupings of people were heading down in huge numbers to Washington, D.C. I was worried about trouble. And they even prepped us about this before the march.

Like so many others, I was simply there to honor the memory of Dr. King as well as to honor and consider the great journey toward equality and freedom, which is one of the most important journeys of the human species. Good work has been done, but there is still much more to accomplish.

It turned out to be a good day and a great march. Pretty much all of the conservative rally goers that I saw simply stood there and watched us walk by. I'm not ready to take you through all the details of this day. Perhaps in my 100 Days book I'll delve a little deeper. Right now, I want to thank Debbie and Luna for accompanying me on this hopeful day. It was a day of tearful eyes, crying for pains of the past, and crying for the great beauty of something better. Equality and civil rights are very important. Just like the idea of good health. Equality is connected to freedom, and without freedom and some kind of descent health, what does a person have? Health care is a big business, and people suffer because of this. Discrimination still happens everyday.

And so we must remember love and Dr. King and the freedom that he worked for. We must remember that we have legs to stand up with. And remember this too: we have fantastic minds that allow for solving problems in peaceful ways. I hear Dr. King speak and I am moved to work harder and act kinder. He was a writer and a speaker and a friend to freedom.

But there are a few specifics that need to be mentioned. Debbie and Luna and I marched, but where did we start? We started at Dunbar High School. Dunbar High School, on Jersey Ave., Northwest, was America's first public high school for black students. We marched from there, down through the streets of Washington, under the hot sun, past the museums, past the National Mall, and over to the future site of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial. (That's right. A new memorial is coming to D.C. One year from now and it should be open.) And there were more speakers at this site, including Martin Luther King III, the son of Dr. King.

And from there, we walked back to the mall. They had a really good exhibit set up on the grass near the center of the mall. I'll post a photo below. And on the speakers they were playing a continuous collection of Dr. King's speeches. Hearing those words in the air in D.C., it was a beautiful tribute to a bygone beauty, Dr. King.

The exhibit where we heard his recorded speeches:

I took these photos too. Scrolling down, they are in order, from Dunbar High School to the future site of the Dr. King Memorial:

A Good Summer Day in The Nation's Capitol

2010-08-13T16:31:00.000-04:00

I've been caught up in this big 100 Days of Writing Project, and because of that I've been working extra hard for a while now. The act of writing is usually done, for me, in a place that's inside. Sometimes I can get some writing done outside, but usually I am inside. I've been inside a lot this summer.

So when the call came on my cell phone, late one night, I knew what I had to do. I talked with my friend on the phone and we planned a D.C. bike mission. He had a sleek black vintage road bike that we had revived not long ago. And I had plenty of bikes in the basement. For a city mission, I went with the old maroon Mongoose. It's a mountain bike that I bought from my brother. It's an old bike but it's descent. He got it at college. It works. And I'm not too worried when I lock it up. The thing about a mountain bike is that it has wider tires, and this is actually a nice thing when city streets get unruly with potholes or debris.

It had been a good while since sweat garage. I'd been so deep into my writing that I just hadn't taken the time to go hard and sweat it out. Now it was time.

The night before the mission, I had been up late, writing of course. I let myself sleep in till around eight o'clock. Then I threw some panniers on the bike, packed them with food and water and rain gear, and headed out the front door. I had a couple hours of good sweaty biking before I was even at the metro station. Actually, I met my friend on the street. He was driving in his car. I kept looking for him. He drove down Route 1 and saw me standing at the corner as I flagged him down. I still knew of a good secret free parking spot. I led the way there. Then we both took off on our bikes. "Want some whiskey?" he asked. I took a swig. "Needs ice," i said. We went to McDonald's for ice and water too.

The metro ride to the city was a delight with cold drinks to sip on and this crazy AC unit that was just pouring condensation onto a nearby seat. It was another good sweat garage day and this poor AC machine needed help. No one sat in that seat. Water puddled on the vinyl seat cover and even dripped on the carpeted floor.

It was a weekday, not too many people at the National Zoo. It rained hard and we got soaked, but it was so hot it didn't matter. It felt good. Summer rain coming down, with me looking up and smiling as water hit my face and fell in my mouth. The hardest thing was keeping the camera dry. I had a system of plastic bags, with a folded up paper towel in the innermost one, which acted as a desiccant.

The zoo was cool. A girl was going to meet us there, but she never did, and we were both okay with that. From the zoo, it's a long fine downhill road toward the National Mall. We rode this downhill, no rain, and stopped near 7th street NE. This was a popular street I knew and liked. And we could get food or drinks or coffee if we wanted. Then over to the National Galley of Art for another visit to this art exhibit that was one of my most favorite exhibits ever, an exhibit titled "Beat Memories," the photographs of Allen Ginsberg. (I would end up going to this exhibit about four times.) I looked and smiled. There they were, looking so beautiful in black and white: Allen, Jack, Neal, Gregory. There was even a photograph of Bob Dylan. And Allen had great handwritten captions for every one.

After good exercise and whiskey and art, everything else was just cake: outside the art gallery we hid under a tree for another big downpour, then over to the mall, bike west, keep flowing straight to the Lincoln Memorial, one of my favorite places in D.C. I always feel good on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. And I keep coming back. Part of it is because of the great freedom moment that happened there on August 28, 1963, when Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. spoke the words "I have a dream" in his mighty speech. This great event is marked right there: a few words carved into the marble on the landing near the upper set of monument stairs. It's a special place.

The Lincoln Memorial was the last main stop on our D.C. mission. We stayed there for about an hour, sitting on the steps, talking, looking East, watching the sky change with sunset light and of course having to take some photos. We experienced a beautiful sunset that night.

Greetings From The Sweat Garage

2010-07-20T15:23:00.000-04:00

Sweat garage must be documented. Sweat garage is a state of mind and it's also a condition. Sweat garage is what happens when you work on your car outside in Maryland in the heat of summer. This happened last month when I was working on my sister's car.

Go outside at the hottest hour of the hottest day and the sweat will flow--just by standing there. If you're working, the flow thickens. Now this wasn't my first sweat garage. There have been others. Travis was there for the very first one. We wore two of my old baseball hats and filled the hat fabric with sweat.

If you spend time with me, you may have heard me talking about the sweat garage. Sometimes when things get good and sweaty, I will reference the sweat garage. Tribute. Respect. For everyone else, please enjoy this sweaty concept, one that was born on the hot summer streets of America and has since found a special place in my heart.

Before I write more, let's get some photos going here:

Sure it might be nice to get up early and try to get the work done before the sun is up there in the power position. But some jobs take a while. A couple rusted bolts can take hours to break free. Then you get into the heat of the day. I've gotten pretty good at dealing with the heat. If it's 105 or below, I've trained myself to think it's warm. Hot, for me, starts above 105.

Now on this day it was 103 in the shade, much hotter in the sun. This was the first time I used a sun shade umbrella in the sweat garage. I figured it was hot enough. (I held the umbrella upright by clamping it in a bicycle repair stand, worked great.)

And when I was crawling around on the ground and walking to and from the house for tools, I could feel my heart beating good and hard. I actually worried a little about my brain. I kept drinking so much water and juice. And the sweat! Oh boy! I hadn't had a good sweat like this in years. It woke me up. By the end of this day I had soaked through several T-shirts. And when I would get down on the ground--and especially when I was on my back--my body weight would squeeze the sweat from my clothes and make a wet spot on the hard pavement. A sweaty kiss between my body and the earth.

But with the right attitude and the right pacing, a sweat garage can be a happy place. Call it sweat garage and it seems more fun. It's a concept of embracing. You get into the weirdness of the heat. The sweat flows. The work gets done. And a cool place to rest at the end of the day never felt so good.

Thanks for visiting the sweat garage.
Have fun and safe travels,

Jeff

Party Time

2010-06-28T16:57:00.000-04:00

Last weekend was a great party weekend. It all started on a Friday evening. My brother Chris and I got in the car and drove over to the party. We got there as the sun was going down, and the first lightning bugs were just getting started in and around the sparkling forest.

The party started that night, which was when the great cooking mission began. There was keg beer, colas, sodas, and water to drink. People set up tents in the backyard. I started with beer, but then switched to coffee. I had to stay up all night and help watch the pig, which cooked all night. Around four o'clock or so, with everyone else sleeping, I did some writing with the paper and pen in my pocket. I had to. You see, I'm engaged in this big writing project and I had to keep the wordflow going. Even if I just touch pen to paper for a few minutes, that counts.

And on Saturday, the pig came off and the guests arrived. A bluegrass band came and played music for everyone. This was a beautiful thing: to be in the backyard, with the summer green of Maryland woods all around, and friends nearby, eating and drinking and talking. Chris and I created a vegetarian bean dish, and I ate those garlic/cheese beans out of an empty bean can. And it was about this time that Chris reached for my camera so that he could take this photo:

And I was feeling happy in my green shirt in the summer sun with the music playing. The U.S. soccer team was playing Ghana. People were hopeful, happy, the party was going strong and the music sounded great.

One of our friends couldn't be there. But we had a piece of paper with a likeness of his face, and people went around with the paper photograph, keeping his great party spirit alive. In addition to the paper likeness, there were crayfish and green trees. This photograph shows these things:

The Oil Is Still Spilling

2010-06-15T22:18:00.000-04:00

President Obama spoke tonight. I watched him on TV, on one of the basic stations, totally free, with our special digital antenna picking up the signal. He talked about the problems in the gulf, the problems with offshore drilling, and the oil spill that has become known as The Deepwater Horizon Oil Spill.

This Deepwater spill is a sad and ugly thing, as all the oil spills are. Nothing good comes from polluting the world we live in, this planet we call home. But this kind of dirty business goes on. Oil companies have their greedy drill bits buried deep into the modern world and the American way of life. The U.S. is the country which consumes--by far--the most oil. Using 2008 numbers from U.S. Energy Information Administration, the U.S. drinks down about 19 million barrels of oil per day. (China is the second place consumer, guzzling about 7 million barrels per day.) We use a lot of oil, which means we have to manage a lot of oil: physically get it, refine it, move it, ship it, import it, pump it, pour it, and so on.

Looking at the Wikipedia page for "oil spills," and then the page for "list of oil spills", I see that this most recent Deepwater Horizon spill is only one on a long list of oil spills. Billions of barrels of oil have been spilled and burned and wasted over the years--hundreds of spills--and Deepwater looks like it'll go down as one of the big ones.

Oil spills keep happening. Why is this? Well I am not an oil spill expert, but my ponderings have me pointing my finger at: gravity, entropy, carelessness, flaws in containment, and accidental occurrences. And there doesn't appear to be any end in sight with respect to oil spills. Perhaps we'll have to wait until we burn it all up and there is no more oil left to spill.

As I write these words, the toxic black gold keeps leaking out into the gulf waters. We've all seen the photos. Animals covered in black goo. People in clean-up suits doing the slow work of cleaning. Nature takes a lot of abuse. And it seems that a good bit of such abuse stems form the species with the name tag: Homo sapiens (or Homo sapiens sapiens if you want to get more technical). Our numbers keep growing and our problems never seem to end. But the good people are trying.

I think about New York City, the biggest city in our fair country, and yet it's a place where approximately 54% of people don't own cars and public transportation is widely used. I think about a friend I know, buying big bags of organic grains and riding his bike around all the time. I think about other friends I know, keeping their homes cool in the winter and warm in the summer because it's better for the environment and their wallets. A bunch of little things can add up and help. Of course a bunch of other little things can add up to do some harm. But the good people of the world know deep down what they have to do.

And all this Deepwater ugliness will be fixed, although it looks as if the spill has the potential to drag on for some time. And I hope that in this country, and in this world, people will move toward fuels and energies and machines and that are safer, more efficient, and less harmful to the environment. As for right now, I think I'll raise the thermostat a little higher, sweat a little more, and then go out for a bike ride, a little nighttime road meditation to cleanse my mind of oily thoughts and to ease the weight of the world.

Into the Sparkling Forest

2010-06-14T05:17:00.000-04:00

I just got back from the sparkling forest. It's a special place. I know this and I feel it too. Man, it's the kind of place that sticks with you until the end of time. Let me tell you a little about this place.

The forest is a real place, and I know exactly where it is. It's actually here in Maryland. But the Sparkling Forest is also a state of mind, a combination of the right things at the right time--everything is perfect on a perfect night. And I've been there before, when it wasn't sparkling. You'll see what I mean.

It all started when I drove over to my friend's home. There was work to be done that night, and fun to be had. We had to bury a jug of wine for a party that was coming up. It was this tradition that was started a while ago, and we had to keep the tradition going. So anyway, I got in the car and headed over to my friend's home. And when I got there, everyone was drinking beer on the back porch and getting ready for the mission. The big jug of Carlo Rossi was sitting there on the deck.

Then, after talking and more beers and some snacks, it was time to go: out through the screen door, down the wooden stairs of the deck, then down the green grass hill in the backyard, (but I didn't feel the grass because I was wearing pants for this mission--worried about ticks and ivy). And on the edge of the yard is where the forest began.

We went into the woods, my two friends ahead of me, with headlamps and flashlights to see the way. The journey into the woods was part of the fun. Moving into the night. Tall tulip poplars all around, these huge trees. And the fireflies were blinking. "Watch out for all the shit," said someone. We had crossed over the fence at this point and were now in a forested part of a pasture. But the cow pies were easy to spot, and the poison ivy was not very prevalent, and so the walking was good.

This was a forest wonderland that I knew and loved. But that night was fresh and new. And the risks were real. There were rumors of a bull, a big beast we did not want to meet, especially because we had crossed under the electric fence and so a quick get-a-way might be hard. So we keep listening and looking around. A crazy screech came down from the forest darkness up on the hill. A fox? A cat? A new breed of East Coast jackleope? We didn't know. But we aimed our lights and saw two glowing eyes. It was far away, but I still felt the fine twinge of fear. The stick I was holding in my hands felt good.

But the screeching beast went away. And I knew we'd soon be gone too, after the work was done. But we were in no hurry. Some things can not be hurried. We walked on, until we found the right spot for the wine jug. Then we dug. We had brought shovels. We dug it deep and tied a rope to the glass loop on the jug so that would help with the unearthing.

Then we keep walking, back under the fence, across a small stream--still moving away from our home base. We left the forest and walked out into a huge grassy hillside. And up on the peaceful flanks of this hillside, we all paused to rest and listen and enjoy the night. The reserve beers were opened and we toasted the wine jug mission and the night. And it was on this hillside, looking back at the forest, that I came to see and know the sparkling forest. The long curving wall of trees down in front of us was sparking with the light of thousands of fireflies. The luminous creatures seemed fond of gathering near the outside of the forest, so their light was easy to see, especially against the black backdrop of the forest. And even though the night sky of Maryland was full of city light pollution, which obscured many of the stars, I didn't really mind. We had the sparkling forest.

United We Watch

2010-06-12T22:40:00.000-04:00

I watched some World Cup soccer today. I watched my home country play against England. I heard some nasty things being said about the English team (I was in a bar). It made me sad. It's just a game. The beautiful game, after all, which is something to remember. The players play because they love to play (and it's how they make their money). And people watch, all over the world. And people say things. And suddenly, millions of people are experts when it comes to soccer, or football as it's often called.

And so I drank my two-dollar beers and tuned out some of the more stupid comments. And I enjoyed the powerful quiet--perhaps even some milliseconds of silence--because there were actually quiet moments in the bar, moments which tended to happen in between the Big Plays, which were the ones that often required cheering.

There's really something interesting that happens when fans watch a game. It's a home team love and focused sporting excitement that drives many a fan (and some people even have money riding on the games, which adds another level). But for me, most of the time, I don't really get into the game like those around me. And so this makes it easier for me to observe everyone else. I like to watch the people watching the games. They get so into it. It's amazing. If they could only see themselves, and hear the things they are saying. Some people take the games very seriously--with their crazy eye TV screen watching, and their trash talking, and wild cheering, and cell phone score checking (because there's so many games to keep track of). The Serious Fans have really demonstrated just how deep the obsession goes. I'm not saying it's good or bad. I'm just saying that after watching some World Cup soccer in a Maryland bar, it's safe to say that fans can really get into the games.

Now people in the stadiums love to cheer. I knew this. You can hear it in the background of certain televised games: an almost constant cheering drone that lasts for most of the game. And cheering at a game kind of makes sense. You cheer for the team you want to win, and hope the cheering drives them into athletic brilliance and then victory. But what about the fans who scream at the TV screens? It's hard to say what their goals are. Probably just a energy release or outlet, a demonstration of what's on their minds. And as I was watching the people around me yell, I found myself thinking: the TV is not a microphone, no matter how loud you try to yell.

But who am I to say that their yelling has no power? Has such a thing ever been studied? Energy is a powerful thing with mysterious connotations. And maybe someday every bar room and living room will have a microphone and a direct line into the stadium or arena of the fan's own choosing. And in the ceilings of stadiums, there will be thousands of little speakers, high quality/high power speakers, so that when the dedicated fans yell, the players will actually hear and receive the energy. Players will of course have to wear special high-tech thousand-dollar ear plugs so they can block some of the tremendous noise that will be hitting them at every angle, vibrating their athletic bodies like some sort of strange exercise machine from the future. Stadiums will also have to be built with very high standards to handle the sonic bombardment. And fans will have to sign wavers so they can't sue over hearing loss. And every stadium will have to install a giant soundproof shield over the stadium, otherwise the noise of a game would disturb every home within ten miles. And for those roofless stadiums, the Sound Shield would be the roof, as well as being a fixture where all the speakers could be mounted.

And when such systems are implemented, and I get my financial cut for inventing the True Voice Fan Intercom, you might find me in some famous bar in America, buying a round for the house. And then I'll get up on the bar and give speech, instructing the screaming fans to maybe just take a break. And for a minute or so, we'll pump a round of pure quiet into whatever stadium speaker that bar is broadcasting to, and that little pocket of silence will rain down onto the field, and maybe, just maybe, for one glorious moment, some sweaty player who's chock full of exhaustion will be able to zero in on that one speaker and hear the quiet hum of a silent bar which is the stuff that angels sing of.

Local Libraries and Free Music

2010-06-04T15:07:00.000-04:00

If you love an artist's work, by all means, give him or her your money and/or support. If you're not sure about your love, then it might be a good idea to go to your local library and see what you can see. And even if you are sure of your love, it's still a good idea to head on over to your local library.

I love my local library. I go there all the time. I know the librarians and they know me. I've memorized my fourteen-digit library card number--I did that years ago. Sometimes I even let my items go overdue, just so I can give the library a few dollars. They need my money. They need my support. You've gotta pay for these privileges, and tax dollars alone might not enough these days. Budgets are tight and places are closing.

Libraries are a great thing, a tremendous tool that our country has brought into being for the betterment of all. Don't forget them. And don't forget what they stand for: knowledge and freedom and learning for all.

On our library's website, they say: "opening the door to discovery and diversion." This line really makes me smile. I also like how they used the singular version of door. They could have said "doors," which would have meant something a little different. But they wrote "door" which means that diversion and discovery are accessed through the same portal, which makes for an interesting thought. The beauty is in the truth. Sometimes it's about learning, and sometimes it's about relaxing and having fun. But both learning and fun are connected.

As for the free music, I'd like to mention the awesome website known as: archive.org

You can go there and access many different things, freely and legally. I usually go there to get Grateful Dead shows, but I also discovered that there are many Warren Zevon shows as well. And for this we must thank Warren's son Jordan.

A direct quote from archive.org:

"On April 7, 2005, we received permission for Warren Zevon shows to be hosted at the Archive:

Subject: Warren Zevon

Please allow the exchange of unreleased live material from Warren Zevon on your website.

Sincerely,

Jordan Zevon"

I've downloaded about fifteen Zevon shows, and there are many more out there, and this brings me joy.

Let the music play! And long live the libraries!

Fondly,
Jeff

Doing Good

2010-06-04T02:17:00.000-04:00

Zevon lyrics blaze on with poetic power in my mind: "Everybody's your best friend when you're doing well, I mean good."

Yes, thank you Warren Zevon, wherever you are.

It's no secret that I enjoy listening to the music and words of Warren Zevon, the late great American songwriter. I listen and I enjoy. And even when I'm not listening, I'm enjoying. His words come back to me, in my mind, when I'm "doing simple things around the house," as Warren said it so perfectly.

Tonight I was in the kitchen, making another sandwich--enjoying another sandwich--when the words I mentioned above hit me. I had just left a phone message for my friend Whitney. And I was making some food: one of my crazy sandwiches, with humus, peanut butter, raw garlic, and sriracha, spread on bread and corn tortillas. I'm always mixing up flavors. Pizza sushi is one creation I'm very proud of. But that's enough weird bragging for one day. I must stay on topic: I was in the kitchen, mixing, eating, and thinking about Warren, and really just feeling good.

The lyric above is from the song "Genius." And, as a fellow writer, I love the way Warren works with his words. Now, there are some people that love to rub in the grammatical correctness of "doing well" and the incorrectness of "doing good." But writing (just like speaking and living) is way more than just following the rules. Writing is about freedom, and saying what you want to say, and doing it your way, day after day. Sure, the background rules of writing are necessary. They help us writers tell our stories, and make it easier for readers to follow along. But the writer gets final judgment. And hearing Warren sing, "doing well, I mean good," just makes me smile like crazy, because I know he knew the rules, and that line is such a nice calm slap in the face to all the grammar-crazed people who are missing the point and getting way too bogged down by the rules.

Now I don't want you to worry here. If you go around saying "doing well," that doesn't mean I'm going to feel opposed to you. I say "doing well" sometimes. But if you're a Zevon fan, and if you say, "doing good," well then it's very easy for us to be on the same page. In the world of art, there is no right and wrong. Only different preferences and different perspectives.

Tonight, the work is going well. And, as all you fellow workers out there know: that's not always the case. But when it's good, that's something to enjoy, just like the hardness. I dig the blues. Maybe I'm happy because I'm getting to the end of another draft, and that's always a nice moment. I don't want to speculate too much here. I'm just setting down some words in the midst of some other words. The writing will go on, on into the night, on into the years of my life. . . . And along the way I keep living, and I keep thinking of my family and friends, far and near.

And summer is coming soon, time for more sweating. Sweaty shirts at backyard parties. A little more body odor in the air. Are you ready to sweat? Yes, I've made my peace with the heat and humidity. It's getting warmer. The earth, still circling, still tilted. It's all about the angles.

Well Marley just came upstairs to get me, which means he wants water and he wants to go out. So I might as well sign off here. Have fun, safe travels, and I hope you're doing good.

The Power of Thunder

2010-06-03T17:58:00.000-04:00

It's raining now, a thunderstorm. I'm sitting in my room, writing, working on my laptop which makes me feel good because even if we loose power, I can keep going. That's one of the nice things about laptops, the automatic power backup that comes built in. But I don't want to dwell on such trivial things as laptops and computers. No, the power of this storm is what prompted me to log on and add to this blog.

The rain is coming down hard. Tons of water--those little drops really add up. I look out and see the rain coming down sideways, just for a time. Now it's falling mostly straight down. Marley doesn't mind at all. I hear him drinking downstairs. Noisy laps from his bowl of water. We're lucky he's not the kind of dog that freaks out when it storms. We're lucky for many reasons.

It's nice to be able to write in the rain. A home gives protection, something we all need at some point. I guess I could still write in the rain if I was outside in a tent. Tents are good portable shelter, and I've spent many hundreds of evenings and nights curled up in a tent. I've written hundreds of journal pages during my tent time. Tents are good for writing because you're outside, hearing and smelling and seeing, but you're still protected. Although tent walls don't really stop the sound waves. Thunder is much louder when you're in a tent.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to step away from the computer for a few minutes . . .

. . . Well okay, I'm back in my writing room with a wet head and back. I had to help my mother bring some young seedlings inside. They were on the back porch, getting some sun, but the rain was too hard for them. Why punish when you can protect?

Philip called me this morning (this is turning into a journal entry here) and I was thankful for the call because he was just in Yosemite--and so we talked about that--and I mentioned how I was just polishing up some Yosemite writing myself. It's good to be connected.

Well, that's enough for this post. I must channel some of this storm energy and keep the wordflow going.

Peaches in the Summertime

2010-06-01T14:35:00.000-04:00

Aloha.

June is here. Twenty-some days and it will be summer. You can always count on the seasons. As long as the earth stays tilted and keeps going around the sun, summer will come. Then fall and winter and spring. In the Southern Hemisphere, they are gearing up for winter, but the order is still the same: winter, spring, summer, and fall.

It's transition time, getting away from the gentle greenness of spring and into the humid wonders of summer--at least that's what it'll be like around here. This year I'll be experiencing summer East-Coast-style, with plenty of heat and humidity, things I've come to know and enjoy.

And there's music too. Many songs and lyrics have touched on the splendid season of summer. But right now I'm thinking of words from the old folk song, "Shady Grove," which goes: "Peaches in the summertime, apples in the fall, if I can't have the girl I want, I won't have none at all."

Yes, summertime, the season of peaches and other fruits and vegetables, juicy edibles that come from the earth. Summer is also the season of Sweat. And it's a good thing that I like to sweat. I'm sweating right now, sweat dripping down off my face. I just got back from a walk with Marley. It's warm and humid out, hot enough to draw sweat after about fifteen minutes of walking.

Today I did my normal walk, and I saw the cherry tree on the edge of the forest, and the small red cherries that are just beginning to grow. And I smelled the air--it was slightly cooler--the air of the forest, so good and so right. And I was happy to have a little neighborhood side street so I could walk in peace and breath some decent air. There was this one little place on my walk, where the smell reminded me of Yosemite. There were some white pines there and also some eastern red cedar, and perhaps it was those trees, and the dried leaves on the ground, baking under the hot sun, that helped to concoct a wonderful, warm, and spicy aroma that took me right back to Yosemite. For summer in Yosemite carries a fine smell that I know and love.

And now, with Yosemite on my mind, I will move away from this blog, and get busy with some other writing. Thanks for reading, and don't forget to hydrate on the hot days that are ahead.

This Blog Is Up To Date

2010-05-23T01:36:00.000-04:00

Well I finally got the old blog up to date. It took a blog marathon to make it happen. And now I'm just about done. I still have one more post to finish--this one that you're reading right now--which is for the month of May, or as much of it that's gone by. I try to do at least one post a month, sometimes more if that's the way things go.

When you love to write, any excuse to write is always good. In the last two days, I have written, edited, and posted many thousands of words to this blog. I think about ten thousand words. I know that's a good bit, but don't worry. You can take your time. I posted them and now they are there. You'll meet them if you read on. Sorry for the delay. These things happen sometimes. And thanks to Chris, Debbie, Kyle, and Kimberly for checking this blog often and keeping after me to update it.

Yes, it feels good to be up to date. I guess it's kind of like when your email inbox is empty or very small (how I like to keep it). It's a temporary satisfaction, but it still feels good. It's all temporary when you get down to it, I guess, so I shouldn't worry too much.

So the blog is up to date and now it's May. Wow, May--that's four (almost five) months into 2010. And it's also one year and four months into President Obama's term. That reminds me: in my lazy blog days, I've forgotten to delve into the Big Issues of health care reform and the financial regulations. But I'm not ready to get into all that right now, so I won't.

May is shaping up to be a pretty solid writing month. I'm closer to my publishing goals for book 1. I'm ready to continue on with book 2. I'm staying busy with full-time writing and some part-time work at a local bike shop. My numbers are going up (that means more money--it's bike tour lingo from Chris and Kyle), so that means more travels, eventually. For now, it's family and friend time, writing time, and a bit of money-making time.

So thanks again for stopping by. I appreciate it.

Have fun, and travel safe.

Jeff

Writing Days and Then Back to the City

2010-04-26T22:27:00.000-04:00

April has been a good month for me. I've been getting a lot of writing done, which always makes me happy. At this point, I'm working on editing and checking over book 1, slow and tedious work, so in order to keep my writing mind in shape, I've taken to working on book 2, which has been a lot fun.

Then, on Friday April 16, after an excellent meeting with Andy Baldwin in College Park, and then some time with Travis and Mary, I went to the airport to pick up my brother Chris. He had been in Peru. It was great to see him, and to be the first to welcome him back to US, and hear about all the incredible things that he saw and did on his South American adventures. Peru sounded beautiful and amazing.

And on that car ride home, Chris and I were planning some more adventures. There's always more adventures to plan. Yes, indeed. Time for a New York City mission--two brothers bound for the City. We had both been in touch with Kyle, who had moved his base camp from Santa Cruz back to his hometown borough of Queens. Originally, Chris and I were going to visit Kyle in May. But May was getting hectic. And Chris just started a new job in Virginia. And I just started some part time work of my own, so we had to take action. The mission was planned for the following weekend.

I left for New York on a Thursday morning, caught the bus in Baltimore. I had been up very late the night before (a crazy travel tradition I seem to always be continuing); I was packing and getting things in order. I had my Lonely Planet NYC book from the library. A good book that I was going to buy for myself as soon as I had some money to spare. By this point in the friending mission, the budget was very tight. I had lots of food in my backpack. I also had one of Travis and Hilary's folding bikes. It was packed neatly in a big black duffel bag. (The other bike was packed and ready for Chris, so he could grab it and go.)

The bus rolled north, to New York--a city which I discovered late in life, but one that's gone straight to my heart and right to the top of my list, right up there with sweet San Fran. And while I'm listing cities, Washington D.C. must get an honorable mention too. D.C. is very close to home and very powerful and important and full of many incredible places, which I really should write some more about one of the days. . . . when the time is right, Jeff, when the time is right.

New York is so close! A few easy bus hours and I was there. I ate the first of my pb and j sandwiches (it was the one with sriracha on it) as the bus was rolling down one of the Avenues, down to 33rd street, I believe, where we stopped and everyone got off. I put the bike together and I was on my way, riding north up 8th Ave. I didn't even need to check my map. I was feeling cocky like I had been living in the city for years. I knew about the avenues and the streets because I had walked the length of Manhattan and also because I had spent a long time just studying NYC maps. I had a love for New York, that huge hulking American city, and I was happy to be back.

I was soon in Central Park, sitting there by Sheep Meadow, which was our agreed upon meeting point. Kyle was biking in from Queens. I was happy to sit there and rest. It had been a late night and an early morning in a string of such days. Going hard and fast with the books, trying to get a lot of work done so I could feel good about taking off for a few days. That's one problem when you love your work: it can be hard to be away from it. But little breaks are good, and excuses are easy to give in to. And once I reminded myself that I was in New York for research, well then I had nothing to worry about. I pulled the notebook and pen out from my breast pocket and started writing. There's always something to write about.

I sat on the benches at the west side of Sheep Meadow, right by West Side Road, just watching the Parade go by. And it was a fine parade and it wasn't even Saturday. Kyle knew all about my parade lingo and descriptive theories because he had read a draft of my book, and he always liked to sprinkle those Jeff quotes into daily conversation which just tickled me and activated my smile hinges. And Chris too, he knew. Kyle and Chris and I shared many days and nights on the road, bike-tour-style, and that does something to a friendship. It roots it down deep, deep and solid in the nutrients of life and time. And soon Chris would be there with us--I couldn't wait!--and we'd be riding the streets of New York together. Brothers and friends, out for a jaunt or two or three, in one of the most amazing cities ever dreamed up by the hearts and hands and minds of human beings.

But it was Thursday and Chris wasn't arriving until late Friday night. So I met Kyle, and we rested in Sheep Meadow (where there actually used to be sheep; the Old Days are very interesting), and we made our plans: we had a big day of biking around the city. But first we had to go to the John Lennon Imagine Memorial in Strawberry Fields. There's just certain places in certain cities I have to go to every time I'm there. Simply have to. In San Fran it's Haight St. and Golden Gate Park and The Golden Gate Bridge. In New York, it's Central Park, Strawberry Fields, and Greenwich Village and south Manhattan too--and the Upper East Side is always on my mind thanks to Warren Zevon. I told Kyle this and he understood. There's so much to see in New York. And after a little whiskey toast ("To you and me and New York City," I said), and then some "Eyes of the World," we were ready to move.

Over to the Lennon Memorial. Just one word: Imagine. One word with a million and one possibilities. It's a powerful place. The current flower arrangement was looking beautiful, some big red roses and also some pink and yellow petals spread in a Peace Sign formation around the IMAGINE. From there we headed west, to the bike trail along the Hudson, and we followed that south. South for a while. Then we cut over on Perry Street and into the Village. Washington Square Park and then lots more riding: over to the bike path along the east side of Manhattan Island. Then south. We took the Staten Island Ferry--why not?--and enjoyed the free ride. They had bike racks, but the view was better outside, so we took our bikes out with us, but then we got scolded and they said we couldn't have the bikes out there. But the views were great; we saw the Statue of Liberty from many different angles, and the tall buildings of Manhattan, looking good.

After the ferry ride, we stood there, outside the Staten Island station, watching all the commuters flowing by. Another grand parade. We drank water, good cold water from the fountains inside the station. I broke out my last pb and j sandwich and Kyle and I split it. It was the one with coffee beans in it. The beans had softened a bit, and it was good. Kyle liked it. I did too. I love to mix weird flavors, spice it up, keep it weird. Food, bread, so good! Later, some dollar-slices, bought on the street, a good snack, but I was really looking forward to Dani's House of Pizza, a place I had been looking forward to for almost eight months. Dani's was coming. But first: more biking, riding in the bike lanes, on the busy streets and the side streets, then the bridges, Brooklyn Bridge over to Brooklyn, then back on Manhattan Bridge. Then north through Manhattan Island, Kyle leading the way on our Journey back to Queens. We crossed the Queensborough Bridge, and at this point my body was getting sore from that bike with one gear, a new bike, a bike I wasn't used to riding. But soreness is good; it means you're out there working, moving, living. Kyle led the way back to his home, a great night ride. We took the scenic way. And then a stop at Dani's House of Pizza, where the pizza was better and sweeter and more incredible than I ever imagined. I ate one slice. Each bite was joyful perfection. And then another slice--I had to. And then a few blocks back to Kyle's, up the stairs and into his apartment where I emptied my pockets and got ready for some deeply-needed rest. Slumber came and I didn't mind the city sounds for they meant me no harm.

Friday morning and some noshing and then we were on our way. Another big day. First riding west to get to Ozone Park and make a stop at the place where Jack Kerouac and his mother had once lived, in the little apartment that's above a flower shop. It was easy to find with the Internet. I loved being there, loved every second and minute of the whole occasion. And Kyle humored me in my goals and desires--the sign of a good friend. This would be the first of many literary/artistic stops that I planned out. So many places to pay tribute to in New York. Then we rode east toward the ocean. Me cruising on the folding bike, which I enjoyed even though it was just one gear (something I wasn't used to). "One gear. One city. One love," that's what I kept saying. Just a little mantra to help me up the hills of life, which weren't that bad; they never are. And Kyle was riding his regs, his A-rig, the bike he had ridden across the country the previous summer with my brother; the rig now had big "mamacitas," large tires that Kyle was quite proud of, good tires for riding pretty much anywhere. It's good to be proud of your rig, whatever it may be. We switched bikes and enjoyed the different feel of each other's rigs. Rockaway was a great place to get some sitting and looking done. Just sitting on the boardwalk and looking out at the waves and the surfers, and Kyle knew all about the breaks because he had surfed there many times. But his board was back in his home. Which is where we headed. We needed to get more food and prepare for the evening mission.

I had a big list of famous people places that I wanted to see: Kerouac, Ginsberg, Hunter Thompson, Bob Dylan, and some other famous bars and buildings and places. So I got the addresses online and plotted a course, a big loop which would start somewhere in Chelsea and take us south, into the Village, then north back toward 33rd Street, near Madison Square Garden where we were going to meet Chris. But after already riding twenty or thirty miles, we decided to leave the bikes and do the mission on foot, which was fine with me. It can be hard to be on a bike, taking photos, reading maps, looking around, drinking beers and all that. So we got our beers, Ballantine Ale (which I was very pleased to find at nearby Joy Fruit!), and boarded the Subway. Kyle knew where we were going, but I checked the map anyway. I had to learn these things! And you must study to learn! My cold beer was gone before the ride was over. It's easy to drink cold beer when you're thirsty and hungry for the wild world of the city! And I was ready to walk. Up the stairs and into the night! Early night which I love so much because there is still a blueness to the sky, and if you work the camera right you can capture this great blue sky, which I tried to do. And the city lights were coming on fast and strong, but it was hard to focus until we found a bathroom. So we dropped into the closest Starbuckian Dynasty and used the one-room bathroom. And then we were off, following my map.

I don't know if I'm ready to tell about all the places we went, maybe not right now--"Not this one, Claus," as Kyle, Chris, and I liked to say. (A little Wes Anderson quote there, for those keeping score.) But in the end it was a great walking mission--so great!--and Kyle and I came upon the High Line, which we of course had to walk on. And at McSoreley's we got some beer and met some girls and our time there was so fun that we almost lost track of time and so we had to zoom north like crazy birds to meet Chris. And we met him and he had already put his bike together (the other folding bike that I had borrowed from Travis and Hilary) but I had the tools in my jacket to finish the job and attach the derailleur. "What's that smell?" asked Chris when I was standing near him. "Probably all the garlic I ate earlier," I said. I forgot to mention that Kyle and I split a whole head of garlic with dinner. I don't know, it was like 8 or 9 cloves each, a rather large head of garlic. Kyle is a man who's not afraid of his food, and neither am I--so this kind of thing was just bound to happen, and we didn't really even need to explain this to Chris. Raw garlic consumption was a bike tour tradition. Yes, it does burn. But it burns less if you're used to it, and if you have the right state of mind, and of course it's good for you, which is the bottom line. With only 2.25 dollars and the right Subway knowledge, we made it back to Kyle's. The end of another day. And . . . more Dani's Pizza! Yes!

Saturday was our big day of biking, the only full day that we were all going to share. Chris and I had tickets to leave the next day. So Saturday was the big day, which started with a big meal--great bagel noshing--and I was so excited about getting out there and riding. We met one of Kyle's friends and rode with him into Manhattan, going through Queens and then Brooklyn. It was a great and sunny day, and Kyle and Chris were singing a bit of reggaeton, which we had heard from a passing car, happy bouncy music, music which was also a foreshadowing of the mission that was ahead of us: I figured we might as well ride the whole length of Manhattan Island, from the south all the way up through the Spanish barrios up north. I walked it, and now I wanted to bike it. It seemed like a good mission, and on the way we could see all the places we wanted to see, and spend some more time in Central Park.

So that's pretty much what we did. We went down to Battery Park, on the south part of Manhattan Island, which was pretty crowded on a sunny spring Saturday. And I enjoyed the way I could stand tall on my bike and look over the crowds of people. Chris could do this too. We called it high-tower mode, or tallboys. It was fun. Rolling slow through crowds of people, moving quick through the open gaps, then hitting the breaks for more slow-moving people negotiations. That's really a word I like to use in my city talk and writings. Negotiations. At this point, Chris and I had switched bikes. So I actually had a few gears in the back, and it was Chris who had to deal with "One gear, one city, one love." But he could ride--man, could he ride! All that pent up cycling energy being unleashed with trademark CM power! I didn't have to worry about Chris. And Kyle's friend could ride too; he was on a racing type road bike. And after a little Wall Street exploration, we started riding north, up through SoHo, then across Houston, and then the cross streets were just flying by. In many places, we were faster than the cars. There was all kinds of weekend traffic that we maneuvered right through. But we passed an accident scene and saw a man on the ground, bleeding. A big reminder about safety. Enjoy the flow and the velocity, but BE ON GUARD. So that's what we did. Over to 8th Ave. where we flew north in the bike lane on the left side of the road. Then into Central Park, where we said goodbye to Kyle's friend and did some more backpack noshing--really just a little snack nosh. The sky was looking like rain, but I got the team inspired. "We're in the 70's now, so we only have like 150 more streets to go! Let's go!" And we went. Over to the east side road in Central Park. Then north, Central Park miles being very fast and easy and I was of course reminded of Golden Gate Park which is similar in many ways to Central Pk. The top of Central Park was 110 St. "We're halfway there!" I said. "Only 115 more streets to go!" At this point I took the lead; I knew the area better than Kyle. And we rode. Over to Broadway and then north. I knew Broadway was the road for us. A big Saturday night concert at Columbia University drew us in. And we stayed there for a time. But we still had miles to ride, and it was getting later. And none of the bands had the power to ensnare us. North! Broadway! Into the great barrios that I remembered walking through, Spanish neighborhoods where all the signs were in Spanish. Kyle found a good HIT (hole in the . . . wall) and we stopped for food, exactly what we needed to finish the mission out. More city night riding. Cars on the road, pumping out the raggaeton into the night. I worked my camera hand whenever I could, but the riding was serious and I put the camera away. Our taillights and headlights were blinking. I had some neon green on the back of my rig. We were visible and safe; it's the only way when you're following the Code of the Road.

And then, eventually, we hit the top of the island: the Harlem River. We crossed the river and rode into the Bronx and stopped at a fast food place for bathrooms and just general mapping and whatnot. I was so happy to be there. I waited outside with the bikes. I could wait forever on the streets of New York. I felt at home there. From here on out, we made various negotiations: Subway back to midtown, then back to Queens. The next day, some more time in the city and then Chris and I were on the bus, bound for Maryland. But right now, I think I want to leave ya'll with a photo that I took on the Henry Hudson Bridge, at the very top of Manhattan, after we had just gotten there, and we were all relieved that the mission had worked out. It was a great mission! As the cars were rolling past and vibrating the bridge, I set up my camera and took the following photo. Thanks again, Chris and Kyle. It's not everyday that you go on a great city jaunt with your brother and a fellow road friend, and ride the whole length of that splendid island known as Manhattan.

Vernal Equinox 2010 - An Early Morning Day

2010-03-20T10:58:00.000-04:00

Well, first of all, Happy Birthday to Janice.

Today is the first day of spring, and I got up early for once, 6:30 a.m., which I haven't done for a while. I've been on a late night sleep schedule: go to bed around 4 a.m. and get up around noon. It works for me and my writing days. Dinner is like my lunch.

But now I'm up. I forced myself out of bed and got moving. That's the trick when it's early: keep moving. Don't sit or lay down--that's instant sleep. Movement is key. Showers are good too. And of course there's coffee.

For me, there's a weirdness to being up early, especially this morning--strange memories hearkening back to my newspaper delivery days and all those sleepy school mornings that were only made palatable by the redemption song of summer.

But school days were not the only days that started early. Oh no. I've started many a traveling day at sunrise. You gotta maximize daylight when you're on the road, biking or walking or driving around and across the country.

Yes, sometimes you have to get up early. It makes things possible, like getting a lot of work done before the evening comes. I have plans for tonight, a party with my friend Ilyse, so I woke up early today, which is rare for me. But life is full of surprises, and I've learned to embrace them. It helps keep me nimble.

Marley looked a little surprised when I came down to walk him at 6:40. It was getting light, but no direct sunlight--that came closer to 7:00, which makes sense. The word equinox has Latin roots and means "equal night." And today we'll be having equal periods of daylight and night. Sunrise a little after seven. Sunset a little after seven.

Well, the clock is ticking and the sun is getting higher in the sky, coming in through the back windows of our home, filling the kitchen with lovely morning light, something I don't always see. Time to get to work--back to book 1--I'm writing a story that you probably won't be able to read for a while. Book time moves very slow. And publishing is still a long ways off, but it's getting closer everyday, and that's a nice way to think about it.

Mahalo.

Jeff

Spider Walk

2010-03-17T01:03:00.000-04:00

So I'm staying with my father for a few days, in Virginia. I've been writing during the day and visiting in the evenings, and today turned out to be an interesting day, mainly for the events that happened while I was on my afternoon walk.

It's March now, and today was a really warm and sun-filled day. I took a break and went for a walk, just around the neighborhood and the surrounding lands. I hopped a fence and started walking on this paved path. And as I was walking, the sun was shining, and I caught a shimmer of something in the air. I didn't think much of it the first time--except that it was interesting. And then I saw the rainbow shimmer again. It looked like a long strand of spider silk. That's really cool, I thought. This spider web has some interesting reflective properties. I stopped to consider the matter further. There were some trees nearby, so I thought it was coming down from one of the branches, so I backed up and waited for the light and the silk to line up and create the shimmer again. But the shimmer stayed with me. It moved with me. I soon realized that a long strand of spider web was attached to my beard! This made me smile and cheer inside.

Now I had walked through spider webs before--we all have--but this was different. The web was stuck to me, and I was walking down the path, flying a long thin banner and telling the world of my spider pride. The wind was behind me--I should have mentioned this earlier--so the spider silk was blowing in front of me. It was a funny and beautiful sight. I kept walking, smiling, just marveling at the way things float and move around in this world. And I was a little sad too, worried that I had broken some spider's work. But I didn't remember walking through a web, so maybe the web had just blown into me. It was windy. And such things could happen.

I couldn't keep the web on me all day, but I enjoyed it while it was there. And then I gently pulled the gossamer line off my beard and sent it flying in the wind. No spider seemed to be present. I checked. And that's the story of what happened to me on my spider walk.

Another Trip Across

2010-02-17T02:00:00.000-05:00

Well I'm back from the mission. It was a success, a good and safe journey. I got to spend some time in San Fran, and then I got to help my friend Chris Kobus drive his truck back to Maryland. We got back a few days ago, and now I'm looking through the photos.

Fifth out-and-back cross-country trip: I wanted to get to San Fran quickly, which would give me more time there, so I flew out west. There's some cheap one-way flight tickets floating about on the Internet, and I snatched one up. From BWI to SFO with just a backpack and the clothes on my back. Then a BART ride into the city and then I was on my feet walking--roving those streets and feeling the weight of the pack on my back and the sweet air of California.

I met Jake and Caitlin on Market Street and we started walking, back to the Green Tortoise on Broadway, where I set my pack down for a few minutes and rested and ate some food and drank a little coffee. I was happy to meet Caitlin, after exchanging emails for the past few weeks. And it was great to see Jake again--the last time he and I were in San Fran together was nine and a half years ago.

From the Tortoise, we went over to the magnificent realms of Golden Gate Park and Haight Street. There's always new things to see, and I enjoyed being back in one of my favorite areas of the city. We bought some scones on Haight Street. A guy about my age, who was standing outside Amoeba music, asked me for one. I gave it to him. Then into Golden Gate Park. We kept walking. We climbed to the top of Stow Lake Island, and from there we could look out and see the Golden Gate Bridge and the Pacific and city buildings and homes.

And from the Park, we walked across town to meet Matt and Lauren, which is where I made my base camp (thanks again, friends!). And from that day on, Jake and Caitlin and I had our adventures in the daytime and our parties in the night with Matt, Lauren, Philip, Whitney, Jamie, and Phil Lang.

And then Kyle came to town. He made the journey up from Santa Cruz. Jake and Caitlin and I met him outside the Trader Joes over by Geary and Masonic. We were on our bikes, and Kyle was on his. We got food and went back to Matt and Lauren's for a feast. Matt's Achilles injury was getting better, and he was walking without his crutches. A beautiful thing. And we talked about my crutch days, which Matt knew all about because, like Jake, he was there for them. The wine was cheap and good and I knew I had to bring a few bottles back with me--Cabernet Sauvignon by Charles Shaw, my favorite vintage of the two buck chucks. I talked with Kobus who was making his way down from Alaska. We'd be leaving in a few days. Jake and Caitlin had to head out, and I said goodbye to them after many great days of hiking and biking and city traveling and all the living room parties--so many great times, sitting around talking, listening to music, maybe playing a little music with me on guitar and Philip on violin, maybe a little "Business Plan Breakdown" just for fun. Always for fun.

Then there was a trip up to Tahoe, a wonderful weekend adventure with Matt, Lauren, Kyle, and Kiersten. We hit some cold rain and snow up in the mountains, but the lake was looking great, and I was watching my gimbal as I watched the New Orleans Saints win the big football game on Superbowl Sunday. And I was just thinking about going to New Orleans and what it would be like there.

Back in San Fran, Kobus showed up, his truck packed with things to move back to Maryland, his mind full of Alaska stories and stories from a hectic last couple of days. And then we were off. I was excited at the prospect of going the whole way across, from my dear sweet San Fran back to my old home place in Maryland. And Kobus was excited to get back to Maryland and see his family and friends. And after a winter in Alaska, he was just happy to be somewhere warm.

So we drove, the windows down, the lovely wind whipping its warmth around the car. February in California felt like spring or fall. Kobus loved that warm wind, and although the noise of the wind started to bother me with my sensitive hearing and all, I had a hard time denying him his pleasures. So we compromised, as friends do, and this certainly helped us on our journey across the country.

Across the big steel of the Bay Bridge, then through the green hills, riding the fast interstate highways. And then south on the 5, down through the San Joaquin, with the afternoon sun setting, and my playlists playing. And I was getting ready for a long night of driving. I was driving slow and steady, with rain on the roads and even a little snow at the higher elevations as we went up Tejon Pass. We hit the north part of LA, deep into the night, and kept going. And then, somewhere outside of Joshua Tree National Park, we found a hotel and got a few hours of sleep.

We were up early and on the road, cruising east on 10. 10 would take us all the way to New Orleans, which was our goal because Kobus wanted to see Mardi Gras, as did I, and I wanted to see my friends Brian and Sara. So everything worked out and that's what we did. We said No to the temptations of Las Vegas, and kept driving east: California, into Arizona, then New Mexico, then into Texas, riding right along the Mexican border and when we looked to the right we told ourselves that we were looking into the lights and buildings of Mexico. I drove us through the night, really a wild drive for many reasons, but I felt good and kept going. And then a few hours of rest in the car. It didn't even feel like Texas, but that's where we were. And in the morning I kept driving--first light equals more miles! Another all-day drive which put us into Baton Rouge around ten in the evening, just in time to meet my friends Brian and Sara! Thanks friends! It was so good to get there and rest and be still and let the road vibrations work their way out of the body and the mind.

We took a day in the Baton Rouge area. I was happy to be in Brian and Sara's home, a place I had wanted to visit for a long time. They had a beautiful home with some great old southern trees nearby. But I felt bad because they gave me a key to the place, which I just happened to drop through the wooden planks on the front deck. And so I got down and looked underneath. And Sara came out and said "Jeff, what are you doing? We have a snake down there." And I said I didn't see it, but I believed her all the same, and got the heck out of there. Then I sat in the living room and had a fine visit with Sara, after a really good sandwich, and young Maddy was running around and having fun and smiling like only a three-year-old can. And I was reminded of the philosophy of youth, and how great everything is when you're young, and also when you're old. Those amazing moments are always there, closer than we think. Seeing and seizing is the key.

And then the next day was Mardi Gras time. We headed down to the city, and drove toward the party area, Bourbon Street and the French Quarter. Traffic wasn't too bad. We found parking on the top floor of a garage and looked out upon the early afternoon madness, which wasn't too crazy yet. Brian knew his way around, and we had some maps, and of course it was easy to just follow the flow of people. Some great side streets, hitting each other at right angles. We saw more and more people. I asked "so where is Bourbon Street?" And Brian laughed and told me I was standing right on it. I hadn't seen the sign. I bought a big beer in a little store--a 24 ounce can for only $4. Being able to drink on the street, I was reminded of the Strip in Vegas. Total beverage freedom, just walking around and looking at all the people and partygoers, and taking big sips of cold beer. Parades going by. Beads being worn and sold. I didn't have any beads yet. But I wanted them. And the desire is what counts.

Yes, lots of desires floating through the crowded air on Bourbon Street. We walked the street, evening sun cutting across the faces of buildings and people. I waited with my hand in the air, as the others did, waiting with the people down on the street in hopes that the people up above on the balconies would throw some beads our way. I learned that if I waited long enough, or if I gave the bead-holder a good dose of the holy stare, that they would drop some beads down. And if not, I just moved on. It's a buyers market on Bourbon Street. I was feeling good and so were Brian and Kobus and we were having a great time just walking around with our beers and whiskey drinks and looking at all the people. We saw the Naked Cowboy, the New York City legend. He had his guitar and cowboy hat and boots and some white briefs on. A big crowd around him. Observing the cowboy, I fell behind, so I had to run to catch up with Brian and Kobus. Bourbon St. was full of beautiful people and silly people. I felt silly too. The beads piled up around my neck. The sun set and the air was cooler. We walked all over. Down to the Mississippi River where the great river boats were parked. All around Jackson Square where various palm readers and street performers had lined up. Kobus was on a search for crayfish, but everyone we talked to said we were just a few weeks too early. Then back to the crazy nightlife of Bourbon St. I finished the last of my raw ramen. My money was getting low, but that was okay. I was almost back home.

My beer can had long been empty, but I was still carrying it around. People like to see other people drinking. I had so many beads that girls were asking me for them. I gave one girl some, but the beads I gave her were tangled with the beads around my neck, and for a half a minute or so, the two of us were tied together, which was kind of cute and awkward, and it made me wonder how many times this kind of thing has happened. Surely many times. Those beads could easily tangle. But they were fun to collect. I liked my pink beads the best, the pink and also the blue. Of course I liked collecting them for the sake of collecting, but I also wanted to amass a neckload because I anticipated giving many of them away when I got home. Beads gathered honestly from Bourbon street had value in my mind. And I kept snatching them up every chance I could. We were having fun. The bars were rocking. A young Army kid and his friends got real excited about my beard and wanted to know all about it. He was proud of me. He kept saying that. Another girl walking by just grabbed my beard and gave it a little tug. And then she was gone. The crowded streets made it hard to move. Craziness. Drunken people. People holding big bright religious signs and yelling/arguing through their bullhorns with the drunken masses.

We made one last pass along crazy Bourbon Street, BS, and then it was time to leave. It was coffee time. Time to drive. I grabbed a few more beads. My neck was sore from the weight of the beads I was carrying. I took off my beads and felt ten pounds lighter. Brain left in his car, headed back to Baton Rouge. And Kobus and I headed north, a twenty-hour drive back to Maryland, where the proof of multiple blizzards was all over. So much snow! A new winter record for Maryland. And so much snow that I'm sure it'll be around for a long time to come, melting slowly and reflecting the sunlight like only snow can. I am home now, happy from the travels, thankful for the safety and the journey, and ready as always to do some more writing. Back to the books.

The Road Calls Once Again

2010-02-01T04:55:00.000-05:00

You never know when a mission will come to you. You might be talking with your friend in Alaska one day, and then, just a few hours later, buying a one-way ticket to San Francisco.

That's what I did. And this morning, in a few hours, at 5:45 am, my mission will commence. I'll be on a plane bound for San Fran. Ah, yes . . . good old San Fran. It's a special city with a special place in my heart. I'm looking forward to flying out, enjoying some good San Fran time with friends, and then beginning another mission: a cross-country drive from San Fran to Maryland with my friend Chris who has been living and working in Alaska for the past three months.

For those of you that check this blog, I must say two things. First, thank you for reading. And second, I'm sorry for getting behind. I've been working hard, but not on the blog. But the posts are coming. Well, they will be coming after I get back from San Fran in mid February. I have many half-written posts piling up, and my excuse is a slow Internet connection (which makes it hard and slow to post), but that's just an excuse, and excuses really aren't worth much, even to the highest bidder. So while I'm on the road, I'll keep my notebook and my camera handy. And when I get home, I'll be sure to work hard on some much needed blog work.

Also a Big Thank You to my Friends and Family for their love and support on my birthday and always. And thanks to Mom, Dad, Grandma and Pap, Janice and Chad, Chris, Matt, Jake, Phil and Whitney, Heather, Ilyse, Mary, and Debbie for the calls.

Safe Travels,
Jeff

Looking Back on 2009

2010-01-01T19:31:00.000-05:00

I stared this post a while ago, back in January, and now it's time to finish it.

2009 was a good year. It all started in January. I worked January, February, and March--working full-time on my books and part-time for cash. Then in April, I worked my last day at my part-time job, which was with the good people in the Environmental Science and Technology Dept. at the University of Maryland. I believe my last day was April 7. Then I kept writing and getting ready for my spring/summer plans.

The Full-Time Friend mission obviously started with an idea. But the first action seems to be when I got on a Greyhound bus in Baltimore and headed west to Denver.

First out-and-back cross-country mission: I took the bus west to Denver to see my brother and friends. And then I got in the car with my brother and helped him drive from Denver back to Maryland.

We drove back. And it was a happy homecoming for Chris. And then some local parties and friending, and then a trip to MA for our family vacation. Great days up north.

Then back to Maryland. We're into June now. I squeezed in some writing days, and some meetings with my incredible mentor Dr. Baldwin, who's working with me on The Megatransect Data. And then the full-on wild madness of June! Hot and humid and wonderful. A great Pig Party with my friends the Dyers and Co. Travis's bachelor party, then Matt Posko's bachelor party: a Phish concert in PA. Jake Belvin was in town at this point, after some amazing roving adventures of his own, staying at my home with his car. And then Matt Brezina came to town, and we picked him up. Then Travis and Hilary's wedding, a beautiful celebration of love and friendship. And then the very next day we were off.

Second out-and-back cross-country mission: Jake Belvin's car was packed with bike tour stuff. Time to get down to business. Mary rode with us out to Denver, all of us taking turns driving. Fast and loose, like Fast Eddie Felson from The Hustler, that classic black and white film. Fast and loose like The Odyssey, the powerful words and translations of Homer--a story from 2,700 years ago. Another Odyssey for us, yes! Mary stayed in Denver and Jake and I began our adventures, a bike tour which would take us to fair and golden Yosemite--Where we met Travis and Hilary and Mary and Dave for some great Yosemite Days. And then I Greyhounded back to Pittsburgh for Adam and Brianne's wedding. Then back to MD, thanks to a ride from Jake Posko and Christina.

Now we're well into July. I was in MD till early August, with some local friending, and getting ready for a gig. I played music at Matt and Sharon's wedding, and then the next week I was on the road.

Third out-and-back cross-country mission: driving with Debbie from Maryland to Denver, to see some friends and then get my bike (Thanks again, Mary!) and then up to Gunnison, CO, where we met Chris and Kyle. After a mad night in Gunnison, Debbie and I went our separate ways (not because of the mad night; just because we each had our ways to go). I rode west with Chris and Kyle. Debbie had a Wilderness First Responder class. We met twelve days later. Then we made our way back home. We got back to MD in early September. Debbie gave another slide show at NASA, and I was in attendance. Then some local friending. Then my first serious wide-eyed NYC mission, which went so well that I'm forever grateful (Thanks Matt!). Then some music making and family time and some more local friending. And a trip to PA to see more family. Thanks to everyone, I can't put all the names in right now.

Fourth out and back cross-country mission: And then during the first weekend in October, after Jake's bachelor party, I headed west in a car with Dave Mecchi. Fast and loose, again, on the highway. I'm so lucky, I'm so lucky, I thought. Out to Denver, again. Then in the car--a different car--with Ilyse, out and on the road, rocking hard because we had many miles to go. Up to Seattle. Then down the coast. Kobus in Portland. Then sweet Cali. O how I love California! San Fran for some friending. Then back to Devner by way of Yosemite, Death Valley, Vegas, and Utah awesomeness. Then back to MD with Ilyse and her car packed with lifethings and another bout on Interstate 70.

Back to MD the day before Jake and Christina's wedding, which was perfect and good. And from here on, Maryland was my base camp again . . . .

October into> November, with some time in MD. And PA again to see the grandparents. Then the holidays and such, working and friending, which I've written about below.

Thanks again to all those who helped me in my travels and spent their time with me.

I appreciate it.

Jeff

Holiday Friending

2009-12-28T19:12:00.000-05:00

Find the balance that is there--that's a message I wrote to myself, something for me to remember as the holidays shine on.

Yes, balance and time. Planning and inspiration. Decide the work, choose the task, and get it done. And sometimes the task is no task. And sometimes the work is fun. Balance--it's there, somewhere, a zebra in the mist, a changing mechanism. For the weights and levers of balance are constantly changing with respect to the changing gravity of Priority.

I am now reminded of a holiday season several years ago. I was staying up late one night, even though I had to get up early the next morning, and I was writing emails and holiday cards and getting some packages together--and it was at that exact moment when I had this idea: Man, I thought, a person could really be a full-time friend. It really takes time to do all these things. Phone calls and emails and letters and personal visits, yes, these things do take time.

And now, years later, I understand this more than ever. I put quite a bit of time into my full-time friend mission, and it's something that I'm proud of. I got to spend time with a lot of family and friends. And the interesting part is that I feel like it's still going on.

When will it end? I don't know. I don't want to know. No reason to pin it down with words. Commit to nothing. Open to everything. My mission has transitioned a bit, but I'm still spending time with family and friends locally, and so I feel like the mission is going on. I'll tell this story better and explore my thoughts more deeply in the book version. But for now, I have this blog post, a little, free, all-you-can read word buffet.

Although I like my late nights, sometimes I get up early. I get my writing done early so I can go out in the evenings. We have a lot of time each week, more than enough time for two full-time jobs. So why not work it?

There's a spirit in the air. It's the joy of the season and the magic of life. Time with family, time with friends, and some work that I enjoy--I am lucky and thankful. I am happy and excited. The snow is still lingering, all that snow! But the roads are mostly clear again. Our Christmas tree is up and I've caught Marley chewing on it. I tell him "No," and he understands. We have to put the ornaments up high, in the top half of the tree, so he won't get them.

Happy Holidays to everyone, and safe travels.
Fondly,
Jeff

Late Night / Blizzard of '09

2009-12-19T02:45:00.000-05:00

Well it's Friday night and the snow is coming down. It's a little after midnight, and so I had to hit play on "Midnight Moonlight," a song that just happened to be there in one of my playlists.

"If you ever feel lonesome . . . "

Sing on, Jerry. I know it's not really a snow song, but it feels like the right song for the moment, which is all that matters. "Midnight Moonlight" also reminds me of California, and that's a place I'll be visiting soon in my mind.

Yes, the snow's been falling for a few hours now, and there's a couple inches on the ground. And actually, I just got home. I was at two parties. First, I was at Mary's, to see her and her family and Jenny and Ivan. And then I went over to Hilary's, where a Christmas party was happening. I would have liked to stay at both parties longer, but a serious storm was coming, and I wanted to get home early to minimize my time on the snowy roads.

So that's what I did. I left Travis and Hilary's home, and followed all the usual roads, driving slow in the old Honda Civic. And now I'm home and everyone is sleeping. But no sleep for me, at least not for a while. Janice is still on the road, and so I'm going to stay awake till she gets here--late night solidarity with my sister, and some phone calls every so often to check in with her.

They were calling for about eight inches, but now they're saying much more. Easily over a foot, and some places close to twenty inches. It certainly feels like it's going to be a big one.

So the snow is falling. I am writing. And Janice is driving. She's on her way back to Maryland for her friend Grace's wedding. The wedding will be tomorrow, Saturday. My goal is to keep writing until Janice gets here. When I say writing, I mean working on my book, book 1, the story of the first big bike tour. Of course right now I'm taking a break from the book so I can update the blog.

Breaks are good. I went downstairs and took Marley out. He loves the snow. And boy, it's really coming down. A good steady snowfall. They're predicting blizzard weather, so we'll see. And now, back to the book . . . .

. . . . We'll it's a few hours later, getting deep into those crazy hours now: 3 o'clock and 4 o'clock. Soon I'll be over the hump and into 5 a.m. territory, which is no longer night but morning in my mind, and that'll somehow make it feel better. But I have a secret weapon: I've been staying up late the last couple weeks, so 4 a.m. doesn't seem so bad. Staying up late seems normal now. I've been working two writing shifts each day: a morning shift from about noon till 5 or 6. Then a dinner/evening break. And then the night shift which can go from 7 till maybe 2 or 3 a.m.

Right now, in book 1, I'm working on the chapters along the California coast, getting close to San Francisco. I'm looking back at some photos from my recent travels which yielded some good research. I'm writing about the sunny realm of California and the Pacific Coast and the Coastal Variations from day to day--and outside my window the snow is coming down--it's a nice contrast. I like the contrast and the two different worlds. There's two world everyday: the world in my mind, and the world outside. I just felt a chill when I typed that last sentence, a strange-loop-kind-of-a-chill that sometimes happens when you're writing about something that's happening at the same time. Also maybe a stuck-in-a-moment-kind-of-thing, as U2 said in their song. And so with that, I might as well pause this blog post here, and get back to the book and my late-night solidarity with Janice. It's time to call her again. . . . .

. . . . We'll it's getting close to six a.m. Janice should be here any minute. I just went outside with Marley again, to run and play in the snow. The canvas is fresh and clean, so much possibility. A big snowfall is an interesting experience. Rain falls and then soaks into the ground. Ice/freezing rain comes down and makes the world hard and dangerous. But snow just sits there like fine stuffing that has tumbled down from the inside of the clouds. Sure it's cold, but it's soft too. At least in my mind. Soft and quiet, like somehow the snow is absorbing the sounds, which is probably is. Dampening vibrations and eating sound waves. There's a lot about snow that I don't know.

The wind was also blowing hard. I had to gear up with a down coat and my rain gear jacket and pants. I wore my yellow-tinted safety glasses to keep the blowing snow from stinging my eyes. I was walking with Marley, just walking down the center of the street, through the ever-thickening canvas, when I saw a car approaching. I thought it was Janice even though I knew she wasn't due to arrive for about half an hour. But it had to be her. No one else driving at that hour. So I was waving and jumping up and down as the car crept toward me, headlights looking very yellow through my glasses. Marley and I moved to the side as the car came closer, and it was then that I saw the driver. Not Janice, but some lady with a cigarette in her mouth. It was the paper delivery person. I said that I sorry, and that I thought she was someone else. And she just smiled and then tossed a paper out her open window, and then almost got stuck when she tried to back out. I thought I was going to have to help push. Her car just barely made it.

. . . . It's later now, and Janice is home safe. Time to get some sleep. I just finished saving my word document, after writing myself some notes for next time. I wrote my notes, as I usually do, at the place where I intend to pick up and keep working. I also wrote "Start here" so I can find my spot. When I start my writing day tomorrow, I'll just do a "control+F" and search for "start here." Then I can pick up where I left off--although I usually go back to the beginning of the chapter just so I can get back into the groove.

And so I've reached the end of another work day. Thanks for reading, safe travels, and goodnight.

Feeling Thankful

2009-11-27T02:05:00.000-05:00

Well it's Thanksgiving 2009, and I'm feeling thankful. I started thinking about this post earlier in the day while I was out on a bike ride. I went out in the morning before the feast. I needed to get some exercise. I rode around a nearby neighborhood where the air smells okay--better than the busy roads. Just a quick ride, about ten or fifteen minutes, because I wanted to get home and help with the preparations.

As I was nearing the end of my ride, I saw a one-dollar bill on the ground, on top of some leaves, by the right side of the road, in front of a house. For a quick second I thought about stopping to get it. But I never stopped pedaling. Forget that soggy dollar, I told myself, you don't need that now. Besides, I liked the idea of riding past cash on a cool and misty thanksgiving morning. If it was a twenty or more, would I have stopped? Good question. I like to think I would have taken a larger bill up to the door of the closest house. Or maybe used it to make a donation.

But it was only a one-dollar bill and I left it there for some other creature to find. I went home, with feasting and celebrating on my mind. Janice and Chris were also home, and we all helped as our mother prepared the meal. Then we ate. Everything was wonderful. I had my first tofu turkey, which I enjoyed very much.

As I sit in my room late on this Thanksgiving night, I am feeling good and thankful--thankful for my health and my family and friends and some work that I enjoy doing. I'm looking forward to being with my father and my grandparents and the rest of my family this coming weekend. The celebration must continue!

Mahalo.

Update and Recapitulation

2009-11-21T18:54:00.000-05:00

It's November now. The trees are bright with color and I'm totally amazed, like I am every year. My eyes feel as though they are two young kids looking up at their first sideshow. It's hard to imagine a fall without trees. I'm lucky because there's a good-sized chunk of forest behind our home and Marley and I walk by it everyday.

As I walked Marley today, I thought about a walk back in September when I found one of my favorite trees dead on the ground. It had been knocked down by a storm. It was a big tooth aspen, a tall, mature specimen. It had been there for years, but I first payed attention to it after my 2007 Megatransect bike tour which really helped me focus my looking and learning. I never knew that species existed. Walking with Marley, I saw some big tooth aspen leaves on the ground and remembered what I already knew: death is part of life.

And when my thoughts walk down the road of death, they always come back to one thing: life is something to enjoy and something to work at. I'm not afraid of getting older. I see it as a good thing. As time goes by, I can become a better person and do the things that I want to do. My enjoyment of the seasons has certainly heightened over the years. The seasons are beautiful and fun and a reminder to me to keep falling in love with the Natural World. In my part of the world, the seasons come on nice and slow--about three months between each season. It takes about three hundred and sixty five days for the earth to go around the sun. And it's that yearly circle, combined with the tilt of the earth's axis, that gives us our seasons.

With the coloring of the leaves, I felt that fall was official. I was back at home, with my mother and brother, and a fresh batch of time on my hands. I was thinking about my family and friends, and the recent wedding, and my travels. I was listening to Phish's 2009-10-31 show where they played Exile On Main Street, the Rolling Stone's album, as their musical costume. I made my daily round of phone calls and emails and made an effort for some local friending. I checked out Kobus's blog that he had started in Alaska. I went to my local library. Money was getting low. Expenses needed to me minimized. Then another trip took shape.

I packed four Aloha shirts, my bicycle, and my computer. My brother packed his clothes and computer and bicycle too, and we headed north in his 1988 Honda Civic. We drove to central Pennsylvania again to see our grandparents. As always, we had a great time. Thanks again Grandma and Pap! On a previous trip, Grandma had taught us how to make pizzelles. So Chris and I got out the pizzelle maker and we made another 12 dozen or so--which meant there would be some for the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday. Chris and I rode bikes around our old home town, exploring roads and trails from our past, old neighborhood streets where we both learned to ride.

And then back to Maryland. I settled back into my writing, and started a string of writing days. I could feel myself transitioning from my full-time friending days into my full-time writing days. But there's a lot of hours in a given week, and I tried to keep the balance between my time spent building relationships and my time spent working.

And that pretty much gets us up to date. Which brings us to the recapitulation, a restating of the theme: my goal with my full-time friend mission was to strengthen the bonds of friendship. I used (and am still using!) everything in my quiver: personal visits, road trips, bike tours, other missions, late nights, early mornings, phone calls, music, conversation, birthdays, emails, packages, and postcards. But I am still learning. The goat of laziness sometimes gets in the way, but I keep trying. Every friendship is a little different. And there are no rules. There is only love.

Thanks again friends! I'll write a little something next month. Right now, I'm going to step away from the computer, eat some pizzelles, and go for a bike ride with my brother.

Enjoy the upcoming holiday and travel safe.

Jeff

October Travels - MD to CO to CA and back to MD

2009-11-01T01:37:00.000-05:00

Greetings blog reader, I hope you're doing well and having fun. Right now, while you're at this site, the fun will be partially up to me. I'll keep that in mind. You've come here for words and entertainment, so let's get down to business.

It's the very end of October. It's time to look back and document this past month. I'm back in Maryland after my last round of cross-country traveling. Most of this post will be about that cross-country journey. But this post will be bookended by two Posko events.

Part 1

First, the bachelor party. Jake Posko's bachelor party was on October 3, a Saturday. The bachelor mish started at the golf course. I didn't play, so I met the crew after their game was over. It was Jake (the groom), his father Henry, his brother Matt, Adam, Andy, Doug, Eric, and myself. I was the designated driver for the mission, a job which I easily accepted. I was happy to help the team. And I had no money for bar drinks. And I had to drive cross-country the next morning. I drove the guys down to Annapolis. Jake was the DJ for the car, and he did a fine job. I remember "Bertha don't you come around here, anymore" flowing out the windows of the car at top volume as we cruised down Ritchie Highway, and then up and over 50, on to 450 for the final ride across the bridge and into Annapolis. Here's the crew walking over to West Street:

That's us. Men in the night. Annapolis was our home that night. We reveled as men on the town. There was laughter and loud voices, and we had a fine time talking and drinking and playing darts. There was honor too. We found a broken ATM and reported it. Annapolis was the right place for us; it was our hometown city. Jake chose Annapolis. He knew. We've all been going there for years, so it feels like our home city. We stuck to the Code of the Road and the Code of the City, and everything worked out just fine. Thanks guys! It was a good night.

Part 2

I woke up the next day and caught a ride with Adam who was on his way back to Pittsburgh. Adam, being the gentleman that he is, dropped me off at Dave's on his way west. Dave was packing the car in the driveway beside his family's home. His family was there, helping and saying goodbye. Dave was moving to Denver. I was riding along for multiple reasons: to help with the driving, and because I needed to get to Denver, and because this way I could spend some time with Dave.

Dave packed what he needed in his black Volkswagen. Bikes and skis went on top. Everything else in the back. Just the front two seats were open. Dave's mother had some good vegetarian chili and some cornbread, so we feasted before we left. Here's us beside Dave's machine:

And then we were off! Up the ramp, on 32 West, over to Interstate 70. Good old 70, it was starting to feel like home. But Dave wanted to go through West Virginia, so that's what we did. We skipped the PA turnpike and drove through Wheeling, the place where Dave had gone to college. We shared the driving and shared the music (we both had our favorite songs and artists on our mp3 players).

And the miles flew by like they tend to do in modern cars. Early signs of fall were written on the foliage. Light browns and reds and golden colors. It was fine driving weather. We stopped outside of Wheeling for pizza. Dave knew the place: Di Carlo's famous pizza.

It was some good pizza. They do this thing where they cook the pizza and then, after it's done, they sprinkle cheese on top. So when you get it, there's this kind of soft/kind of firm cheese on top. Really an amazing idea. The sauce was good, and the crust was thick, and the flavor was enough to make me shout with joy as Dave and I ate three slices each while standing by the car. It's really a special little pizza shop.

We drove all day and into the night on 70 west. We made it well into Missouri. All driving is serious, but night driving is extra serious. During the day, Dave and I took turns sleeping. But at night, I made sure we were both awake. We considered going all night, but in the depths of Missouri, where the darkness was strong, there were also many deer. Some by the road. Not good for us or the deer. So we pulled over at a safe place and slept until it was light.

After sunrise we were back at it, truckin' west. And while we drove, we were talking about the past and the future. Dave had been working in West Virginia doing survey work. He loved being outside and walking in the forest all day. But he wasn't sure about finding work in Denver. I told him not to worry. He'd make it work. Plus there was skiing to do! Dave was excited for the mountains of the west, and I was excited for him. Dave and I remembered our time in Yosemite, back in July. We both loved Yosemite.

After Missouri came Kansas, a state I've always enjoyed traveling through. Despite what people say, it's not totally flat. When you bike across Kansas, you learn this. The roads may be straight, and some sections may be somewhat flat. But it's nothing like the desert, no huge flat plains like you'll find in the Great Salt Lake Desert of Utah.

On our second driving day, after nightfall, we came cruising into Denver. We went straight to Heather and Ilyse's home. I had the directions memorized. Heather welcomed us with food and tea and we celebrated under the great Colorado night sky. Ilyse came home later, and the four of us stayed up for a bit.

And thus began my time in Denver. No doldrums to speak of, at least not for me. Heather and Ilyse's home became base camp, and there was much work to be done there. Heather was working. Ilyse was packing, getting ready to move out and road trip with me. Dave was unpacking and moving into Ilyse's room. I was trying help out, and visit with everyone. I went for walks with Heather and her awesome dog Max. Peter and Kristin invited some people over, and I went to their home with Dave and met Jake Belvin and Mary who were there. It was a fine talking and tea party, with coffee instead of tea, good strong Dazbog coffee made with Peter and Kristin's french press. I put on my serious Jeff face and hair and made everyone laugh. Keeping a straight face can be hard. I was smiling underneath, just Ani DiFranco talks about in her song. Jake borrowed my camera and worked his magic (photos by Jake Belvin):

Dave.

Peter.

Kristin and me.

You can get a lot done with late nights and early mornings, but sleep is not really part of that plan. I was up early. Ilyse and I were packed and ready to go. We had plans to follow, a schedule to abide. It was road trip time.

Part 3

With Ilyse driving her trusty Toyota, we left Denver and flew north, away from the city and the morning commuters and into Wyoming. There, Ilyse woke me up, and we headed west on 80. I was taking photos for my research archives. Photos are valuable things. I think we had some Beatles on the CD player. Good to start a trip strong. And we were both talking with excitement about the time ahead. We had about twenty days to drive a huge western loop that would take us all over and then back to Denver.

We drove all day, away from sunny Colorado and far into Wyoming with its snowy mountains:

First, there was snow on the mountains. Later, we saw some snow on the ground as we approached Jackson, enjoying roads which were new to both of us. Then we met Jennifer Wolf and had dinner with her and met her friends who were also staying at her home. Jennifer's place became our base camp for a bit. Ilyse and I went up to Grand Teton and Yellowstone national parks.

I guess before I get too far along, I should state the goal of this Ilyse-and-Jeff road trip. So Ilyse and Heather moved out to Colorado in the fall of 2007. They had lived there two years. But Ilyse was ready to move back to Maryland, where most of her family and friends live. So, before she headed home, she wanted to do a road trip and see as much of the West as she could. The idea came back in spring of 2009, when my brother and I were in Denver, and my full-time friend mission was just getting started. We were talking, and the road trip idea came up. And I said I might just be able to do that, which excited Ilyse very much because on a long drive, with camping and lots of foreign places, she would like to have someone else go with her. Heather of course wanted to go too, but she had work commitments. So I stepped in and did what I had to do. Ilyse and I became a traveling team, and the rest is still to come. So anyway, that was our plan. And we dearly missed Heather on the mission. But we thought about her everyday and called her often.

On the day President Obama was awarded the Nobel Prize, Ilyse and I left Jennifer's Jackson home and went up and over Teton Pass. There was snow on the road, but Ilyse kept her cool. From there, we just kept driving. All day and all night, through the huge snowy lands of Montana. No camping for us--we decided to go the whole way to Seattle. I made my double brew, extra strong coffee, and loaded up some Bob Dylan CDs, and got some driving done. Slow, steady, and alert--my favorite way. Ilyse got in touch with her friend Keri, and we ended up at Keri's Seattle home late at night.

A deep sleep cleansed the double brew, extra strong coffee from my body and mind. I woke up ready to see Seattle. Keri drove us downtown. We did some walking in the city and the parks. I probably took about a hundred photos that day (like most of my traveling days). My camera was either in my right hand or my right pocket.

From Keri's (Thanks Keri!) we headed over to see my cousin Margaret, who was living just west of Seattle with her husband Jay. It was great to see Margaret and meet Jay. They were recently married, so they told us about the wedding. And we enjoyed some wine that Jay and his friend had made. And we watched some of the old videos of the old Tacoma Narrows Bridge, aka, Gallopin' Gertie.

After a night with Margaret and Jay (Thanks again friends!), Ilyse and I kept moving. We crossed the new and steady Tacoma Narrows bridge and headed south to Mt. Rainer National Park. The big mountain was out, no clouds, and Ilyse and I did a bit of hiking within sight of that mighty mountain:

Then we drove south toward Portland. We met our friend Chris Kobus, who lived just north of the city and across the river. Chris was getting packed to move to Alaska. Ilyse and I helped him. Chris showed us Portland. Then we had a party and celebrated Ilyse's birthday. Using Chris's Internet, we later caught up on some emails and The Office episodes.

Ilyse and Chris in Chris's home.

And then we thanked Chris and headed south and west, over to the Oregon Coast. Being back on the coast, I felt the power of the ocean and the sheer hugeness of the continent. I remembered the magic of past bike tours and took many, many photos. I'm tempted to go wild and load a bunch of photos here, but we haven't time to spare.

We followed 101 south, driving during the day and camping along the coast at night. And from the shining coast of Oregon, 101 took us into California, still along the coast, and we were immediately in Redwood Country. We saw the sign and came into the forested kingdom of Redwood National and State Parks. We drove. We stopped. We followed the old scenic roads. We got out and walked in the forest. We saw the old growth areas, and felt the awesome beauty of the coastal redwoods, Sequoia sempervirens. They are the tallest trees and the tallest living things in the world. They grow very high, reaching heights above 360 feet, which, as you may remember, is the length of a football field. And they can live for thousands of years (upwards of 2,000 years) if conditions are good and humans keep their saw blades away. The redwoods are amazing and humbling and full of huge quiet beauty, but they also reminded us about our past foolishness because only five percent of the old growth redwoods remain.

Ilyse in the redwood forest.

And from the redwoods we continued south, enjoying the radiant coastal beauty, huge beaches, rocky cliffs, and vast coastal views where the white waves stretched on into the distance. The west side of the continent, with its coastal highways, is a great place for a road traveler. And we saw people on bicycles, touring the coast, a classic 2,000-mile route that I was fortunate to have done with my friends and family. And as I passed through towns and places that were familiar, I told Ilyse stories from my past travels. And she was a good listener, and navigator, and soon we found ourselves approaching the wonderful seaside city of San Francisco.

Hot damn! Good old San Fran. I was overjoyed to be back there, but I did have to say bye to Ilyse as we split up for a few days. She was there to see her brother. I was there to spend some time with one of my oldest friends, Matt Brezina. Matt and I had some excellent adventures: biking around the city, exploring Golden Gate Park, hiking along the coast, and sailing San Francisco Bay in Matt's boat.

I felt the traveling gods and goddesses smiling down upon me in San Fran. Glorious San Fran, a special city in a special state. I love California. I think about it often while writing: we went there in Book 1, and Book 2 is all about Cali. So I was thrilled to be back in California. My San Fran days went by, bright and fast. So much to do! And I was happy to meet Lauren, girlfriend to Matt. And I was happy to spend some time with Phil Brezina (brother to Matt), and Whitney, and Jamie, and Jamie's friend and co-worker Phil Lang. Everyone I knew out there was working hard and having fun and doing well.

I got to see Phil Brezina play violin in one of his grad school recitals. Phil is an excellent musician, very skilled but humble, a fun person to play music with. In San Fran, things have been going great for Phil. One morning, over coffee and banana pancakes, I got him to tell me the story of how he played a gig with David Grisman. Phil has been playing violin for many years. His love for music is obvious when he picks up his bow and violin. You can see Phil's website here.

Matt was working hard and having fun with Xobni, a company he founded several years ago with his friend Adam. You can see the Xobni website here. Matt's learned a lot over years, and it's been wonderful to watch the company progress. Well done Matt! Keep up the good work. Matt and I talked about Xobni (pronounced zob--[like bob]--knee). But there were also other things to discuss: music and books and hiking and biking and Yosemite. We went to Amoeba and bought CDs: Miles Davis, Ani, and the Tragically Hip for me, and some Clifford Brown and Herbie Hancock for Matt, who's a deep down jazz lover.

I was also happy to see Whitney. Although she was quite busy with her graduate school studies, she made time for some for our missions. Keep up the good work, Whitney! School is almost over.

And it was great to see Jamie. I was happy to hear that things were going well for the company he worked with: Bricks and Mortar Media. Jamie was living with his coworker Phil, and Matt and I stopped by their place on our bike mission and visited with Jamie and Phil for a while. It's California photo time:

Matt and Lauren after Phil's recital.

Phil and Whitney.

Matt, Me, and Jamie in the depths of Golden Gate Park.

In Amoeba music (photo by Matt or Jamie).
Note Jim Morrison poster--photo for Kimberly!

Coastal Hike.

On the boat, Matt, Phil, and Whitney.

Ilyse, Jamie, Matt, and Matt's friends.

Matt, the skipper, making it look easy.

Brothers.

Photo by Ilyse.

With Jamie, also by Ilyse.

The Golden Gate Bridge,
stretching over the strait known as the Golden Gate.

Phil, outside his favorite little market in the Haight.
The poster to the right is for Phil's school.

My brother's bike, old Red, which he rode across the country.
Ilyse and I were bringing it back from Cali for him.

Lauren in the panhandle during our rainy day mural mission.

Ilyse and I both enjoyed our San Fran days and nights (Thank you everyone!)--and it was tempting to spend more days there--but we had to keep moving. We drove east to Yosemite, down into the Valley, and got a campsite at Camp 4. We spent a day in the Valley, enjoying the wonder that is Yosemite. A few more Yosemite photos:

Yosemite Valley.

Climbers on El Capitan
(you might have to click on the photo to see them).

Again, I was temped to stay in Yosemite for many days and nights, but the road was calling. With Tioga Pass being closed, we drove south, and then east, around the Sierra Nevada. Then up 395 to Lone Pine. We camped within sight of Mt. Whitney, that inspiring and lovely Sierra peak:

In the morning (after I took the above photo), we turned our backs to Whitney and headed east, into Death Valley. I hadn't been there for 9 years, so I was excited to be back. And because it was mid October, we could get out and walk on the sand dunes and the salt flats, under complete sun, without fear of burning. October was nice, in the 80s, nothing like those 150-degree summer sun days.

After Death Valley, we zoomed over to Las Vegas. We were in Las Vegas by early afternoon. Thanks to Janice and Ilyse, we found a cheap room at the Riviera. Ilyse and I walked the whole Strip and had a great time walking and looking and even gambling and winning a little money. But for me, the main attraction in Vegas is not the money. It's the crazy lights and human activity and desert magic. It feels good to walk the strip and soaking it all in.

At this point, Ilyse and I were on our way back to Colorado. On the way to Denver, we stopped in a bunch of National Parks in Utah: Zion, Bryce Canyon, Capitol Reef, and Arches.

Zion N.P.

Bryce Canyon N.P.

Petroglyphs in Capitol Reef N.P.

Arches N.P.

After spending some time in Arches National Park, we got in the car and drove back to Denver. There was snow in the mountains on 70, but we took our time and made it back safe.

Part 4

Ilyse and I were happy after driving our western loop. We were back where we started, Denver, but there was more driving to do because Ilyse was moving back to Maryland, and I would be riding with her. We spent a few days in Denver, packing and relaxing. Ilyse was saying goodbye to people. Jake Belvin came over and we had a little party. And then the next morning we left driving east on 70.

After two long days (with a night of camping in between), we were back in Maryland at Ilyse's home. Chris came over and picked me up, and then I was home, just in time too.

Part 5

If you've made it this far, well done. It's hard to cram a month of living and traveling into one blog post. But I went for it. No regrets. I did this to honor the past and to thank the people that traveled with me. Thanks to Dave for the ride out, and Ilyse for the road trip and the ride back. By providing those rides, you both were a great help to my full-time friend mission.

A lot can happen in one month--a lot of moments and memories and photographs. It's amazing and interesting the way our lives build and grow. Anyway, we've come to the other bookend, the other Posko event that I alluded to at the beginning of this post.

Ilyse and I came home on Oct 29. Oct 30 was the rehearsal for the wedding. Oct 31 was the big day. I was honored to be a groomsman in the wedding. Thanks again Jake and Christina! I borrowed a black suit and stood behind Jake Posko with his other groomsmen as he said his vows outside, under a fine fall sky, and married his true love Christina. Then came the reception, with family and friends and good food and dancing. The music was excellent, thanks to Jake's good taste. I used my brother's SLR and helped out by taking photographs at the reception. It was quite a party. Family and friends came from all over. And we stayed up late celebrating the joys of the season and the wedding of our two friends, Christina and Jake.

Congratulations Christina and Jake!

As always, thanks for reading and safe travels.

Jeff

September Travels - DC, MD, NY, PA, VA

2009-10-03T04:25:00.000-04:00

It's October third again, late at night, another night in the Digital Age. I'm online. I'm looking at my photographs and my journals, looking back on the last couple months. There's been so many miles and so many moments, and most of them have been good. I'm thankful and lucky and happy to be home, back at my base camp, with time to rest and time to reflect and time to be with people I love.

Now I can't go through all the details off all the various adventures--I'll save that for the book version--but I will mention a few things. I have a lot of territory to cover, so I might as well get to work. It's nearing two in the morning. It's quiet. People are sleeping, including many of the manics and morons, a fact that gives me comfort in this Age of Modern Mayhem. I have one can of beer and one cup of coffee. I'm sipping slow, looking forward to that moment when both liquids will reach the same temperature.

The time dial is set: September 2009. My travels with Debbie (which are mentioned in previous posts) put me back in Maryland on the ninth day of September. Back in Maryland for the very end of summer. The crape myrtle in front of our house was still putting on a fine pink show. I arrived at home and continued planning. There were future missions to carry out.

First, the zoo. My mother and I took a day and went to the Washington D.C. Zoo. It was my first time there. I was supposed to go for an assignment back in college, but I was busy with working and scheming and I never went. Maybe the assignment was for extra credit. Or maybe it was mandatory. I don't remember. I took college on my own terms, and did what I wanted, but I passed. Anyway, I didn't come here to rant about my college days so I must focus. Late night focus is key for early morning writing.

Zoos can sometimes be a little sad--animals far from home with sad eyes--but there are other things happening too. Education. Protection. And Beauty. Beauty in the raw power and agility that many of the species possess. And beauty in the diversity. Humans interact with humans so much, it's easy to forget about the millions of other species that live on this planet. My mother and I saw about a couple hundred different species at the D.C. Zoo, and we enjoyed our time there. Thanks Mom! (You can never say that enough.) Some zoo photos:

After weeks and months on the road, it was good to be at home. But I was only home for a few days. And then my mother dropped me off at the downtown Baltimore Greyhound station. I rode north.

A few hours later I stepped off the bus in New York City. Manhattan to be exact, near Times Square. I had been there before (on other hound trips), but they were brief stops and I hadn't really seen too much. I was back in the city to see the city, yes, but that was just a perk. I had come to New York City to spend some time with my friend Matt Wellschlager.

I ran up the stairs and out of the Port Authority Terminal. I called Matt with my semi-recently obtained cell phone. He was on his way over. I was standing out on the street, wearing my backpack and holding my NYC Lonely Planet guidebook in just the right way: against my side and with the cover facing in and the spine facing down so no one could easily tell it was a guide book. Stealth mode. Yes yes! Ho ho! I was in the Big City--Santa Claus's quagmire--the biggest city in the U.S. Over 8.3 million people living there. I felt my traveling powers coming back to me. The switch had been flipped. I was a pod of observation.

Matt found me outside the station and we started our first mission, a walk around the City, the first of many good missions. It was great to see Matt again. It was a fine day--warm solar rays, cool fall air, and lots of city energy on display for free. Still lots of leaves on the trees in the parks and along the streets. Matt had been in the city for years, and he knew his way around. We walked. We talked. I was got excited about the metal reinforcements--curb guards--which are on many of curbs. Tough streets. They sustain much punishment.

Matt and I both love much of the same music, so Matt showed me some of the famous music landmarks in the city: Bob Dylan's old apartment, Cafe Wha?, the Zeppelin album cover photo site, and the old site of CBGB. And while we walked to these music places, we were talking about music: setlists, Jerry Garcia, the Dead, and the great guitarist Les Paul who used to play every Monday night at the Iridium Jazz Club on Broadway (a show I was dreaming of going to). But Les would play no more; he had died a few weeks ago at the age of 81. I felt sad, but I did what I always do when someone dies: I mourned the loss and celebrated the life. Play it pretty, Les. Play it pretty. (Here's a youtube link with Les. Why not? (Les Paul went to the library. Later he learn to shred.)

I am filling with joy and wild excitement as I think about my time with Matt in New York City. I had great fun walking around and seeing the fountains and the parks and all the many streets and people. I dreamed about the big city days ahead. I ate pizza. I rode the subway. Central Park enveloped me. My pizza diet actually began the day I got there (I think I averaged about 4 slices a day). I was happy to meet Kate, girlfriend to Matt, who was wonderful with hospitality and knowledge about the city. Matt and Kate briefed me on the city. I learned quick. On the weekends and evenings, I spent time with Kate and Matt. And during the weekdays, while Matt and Kate were at work, I was off walking and doing my city research.

One week day I walked across all of Manhattan. As many of my friends already know, I am proud of my bipedal crossing of the Manhattan Island from the south to the north (plus some extra miles for fun). I started in the East Village, went down to Battery Park (the south side of the island), and then walked northeast to the very top of Manhattan Island, where the Harlem River slides by, and where the cross street numbers are somewhere up near 217. I was walking for about nine or ten hours--maybe 17 or 18 miles. It felt like 25 or 30. Walking north, I watched the street numbers rise, slowly, like page numbers in some giant volume--each street was its own page, and each page was its own book--worlds inside of worlds, very dense but with strong creative and comic overtones, like a Pynchon book. And while I was crawling through the pages, and sorting through the words, a million different stories were happening all around. I bought dollar slices of pizza on the street and ate while I was walking.

Ah yes, that was one big day of walking. I don't want to brag too much here. And it's not about the distance or the miles. That's not the point. I just got the crazy idea that I should walk across the whole Island. So I did it. And it was a joyous and footsore occasion. And I can't wait to write the whole story out someday soon.

At the top of the island my feet were sore. I had bruised them. I hopped on the train and rode back south to meet Matt and Kate. I drank some coffee and changed my socks, and limped around the apartment talking about my adventure.

Being in the city, I was also fortunate to spend some time with my friend Elliott who lives in Brooklyn. Unfortunately, Brad and Rosie were away. (I'll have to see ya'll next time.) Here's Me, Matt, and Elliot at a sports bar doing the necessary research.

After my goodbyes, I was back on the bus riding to Maryland with my sore feet sitting loose in my shoes. There had been many days of walking, with weight on my back and hard pavement--and I tried to walk softly--but my feet got plenty punished, all in the name of exploration, of course. But my mantras and my rest helped me though. The miles were good ones. And pain is part of the road. Thanks again Matt and Kate! Thanks for making my first New York City mission a great one. Now it's time for some more NYC photos:

Sun in the city.

Fuel for walking (or eating more pizza).

Central Park.

I cried for John Lennon in Central Park.

Respect, the Code of the City,

important all the time, but quite crucial when
you have 8.3 million human animals living close by.

I took this on my Island Walk. It was hard not to think

about the late John Hartford's song "In Tall Buildings."

Central Park.

On Williamsburg Bridge, looking west.

Also on Williamsburg Bridge.

American Museum of Natural History.

Harlem River at the northern most end of Manhattan Island.
(Where I ended my big city walk.)

After four hours on the hound, I was back in MD. I was home, and there were things to do: unpacking, repacking, organizing, housekeeping, room cleaning, entropy fighting, foot resting. I also had some phone calls and emails to work on because a full-time friend needs to always try to stay in touch. I wanted to keep reaching out, and be a good friend, but I also knew I needed some time for myself.

The relationship you have with yourself is an important one. I've known for years that I am a friend to myself. We all do this. In fact, most people are their own best friends. We certainly spend quite a bit of time with ourselves. This is kind of a weird thought, a strange loop for the mind and body and spirit and persona--like holding up two mirrors so they face each other--the self friendship gets reflected to infinity. I shan't linger in this weirdness for too long, but I want to mention some self friending items.

What did I do for my friend Jeff? Well it all started with some good sleep, long and deep, no need for coffee after putting a good 12 hours in the sleep tank. Then some reading and music to start the day. Walk Marley. Sit in the sun. Eat and drink. Then I got down to some writing. Yes, when I'm not thinking about my family and friends, I'm usually thinking about my books. All my months of traveling and friending meant a hiatus from the work on my main manuscript, Book 1. But on that day, I decided to get back into it. So I fired up my old laptop and the most recent word document (every writing day I save a new draft with the date in the title), and I started at the beginning, page 1. Soon I was back in the word story groove, writing and rewriting and editing.

With only a couple writing days, I didn't make a ton of progress, but that was okay. The contact was what I needed, to be back in my writing chair, remembering the past and feeling the story.

And then one day I drove to the airport and picked up my brother. Chris had just flow in from San Fran, where he had been living for a couple weeks after his tour was over. I met him at the airport, and we headed home. Mom was very happy to see him. We celebrated his cross-country journey.

It was Chris and me at home, like the old days. Chris was still feeling the bike tour magic, and I was feeling good from months of traveling. And life was good for us in Maryland.

One day I did some recording with my friend Jake Posko. Jake and I have written a bunch of songs over the years. We worked on recording some of those songs. I dusted off the my strings and drove over to Linda's home (Jake's mother) where we had our studio set up in the basement. And then we played. Thank you Linda!

While at home, Chris and I spent time with our mother, trying to help out and do some cooking and take care of Marley. We also drove to our father's and spent some time there. Dad was very happy to see Chris, and we were happy to see him--two brothers, back with their father, in the midst of an endless summer. It was a good time.

My siblings and I really are lucky. Our parents are full of love and support and wisdom. They let us do our own things, go in our own directions. They've given us life and love and so many great oppoutunites. Thank you Mom and Dad! We love and appreciate everything you do. (You can never say these things enough.)

After saying goodbye to Dad and Sheila in Virginia, Chris and I drove to Pennsylvania. There, we visited our grandmother and grandfather. They were doing well and looking good, and we were so happy to be there with them. We helped out, and shared meals, and listened to stories. I knew how incredibly lucky Chris and I were, to be there with them. And to be totally free, able to travel and visit loved ones without work-related time commitments. We stayed in PA for a week or so, enjoying our time with our grandparents and our great aunt. We listened closely to their stories. They are older than us. They are wise. They have seen and felt so much, but their spirits are still young and full of joy. And we love them and they love us. And again, I knew that I was very lucky.

And then Chris and I came back to Maryland. I started getting packed. Another full-time friend mission was coming up. I was going west again . . .

That's all for now. The next post will continue with this story.

The coffee and the beer have reached the same temperature. I've combined the two, and I'm enjoying the last couple sips.

Good morning and namaste.

Jeff

The Streak Is Over, But The Wild Static Keeps Me Smiling

2009-10-03T02:51:00.000-04:00

I thought I should make an announcement: my no-flat streak is over. It ended back in August when I was on the road with Chris and Kyle.

How long was the streak? About three years and over 6,000 miles I estimate. Not only did I complete my 2007 American Bicycle Tour and Megatransect with no flats, but I went flat free for the next two years, which included that awesome biking adventure with my friend Jake Belvin as well as a few epic days of riding with Chris and Kyle.

But then I got my flat. It was a pinch flat. I should have known better, but those nasty pinch flats can sneak up on you--heavy loads, low pressure, and rough roads do it every time. (A pinch flat is when the inner tube gets punctured after being pinched between the rim and an object, usually a curb or a rock or something with an abrupt edge.)

The flat happened in Telluride, Colorado but I really didn't mind. I kind of enjoyed it, really, for it was the truth of the unknown. My tire went flat, I thought, Ha ha! Ho ho! A little entropy every day keeps the doctor away. And with insurance the way it is these days, staying away from doctors and hospitals is a financially smart and healthy way to live.

The flat was a good surprise, a little helping of chaos when I was getting comfortable and cocky. And although the flat was a surprise, my reaction was predictable. I enjoyed the flat because I usually enjoy the weird things in life. I've learned to love the unlovable. When people ask me why, I always say: "the absurdity is part of the beauty."

This isn't a new thing for me. I've always loved those crazy unpredictable moments and the weird outcomes of the future. Go out into the world, do things, move around, interact, observe--and the good weirdness will come. The bad weirdness might come too, but that's a whole other tangent I'm not ready to explore. Let's stick with the good weirdness and those crazy unpredictable moments.

I'll tell you this one story. Back in grade school, some of my fondest memories happened on the snowy days. Days when my brother and sister and I went to school and it was snowing. This was in State College, central Pennsylvania, so they could deal with some snow. Life went on. And so we'd be there, sitting in our classrooms, and the snow would be coming down like sweet anti-school magic. The possibility of cancellation was always there. And the teachers would talk in whispers. And we'd all be waiting for an announcement. And as the unknown moments went on and on, I could sense the tension affecting the teachers. Classroom control would slip. I wasn't the only child going crazy inside. We all wanted to get out there and unleash our furry upon the world with snow balls and snow forts and high-speed sledding. If I had a more advanced musical vocabulary, I might have been bold enough to lead the class in a singing of the Clash's "Should I Go Or Should I Stay." But I didn't. I smiled, and looked around, and looked at the teacher, and looked out the window, and reveled in the glorious unknown.

Going home early was the preferable outcome, of course, but I realized it really didn't matter. I was already quite happy. Not with school, obviously--classrooms and school clothes always made me uncomfortable. What made me so happy on those snowy days was the indecision, the wild static of the unknown, that little bit of chaos that could bring the whole train down like dynamite on the tracks.

I loved that stuff and I still do. Why just the other day I was at the supermarket with my brother and my grandfather, and after scanning all the groceries, the cashier looked at us with a sad look and said, "I'm really sorry guys. We're gonna have to do this again."
"You mean scan them all again."
"Yeah."

And that's what we did, all seven bags. And the whole time that was happening--while my bearded face was giving off a polite smile--my inner school boy was just going crazy. I didn't mind the re-scan. I was loving it. I was happy just to be there, stepping on the toes of chaos as we went around the room for one more dance.

Down By Baker Beach

2009-09-15T01:42:00.000-04:00

Today was the day Chris and Kyle finished their bike tour. Over three months of biking. Three months of sleeping outside, and riding under the sun, and meeting new and interesting people. From Yorktown, Virginia to San Francisco--93 days and and over 4,300 miles--you guys made it! Congratulations!

Monday evening in San Francisco: Chris Mentzer and Kyle Sherman walked their bikes down to Baker Beach and touched the Pacific, that great western body of water. Jamie Morganstern was there, taking photos and bearing witness to a rare moment in time.

I wish I could have been there, but a phone call was made, and I did my celebrating on the other side of the country. Drinking some Anchor Steam would have been appropriate, but all I had were a few cans of National Bohemian. And so I drank them down and stared our my window into the Maryland night, trying to remember the magic of the California Coast and the deep-rooted goodness that is there at the end of long journey.

Little did I know that thirty one days later I'd be standing on that very same beach with Jamie Morganstern looking out over the ocean and into the West.

West --> East

2009-09-10T21:26:00.000-04:00

From Denver to Baltimore it's 1,700 miles. At least that's what the sign on Interstate 70 says as you're leaving Baltimore. Time wise, it usually takes me right around 30 or 31 hours, that's doing the speed limit or 5 over and stopping every few hours for quick breaks.

People I know have done the trip much faster (around 24 hours), but I don't see the point. Why rush? A cross-country drive is something to savor, something to revel in. Not a chore to get through or a burden to bear. Even on the interstate there are interesting things to see.

There are good traveling opportunities happening all the time, but sometimes they are missed. I remember one silly boy who was on our flight to Spain last year. He was a college kid on a college trip and he had a loud mouth. He kept complaining about the length of the flight--which was only like 11 or 12 hours--and I just kept thinking you ungrateful little moron! You're going to Europe with your friends on an awesome airplane, and you're moving at more than half the speed of sound, and you're just sitting there complaining. Shame on you.

A little patience can go a long way when you're traveling. Many years of Greyhounding have taught me this. With the right attitude, great burdens can shrivel while the Joy Factor goes up.

How long did Debbie and I take to get from Denver to Baltimore? I don't really know. Our trip was different. We didn't even take I-70. We took I-80--that huge blue line that goes from San Fran to New York City. 80 was great. Smooth and fast. The truck stops. The cheap coffee. Greasy potato chips. I'm a vegetarian, and so is Debbie, so we planned ahead and brought some food. PB and bread. Lot of cheese subs. There's always pizza, and of course the classic road dish: Ice cream and pie. Sometimes I even like to spice up the ice cream with a little sriracha. And now some photos from the road.

Debbie bagged this photo of me in the World's Largest Truck Stop.

Exhaustion sets in.

Debbie also took this one. Olive sunrise.

Debbie and I left on Friday and pushed hard to get to Kent, Ohio in a straight shot. Got there on Saturday. Then we spent a few days in Kent visiting my sister Janice and her boyfriend Chad. Chad's taking (and teaching) art classes at Kent State University. It was great to see them both and celebrate the joys of life. Kent is a college town, and there were several good music and book stores to explore and enjoy. Thanks Jan and Chad for having us! Kent was cool.

Debbie, Chad, Janice, and me.

Debbie has a travel guitar too.

Chad at work.

Photos And Thanks

2009-08-31T16:57:00.001-04:00

This is a photo of me, Kyle, Brian, and Chris outside Brian's home in Panguitch, Utah. Panguitch is where I left Chris and Kyle. Brian hosted us for the night. It was a great end-of-the-tour moment for me. In the morning, Brian gave me a travel guitar and we all said our goodbyes. Thanks again Brain! I've been enjoying my new fiddle!

After leaving Chris and Kyle, Debbie and I drove back to Denver and then spent a few days backpacking on the Colorado Trail (CT). It was Me, Debbie, Stacey, and Stacey's dog Koa. It was my first time on the trail. They had already thru-hiked the whole trail.

After we got off the CT, Debbie and I took our sore legs on over to Morrison, Colorado for a show at Red Rocks. It was Xavier Rudd and Yonder Mountain String Band, sending joyful sounds off the rocks and into the minds of nine thousand happy people. YMSB gave everyone a copy of their new album which wasn't even released yet. The album is called: The Show, and it immediately went into rotation on my summer's soundtrack.

The night of the Red Rocks show was the beginning of a wonderful weekend staying with my friends Heather and Ilyse. This is me, Heather, Ilyse, and Heather's dog Max. You can also see my new guitar there.

With the help of Ilyse, I made the commute over to my friend Mary's home, where I stayed for three more days. This is Mary and me. Click on the photo for a closer look. That's not a stripe on my shirt, but rather an interesting coincidence of time and space.
I had a great time staying with Mary and her three roomates. We had fun, ate good food, got to visit Ivan's family's ranch, and even happened to find a sweet jazz club: El Chapultepec. Below is a photo of Debbie in "the Pec."
After we left the Pec, we began our pizza mission. My pizza cravings had been building for weeks, and I was started to loose control. A pizza dought can be a painful thing. The first place was closed. Then we saw the following words flashing on a sign.

But that place was closed too. But Maps By Mary took us to an all-night pizza joint where the beer was cheap and the pizza was made divine by garlic goodness. I ate two pieces and then proclaimed, "I'm ready for another 3,000 miles."

Thanks to Chris, Kyle, Brian, Debbie, Stacey, Heather, Ilyse, Ivan, and Mary! It was awesome to spend time with ya'll!

Looking Back On The Days Gone By

2009-08-30T01:50:00.001-04:00

Gone are my days of westward movement. My bike is idle and my skin is no longer being cleaned by the wind and the sun.

The bike tour is over. For now. But there will always be another tour, another adventure, another place to be gettin' to--and this is a good and exciting thing.

For now, all I have are the memories, the muscles, and the tan lines. I was on the road with Kyle and Chris for twelve days and thirteen nights. We rode approximately 647 miles together, not that that really matters. Distance on the road is less important than time. And time on the road is a complex thing. The body is challenged. The days are supercharged with new matter for the mind. New material. New places. It's amazing what can happen when you get out there and start moving with sweaty muscles and thirsty lungs.

From the town of Monticello, we rode west. West toward Lake Powell and the Colorado River. West across the state of Utah, toward California and the setting sun. It was always west for Chris and Kyle, for they are westbounders on their journey across America. Riding west was sort of new to me, because my 2007 Cross-Country Bike Tour and Megatransect was an eastbound venture. But I dug going west, even if the sun was in my eyes late in the day.

West is a powerful word with a vast history, especially in America. Our country has a strong tradition with westward movement. We must remember that America was founded after several westbound, wind-powered sailing adventures.

And after the country was founded, the slow westward movement continued. Expansion into the unknown. Roads were hacked into the forests. New areas opened up. Towns were built beside roads and rivers and streams. Boats and horses and feet took people deeper into the West.

Lewis and Clark and the rest of their team made their explorations in the years 1803-1806.

The term Manifest Destiny was tossed around in the mid 1800s. We told ourselves we were destined to go west, and west we went.

The Gold Rush of 1849 made for more westward travels.

Railroads continued to be built. There was even talk of a transcontinental railroad.

Later, the Homestead Act was passed. After which, people had even more incentive to go west. The act was passed by Abraham Lincoln in 1862 in the midst of the Civil War when a dark and bloody curtain was drawn across our youthful country.

But the Civil War finally ended in the spring 1865. Lives were lost, but the West still stood, open and free. And it was was in July of 1865 that Horace Greeley wrote in the New York Tribune: "Washington is not a place to live in. The rents are high, the food is bad, the dust is disgusting and the morals are deplorable. Go West, young man, go West and grow up with the country."

"Go west, young man, go west,"--those words have become part of the American culture, even if they do resonate with a terribly obvious sexism. What about the women! Those millions of homes and homesteads did not succeed by men alone.

"Go west, young man, go west,"--Chris and Kyle heard these words so many times that it became a running joke for them. The scene was usually the same: Chris and Kyle said they were biking cross-country, East Coast to West Coast. And then the person would hand over Greeley's words, saying "go west, young man, go west." At which point, Chris and Kyle would say--in their minds--thank you very much for that Big C of a cliche! Thank you very little."

Repetition is part of life, but it's easy to get tired of hearing the same thing over and over again. That sort of thing happens to all of us. Similar patterns often lead to similar vocalizations. But the truth is this: for every person, westward travel is really it's own adventure. The Road provides a unique experience for each traveler. And although there is great simplicity in those two lanes of blacktop, the Road can sometimes be confusing and random, like a freshman's notebook full of run-on sentence daydreams and messy physics equations.

The Road does different things to different people. For me, it brings out my love for the western lands of America and my pride in the good, honest, and hard-working Americans. It make me aim my camera and inspires me to pull out my notebook and my pen. And my road travels always get me thinking about the love that I have for my friends and family who are sometimes thousands of miles away.

It was a great honor and a great joy to ride with Chris and Kyle. I hadn't been on a bike tour with Chris for 4 years, and that was a streak that I was happy to see end. My brother is a great companion on the road. He sees the beauty. He finds the humor. And he appreciates the absurdities. He's confident with his criticisms. And he brings out the good in those he meets. Chris knows how to keep the costs low and the adventure high. He understands the gift of freedom and the great possibility of day-to-day adventure.

Now Kyle met my brother in college, and that's where they became friends, but it wasn't until this most recent bike tour that Kyle and I became friends. This was my first tour with Kyle and I'm sure it won't be the last. Kyle has a genuine love for the road, which is a very important quality for traveling. He understands the beauty and purity of bicycle touring. And his sense of humor and love for New York did wonders for our conversations. After Kyle's excellent briefing, I am now ready to go to Dani's Pizza in Queens and hand over $1.25 for the "recession special," a huge slice of New York Pizza.

To Chris and Kyle,

Thank you for accommodating me and letting me be part of your 2009 Cross-Country Bicycle Tour. The riding was great, the experiences were fantastic, but the company was even better.

And to all the rest,

Go West, good people, go West. Or go East if that is where your compass rose lands. Work hard. Or be still. Or take to the mountains, or to the cities, or to those dusty rutted roads of inner contemplation. Your road is your own, but your world belongs to everyone. Remember the words of Townes Van Zandt: "Some sail upon the sea, some toil upon the stone." Townes wrote the immortal song "To Live Is To Fly" and the whole world grew a little brighter and a little wiser. That's the magic of the ages, how one person's journey becomes another person's treasure. I treasure the words of that song and the words and melodies of many other writers. I treasure the great glowing gifts of Nature. I treasure the country I live in and the people I love. And when I leave the road for a time, I always try to reflect on the days gone by and remember to be thankful for the journey.

We're In Utah

2009-08-18T14:40:00.000-04:00

Today is Day 66 for Chris and Kyle (Day 6 for me) and we're in Monticello, Utah. Unlike the city in Virginia, they pronounce the name: monti-cell-o.

We got into town late last night, but we found free camping at a RV park. Free camping is very good. Now we're relaxing at the library because today will be a shorter day of riding--almost like a half day--and because we love libraries.

Tomorrow we start the long dry stretch: 74 miles with no services. Chris and Kyle have been looking forward to this challenge for a while. They have lots of water carrying capabilities. I need to pick up a few more bottles. We'll be carrying at least a couple gallons each. Water is heavy, but dehydration hurts.

The last couple days have been great. I've enjoyed seeing parts of Colorado that were completely new to me. New lands. New colors. New thoughts. New smells.

A few days back we had the good fortune to stay with Molly and Travis in the town of Delores, CO. Molly treated us to a bean burrito feast with fresh green chilies. Chris and I even helped clean some chilies. When the work was done, Chris's pile was bigger than mine, but he had cleaned chilies before so I didn't feel too bad. Thanks again Molly and Travis for the wonderful hospitality!

The day before Delores, we were in the mountain town of Telluride, CO. Telluride is a place I've been wanting to check out for many years, mainly because of the awesome mountains and the bluegrass festival that happens every summer. Our first stop was the grocery store. Then the library, which is where we met a man named Crockett. Crockett had done some bike touring himself and when we asked about a free place to camp, he said we could stay in his camper, which was a hut he built on the back of his old Ford truck. Below are some photos of Crockett's hut and also some photos from our days in Colorado. Chris, who is working at the computer to my right, also just posted some new photos.

That's all for now. It's time to be movin' on.

On The Road With Chris and Kyle

2009-08-14T16:29:00.000-04:00

After a great wedding celebration (Congratulations Matt and Sharon!) and after a couple busy days of packing and preparing, I left Maryland sitting in the passenger seat of Debbie's Honda.

The Honda drove true, and two days later we were in Denver. We visited my friends Mary and Kiya, picked up my bike, and then drove to Gunnison, Coloroado which is where we met Chris and Kyle. It was Day 60 of their tour, and Day 0 for me.

Debbie arranged the accommodations for us that night, thanks to her CouchSurfing.com skills (and her ability to bellard under pressure). It was a fine night of partying thanks to Emily, Chelsea, Paul, Clam, Grayson and all the other college kids who stopped by. Even the pizza guy joined the party for a little while.

Debbie, Me, Chris, and Kyle.

And in the morning, we gathered our belongings and took to the road. We rode west, and it was a good thing to be on the road again with my brother and Kyle. They've come so far, and I feel honored to be part of their adventure.

Today is Day 62 (for them) and Day 2 (for me). We're in Montrose, at the library, and it's almost time to get riding again. I'm enjoying the hills, and the sagebrush air, and great western magic that comes from riding the road with friends and family.

Letter From Home

2009-08-05T00:02:00.000-04:00

Dear Readers,

Greetings from Maryland!

Ah yes, there's no place like home. I've been home for about one week. It feels good. Sharing dinners with my mom. Seeing friends. Typing on my old laptop. Playing my guitars. I've actually been practicing quite a bit because I have a gig this Thursday and I want to sound good. I'll be playing music at the wedding ceremony of my friends Matt and Sharon.

Being home also means that I'm surrounded by all my stuff. My brother Chris said it best when he recently told me, "Jeff, your room is like New York City! There's nowhere to go but up." And he's right. I have a lot of stuff in my room. And right now, I feel like I'm a couple light years away from the cleaning and organizing that should be done. I just keep putting it off. I'd rather write, or email, or call friends, or help out here at home. I'm allowing myself this procrastination because I know I'm heading out again next week. The room can wait.

Yes, I'll be leaving in six days to head west again. My friend Debbie and I will be driving to Colorado. We'll be taking Debbie's Honda. This trip just kind of came out of nowhere, but I knew I had to go for it. If things work out, I'm going to be able to do some touring with Chris and Kyle, who are now smack dab in the middle of the Colorado part of their cross-country adventure. Click here to be transported to Chris's blog.

In other blog news, Jake Belvin is now in Europe with his friend Caitlin. They have a blog titled "Tourists & Gypsies," which can be seen here. It looks like they've been working hard, having fun, and documenting the heck out of their adventure.

As for my blog, I've finished getting all caught up. Below are a bunch of new posts that cover the last leg of the bike tour, my cross-country Greyhound ride, Adam and Brianne's wedding, and a few other topics as well. There's a lot of new stuff, so dive in, or just take a quick look, or even squirrel them away for later.

Thanks for reading, and safe travels to all.

Fondly,
Jeff

Wedding Time

2009-08-05T00:01:00.001-04:00

I will say this, I was pretty happy when the sun finally dawned on my last day on the hound. Adam, the groom, picked me up in downtown Pittsburgh and took me back to his home, which is where I stayed until the wedding.

A big thank you to the Claus family for hosting me for three wonderful nights. And a big congratulations to the newlyweds, Adam and Brianne. Here are a few photos from the celebration, which was at Adam's home course, the Pittsburgh Field Club.

Going For Number 9

2009-08-05T00:00:00.001-04:00

After staying in Camp 4 for six nights, it was time for Mary and me to leave. Mary had to get back to work and I had to get to a wedding. So Travis and Hilary drove us to Merced. Mary took the train to San Fran and then flew back to her home in Denver. I got on a Greyhound bus which took me across the country to the City of Champions, Pittsburgh, PA.

I boarded the bus on a Monday and arrived on a Thursday. It was just about three-day ride from California to Pennsylvania. I was prepared. I knew what I was getting into. This was my ninth cross-country bus ride. The bus is just so cheap and so good, and so incredible from a writing standpoint, that I had to do it.

It's hard for me to stay away from the hound. It's just so darn affordable. Greyhound tickets were up a little higher in past years, but they are back to being cheap this summer. They had the $99 anywhere in the US deal going again, so that's what I paid. No tax. 99 bucks to get across the country. Heck, the cost for just my bike on the plane would have been $150. Not that I was even considering the plane. I didn't even look at those tickets. I don't have a car, and I don't have a lot of money, so the hound is the answer to my cross-country transportation needs.

A lot of people have asked me about the hound. It seems to be a form of transportation that not many of my friends are familiar with. So here's some basic info:

The bus goes all day and all night, stopping every couple hours (usually every 2-5 hours). Most stops are quick, just a few minutes, so people can get on or off the bus. Rest stops are usually 15 to 30 minutes. Layovers can last several hours. I had a 1 hour layover in Vegas that started at 3 a.m. That was sweet. Like I said, the bus goes all through the night. Drivers change out every 8 hours or so. People sleep in their seats. The late night/early morning stops are the toughest. It's hard to sleep for more than 3 hours at a time on the hound. You gotta earn those miles!

All in all it was a good ride. I met some interesting people and got a good amount of journaling done. I'm not prepared to go into all the details. I'll save that for the book version of this adventure. But here are a few photos. In the first photo you can see how long my ticket is.

Full-Time Friend Update

2009-07-31T15:18:00.000-04:00

There comes a time, in the midst of an adventure, when it becomes necessary to stand back and take stock. The Full-Time Friend mission has been going on for over two months. I've been working hard to maintain and strengthen the bonds of friendship, but there's always room for improvement. Being a friend is hard work, but it must be done. I need to stay organized, focused, and nimble. I write this down mainly for myself, as a reminder, and also as a way for me to renew my commitment to the ones I love.

This adventure is large and multifaceted. I feel I could easily get lost inside it--and there's been times when I feel like I have, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. But, at the same time, it's good to have the proper perspective. And so I set down this post, like a neon marker in the forest, so it will be easier for me to find my way home.

The bike tour has ended but there is still more traveling to be done and more Full-Time Friending to conduct. Where shall I go? Wherever the winds of Friendship lead me, I suppose. I'll be home for a time, but then I'll be heading back out, to travel some more and visit some friends that I don't get to see that often.

One of the goals of this mission is to level my friendship balance. Location matters, it really does, but I must not let location (or convenience) dictate the quality of my friendships. If a friend moves far away, why should I spend less time with him or her? Well, the obvious answer is that it takes more work to visit a friend who is farther away. More work is usually seen as being undesirable. I must avoid this trap.

Of course there are other tools for staying in contact. Phone calls and emails are two of my favorites. Facebook is also popular with many of my friends--and some friends have tried to get me to join--but I'm not joining. I've thought about this for a while, and I'm sticking by my choice. I don't care how popular it is. I have no need for it. Not now. Not on this mission.

I'm not too keen on the way Facebook uses friendship as a marketing and networking tool. Advertisements tend to bother me, which is one reason I enjoy posting content on this blog. There are no adds here, dear Reader, to punish your eyes or deflate your funding. You already have everything you need. Don't let anyone try to tell you otherwise. Don't let the advertisers and the businesses dip their greedy little hands into your bank accounts. They will continue to try--and some of their attempts are quite good, while others are quite laughable--but don't let them get in there.

I learned a long time ago that not spending money is almost the same as making money and then spending it. I also noticed that money lasts longer when you spend it slowly. The Slowest Spender, that should be my new shopping nickname. Although. . . I take that back. The slowest spender is too ambiguous. It makes me think of someone swiping a credit card really slow, like a slow motion scene from a Wes Anderson film. I'll just stick with being a cautious spender, because I really do need to be careful in order to make my money last.

I don't like worrying about money when I'm on the road. I rather focus on the people and the places and the million little details of life. But money makes traveling possible, at least the way I travel, and so I set these words down, again, more as a reminder to myself than anything else.

So I will save my money and spend my time--that's fine with me. Time is my secret weapon. I've stockpiled a lot of it this summer, which is good, because full-time friending necessitates a decent about of time.

The idea of being a full-time friend actually came to me a few years ago when I was staying up late and writing emails. I realized, that night, how much time it actually takes to stay in touch with people. Letters, phone calls, visits--these things take time. How much time? Well, I pondered, a seriously committed full-time friend could probably fill a regular-sized work week with friending activities, especially if one's family is included in the world of Friendship. And why not? The members of my family are my oldest and closest friends. Late at night, when I'm thinking in the quiet of my room, I sometimes think about the dedication of my first book, and how I would word it, for my family would most surely have to be mentioned there.

Now, the publishing of my first book is probably a long while off (I'm not being negative, just realistic), so I might as well get some thanking done now. It's late. It's quiet. And it's time to thank.

Thanks to all my family and friends. I am very lucky to have so many fine companions on this journey of life. And a special thank you to my parents, Monica and Steven, my brother Chris and my sister Janice, and to my grandparents: Donald and Anna Mae, and Michael and Margaret. I love you all more than words can tell.

Yosemite Photographs

2009-07-31T15:17:00.000-04:00

Time has passed since the last post. I'm back in Maryland now, but Yosemite Valley is still on my mind. The Valley is hard to forget. It's one of my all time favorite places, and over the years I've invested a good about of time there.

I'm glad Jake and I made the pilgrimage to Yosemite this summer. That's really what it felt like. We traveled from Jake's home in Longmont, CO to Yosemite Valley. It was a necessary journey. And I'm grateful that our friends met us there. We had a great time hiking, climbing, camping, swimming, and enjoying the long days of summer.

Yosemite holds a very special and unique place in my life. I first saw the Valley in the year 2000, on my first bike tour. I fell in love and I knew I'd be back. I came back in 2003, 2006, 2008, and 2009. It's just one of those places. For those of you that have been there, you know what I'm talking about.

Below are 33 photos from my most recent trip to Yosemite. I took a lot of photos this summer, but that's normal for me. I honor and enjoy the world around me through writing, photography, and observation. It took a while, but I went through my newest batch of Yosemite photos and picked out some of the ones I liked the best. As always, I can't wait to go back!

The Last Days of the Bike Tour (With Photos From Nevada and California)

2009-07-28T23:46:00.000-04:00

Well it's time to post some photos and get caught up on the storytelling. This is a long post, so I've broken it up into two parts.

Part 1
Jackson To Reno

At this point in the story, Jake and I were in Jackson, Wyoming. Now the original plan was to bike across Idaho and hitchhike across Nevada, but we were having such a great time in Jackson, it was hard to leave. So we stayed there for almost one week.

Taking extra days in Jackson made me somewhat worried about getting back on track and finishing the tour, but Jennifer had a car. And a car is a powerful device when there's hundreds of miles of highway to travel.

Now biking and driving are two very different worlds, and it felt odd to go from one to the other, but like I said, that was always our plan. This was a hybrid tour. We expected to have to hitchhike, but Jennifer said she'd take us the whole way to Reno, so we wouldn't have to hitchhike. And that's exactly what she did.

On the morning of July 7, Jennifer, Jake, and I left Jackson and headed west. The bikes were in the car. Jennifer had her camping gear. We flew up and over Teton Pass and didn't even break a sweat. I was looking forward to savoring the uphill, and taking lots of photos, but we crested the top and kept flying. That's the way it goes when you're in a car. Cars are fast. And faster travel usually comes at the expense of seeing less. The mind can only gather so much information at one time. And if you're in the driver's seat, well then it's even harder to take it all in. But our drive wasn't about seeing every hill and flower; it was about getting to Reno at the proper hour so that Jennifer could drive home in time for work.

But even with a strict traveling schedule, the world still forced us to slow down. Craters Of The Moon National Monument, in Idaho, was a place we knew we had to check out. So we stopped and explored the hardened lava fields and the caves.

We drove on, counting miles and making plans. That night we reached Reno. The casino lights called out to me with all the potential and power of nighttime in America. I was reminded of Vegas, that pinnacle of the gambling world, and my first big bike tour.

We walked into our hotel, a huge monstrosity of a place, and I heard the crazy melodies of the slot machines. The madness crept toward me from all sides and I accepted it. I had the urge to gamble, the urge to stay up late, the urge to run around and see as much as I could.

We checked in, took the elevator, and found our room. I opened the mini bar, just to be see what they had. I soon discovered that they had sensors on the bottles. I put back the bottle I was holding. I called the front desk, to say that I didn't even want that little bottle of vodka that I had picked up--I was just looking at it. "Oh, you'll be fine sir," said the voice in the phone. "If you pick it up and put it right back it doesn't charge you."

"Well thank goodness for that," I said. I was on guard. No extra charges. And besides, we didn't really need the mini bar. Once Jake came back, we had a couple cold six packs of PBR. I opened a beer, finished the rest of my bean burrito, and waited for Jake and Jennifer to get ready. I decided to save my shower for the morning. I had a good dirt buzz going and I thought it might be good luck.

Down to the gaming floor. The absurdity of gambling was obvious to me from the very beginning--I knew the odds were not good--but that didn't stop me hitting the slots. With a cup of strong coffee in my hand, I cruised around the carpeted floors of the casino looking for the right machine.

Jennifer and I played the penny slots. I put in one dollar. Jake kept watch over our shoulders. We won a little and lost a little more. I spent 25 cents, cashed out, and got my 75 cents back.

I kept this up for a while: put in one dollar, spend a few cents, cash out, take that money, find another machine. I found the mechanical machines to be more enjoyable than the digital ones. I moved up to the quarter machines for a time. One play on each machine. Play. Cash out. Move on. I won seven bucks. We left the casino, searching for some late night pizza. But all the pizza places were closed. I was pissed. "Are you kidding me? No late night pizza? What the hell is wrong with this town?" So we settled on a bottle of cheap champagne.

The bright light streets of Reno were mostly empty at two o'clock on a Thursday morning. Most of the people were inside the casinos. We were part of the bare bones late night gambling crew. Gotta play to win. Gotta play to loose. And loose they did. I could see it in their eyes. People with grey hair and gold jewelry, pounding the slots, smoking cigarettes. The El Doroado wasn't crowded, but it was making money.

The next morning we treated ourselves to the breakfast buffet. Then we said goodbye to Jennifer and watched her drive away. Jake and I were back on our own. We packed our rigs and wheeled them through the casino. We got someone to take our photo. Then we started biking. It felt like a new bike tour. The land was different. The heat was stronger. And Yosemite was closer than ever.

Part 2
Reno to Yosemite

It took us six days to ride from Reno to Yosemite Valley. They were a great six days, a perfect way to end the tour. The locomotion was fine. The sun was strong. And the scent of the Sierra Nevada was all around us.

From Reno we rode up and over the mountains. Up and over at a place called Mt. Rose Summit. It was 4,5o0 feet of elevation gained. It was one of the biggest climbs of the entire tour and it totally surprised me. It came on hard and punished me like a bottle of Carlo Rossi. A never-ending uphill. A sore mind. Feeling sick and dehydrated. Too much beer the night before and too little sleep. I kept drinking my water. My energy was low. I stayed in my lowest gear and just oozed my way up the mountain. And then, the top. My shirt was sweaty and the wind was cold. I put on all my clothes, for I knew a long downhill was coming.

We let go of the brakes and flew downhill toward Lake Tahoe. A long, fast downhill, almost 20 minutes of flying. In the distance, past the tree tops, I saw part of the huge lake. It was sitting like a great silver shadow on the land.

The monster downhill ended. We stopped on the Nevada side of the lake to see about camping. The sun was setting. It didn't look good. No camping. So we biked on over to the California side, and kept searching. It was turning out to be one of those nights. The kind where campsites are talked about but never actually found. I wasn't worried, but I was getting hungry. All the little stores and restaurants were lit up. Vacationers were strolling. Kids were roaming in packs. We stood in the darkness out front of the 7-11, waiting for some bus or trolley that might hold the answer on where to go. Then a car pulled up. A man and a woman were inside, eating ice cream cones. "You guys looking for a place to camp?"
"Yeah."
"There's a place right down the road. I'll tell you how to get there."

And that was our lucky break. The directions were perfect. The campsite still had a few extra spaces. And dinner tasted amazing.

From Tahoe we rode south, riding along the lake and underneath the big pines and cedars. There were beaches and stores and homes and docks. Here are some photos:

And then we left Tahoe. We went up and over Luther Pass. The Death Ride was happening--a total coincidence--and we rode along, passing thousands of other cyclists. We talked with some. Some were too tired to talk. I had heard about the Death Ride before. It's a tough ride, seriously tough: 125 miles, 15,000 feet of elevation, and 5 passes--all in one day! Our route overlapped with the last part of the Death Ride, so people were cheering as we rode by. Jake talked about coming back next year and doing the whole ride.

From the town of Markleville (which is where the Death Ride begins and ends), we continued south, up and over Monitor Pass. Then another awesome and tremendous downhill, with the far-reaching lands of California and Nevada in the distance:

At the bottom of the downhill, we turned right onto 395. We followed 395 all the way down to Bridgeport, which is where we met these PCT thru-hikers:

Left to Right: Whiskey Jet, Backtrack, Jake, Meghan (sitting), me, and Amanda.

We stayed at this crazy old hotel with these thru-hikers and had fun talking the night away. Jake played the organ. There was talk of ghosts, but we didn't see any that night.

The next day found us feasting on the World Famous Pizza of the Whoa Nellie Deli, which is inside the Tioga Gas Mart, a not-to-be-missed gas station oasis on the east side of Yosemite National Park, not far from Mono Lake.

Photos of Mono Lake:

Around 5 p.m. we packed away the extra pizza and got back to work as we stared biking up Tioga Pass, a beautiful 13-mile uphill.

The climb begins.

Looking down at the road we came up on:

The top of the pass is the gateway into Yosemite National Park. We entered the park and accepted our reward: a fast downhill all the way to Tuolumne Meadows, with the golden light of the sun setting on the mountains. This was the Sierra! One of my favorite places in all the world! Ah yes, it was a fine thing to be back among the wondrous lands of the Sierra Nevada! Our time in Yosemite had begun.

We're In Yosemite!

2009-07-15T14:57:00.000-04:00

We made it! Yosemite Valley! The land of stone and sun! It's a powerful place to be, and a great place to end a bike tour.

Jake and I arrived yesterday, at 2:30 p.m. We were lucky enough to get a campsite at the legendary Camp 4. Travis and Hilary arrived last night, and Dave and Mary should be arriving this afternoon.

I'm thankful that our adventure took us where we wanted to go. The Internet is limited here in the Valley, so I'm going to keep this post short, but I will post more photos and words when I get back to Maryland.

For the next couple days, we'll be staying in the Valley, hiking and biking and enjoying the wonders of Nature.

Tour Update

2009-07-07T13:08:00.000-04:00

Today is Day 14 of the tour. We've traveled 556 miles. The last four days have been rest days here in Jackson. The map below shows where we've traveled. Today we head west, to begin our journey across Idaho. After Idaho, our plan is to go down through Nevada and into California, with Yosemite Valley as our final destination. Our legs are rested and it's time to move on. We'll be leaving the TransAmerica Trail, so I'm guessing that we'll be seeing less cyclists, but you never know. The road goes on forever and it's hard to predict what will happen.

Yosemite is the goal. Jake and I will be meeting friends there: Travis, Hilary, Matt, Mary, Dave, and maybe even a few others. Yosemite is one of my all-time favorite places. I try to go there every year or two. It's just one of those places--totally unique, nothing else like it in the world. I love the huge walls and the granite mountains, the Sierra sun and the waterfalls. The Natural Beauty is strong there. Camp 4 is legendary and awesome. The spirits exploration and adventure are alive and well. And that's why we're commuting there.

Last night was our last night in Jackson. We cooked a big meal and Jennifer, Kathy, Jake, and I relaxed here at Jennifer's home. Kathy asked me about our bike tour, wondering about our motivation for riding. I explained that I love Yosemite, and that we'll be meeting friends there, and that these bike tour plans have been on the table for over seven months. I also said that bicycle touring is a very natural way for me to travel, and that this tour just kind of made sense: leave from Longmont, Jake's home, and ride to Yosemite, a place we both know and love. And in the process, we could see some new and interesting things along the way. We could also exercise, relax, eat, and take lots of photographs--something both Jake and I love to do.

I'm looking forward to getting back on the road. Jennifer's kindness and hospitality has been truly amazing, but we still have many miles to cover. It's time to pull up our roots and get back in the saddle. I'm ready to move. Ready to see the world through the fresh eyes of motion. Ready to feel the wind and the soreness and the joy that comes from riding over this large and fragrant land.

Rest Days In Jackson

2009-07-05T15:40:00.000-04:00

Rest days are great. We've been here in Jackson for a couple days now. Jennifer has been such an incredible host that it's been hard to leave. And it just didn't seem possible to leave before the Independence Day celebrations.

Our first rest day in Jackson was a day for hiking. We hiked up Cascade Canyon with with Jennifer and Paul. It was great to get closer to those incredible peaks and also see some wild animals along the way. Here are some photos from that hike:

The spirit of Independence is strong here in Jackson. The cheers were loud and the fireworks were louder. Jennifer's building (which you can see below in the right of the photo) is right next to Snow King, the local ski resort, and that's where the fireworks were launched from.

After the pyrotechnic activities, we went downtown to the Cowboy. There was live music, dancing, cold beer, and lots of western wear. The bar stools were actually leather horse saddles. There were stuffed animals in cases. Rows of spurs. Shiny belt buckles. And a guy named William dressed up and wearing a wig.

Luck of the Tour

2009-07-04T16:53:00.000-04:00

Sometimes you get lucky. Good Fortune picks up the phone and randomly dials your number. The signs and the symbols both point in the Right Direction. The angles line up. The plot thickens. And the drama becomes real.

It was Thursday, July second. Jake and I rode toward the town of Jackson, Wyoming. Jake was up ahead, as he normally is. When I approached him, he was waiting beside the road, next to his rig, drinking a Dr. Pepper. I pulled up and parked next to him. Less than a minute later, a car pulled up behind us and parked off the side of the road. I looked at the driver. She opened the door. "Jennifer Wolf!" I said.
"Hey! Jeff! It's you! I saw the beard and the orange shirt and I had to stop--I can't believe it's you!"
"Wow, yeah, incredible. Good to see you--this is so crazy, wow--which way are you headed?"
"Toward town," said Jennifer.
"Us too," I said, as the cars kept whizzing by.
"Well," said Jennifer, "you guys wanna go have a beer or something?"
"Sure, yeah, where should we go?"
"The brew bub is good. Just go down into town, right on Broadway, left on Millward."
"Yeah, perfect. We'll meet you there in like half an hour or something."

And from that moment on, Jennifer Wolf has been our host and our guide to the wonderful worlds of Jackson and the Grand Teton National Park. I hadn't seen Jennifer since the 2007 Bike Tour, when Janice and I met her in the park, but I was very happy to see her again.

Jake and I met Jennifer at the Snake River Brew Pub. Jennifer invited her friends Kathy and Paul, and that's when the celebrations began. (In the photo, from left to right: Paul, Kathy, Jennifer, Me, and Jake.)

Riding Past the Teton Range

2009-07-04T15:18:00.000-04:00

It was great to see those mountains again. To be near them. To ride along them. And later, to hike beside them.

Jake and I approached the Teton Range from the east. We rode toward them, riding west, and they became larger, taller, more in focus. We watched them for hours, watched a storm hover past and drop sheets of grey rain down over the mountains and the land. And we moved along behind the rain clouds, staying mostly dry. The hot road evaporated the rain and added a brief humidity to the air that reminded me of Maryland.

And the mountains called out to me with epic grandeur. I knew the tall peaks by name: the South Teton, the Middle Teton, the Grand Teton, Teewinot Mountain. The Grand Teton came out of the clouds--the highest peak in the range--and my camera hand was ready.

Jake and I met the mountains, riding with extreme excitement, and then turned south, riding with the Teton Range to our right. We rode south, toward the town of Jackson, with the promise of a Rest Day. With my camera in my right hand, I took photo after photo. The riding was fast and my cup of joy ranneth over. We stopped here and there for more photos. Because our position kept changing, our view of the Range continued to change as well.

The Teton Range is many miles long, plenty of room for different weather conditions. Some peaks were shrouded with clouds and rain. Some peaks cast off the bright blasting light of the sun. The clouds shifted, expanding and billowing like clean smoke. And the cars flew past, motoring on down the road; some stopped, but most kept going.

We stopped at the spot where Ansel Adams took his famous photo, The Tetons and the Snake River. It was afternoon, not the best time to photograph the mountains, but I knew it was impossible to resist standing where Ansel stood and taking a few photos.

Photos From Wyoming

2009-07-04T14:22:00.000-04:00

Our Night In Jeffrey City

2009-06-30T18:46:00.000-04:00

Jeffrey City, in south central Wyoming, is a town that has about 50 people, according to Byron, the artist who runs Monk King Bird Pottery. Jake and I arrived in Jeffrey City and quickly went into the bar, which is where we met Byron. Our day's work was done, so we celebrated with a few two-dollar Budweisers. The bar was closing, and outside the mosquitoes were attacking with a powerful ferocity, so Byron welcomed Jake and I--as well as 4 other cyclists who had just pulled up--into his pottery studio/home. We talked, listened to music, watched a short film by David Lynch, drank some beer, and waited for night, which is when the mosquitoes disappear. Then, when the air was cool and the light was gone, we went back outside to enjoy the warmth of the campfire and the sweet sagebrush scent of the Wyoming wind.

Day 5 Update

2009-06-28T16:23:00.000-04:00

Greetings from sunny Wyoming!

Jake and I have been on the road for five days now. Our summer bike tour is progressing well. Lots of smiles. No flat tires (my streak is still going on!). And lots of calories consumed. The photos below are from our first four days in Colorado. We've ridden about 270 miles. The soreness is starting to leave my legs. We've had some cold rain and snow, but not much. It's been mostly sunshine daydreaming for the last five days.

Today is our first full day in Wyoming. Right now, we're in the town of Rawlins, staying at the same campground Janice and I stayed at 2 years ago. We're currently on the TransAmerica Bike Route, so there's lots of other cyclists on the road with us. (There's six other cyclists staying at the campground, and more will probably be showing up later.) I've been asking the East Bound cyclists to say hi to Chris and Kyle, who are moving farther west every day. I hope they do.

We got into town early today, and we're taking the afternoon off. Our plans are: get some beer, go to the movies, then maybe some bowling. Tired legs need rest.

Photos From Colorado

2009-06-28T16:15:00.000-04:00

Time To Ride

2009-06-24T15:40:00.001-04:00

Our rigs are packed, and now it's time to ride.

Full-Time Friend Continued (The Night Before The Tour)

2009-06-23T18:44:00.000-04:00

I'm in Colorado now, at the Belvin home in Longmont, Colorado. Jake and I got in late last night. From Maryland it was a 27-hour drive, but it was a pretty easy drive because our friend Mary came along, and helped out with the driving. Having three drivers was great--almost too good-because with three drivers there can be: a driver, a navigator, and a sleeper.

The Full-Time Friend Mission is going well. I could do more, of course, but then again I guess I could always do more. I just got a cell phone, my first ever, so I got that going for me. A mobile phone will help me stay in touch while I'm on the road. Janice helped me activate the phone, so a big Thank You to her! And Debbie gave me the actual phone. So thanks Debbie!

Jake and I are packing our rigs right now. Jake's sister Laura is helping us and keeping us properly hydrated. The air is dry out here; hydration is important.

Tonight we party. We're going over to Peter and Kristin's home in downtown Denver. They're having a going away party for us, and for that I am thankful.

Tomorrow we ride. Tomorrow the bike tour begins. The bike tour will be a long commute, from Longmont to Yosemite Valley, a distance of over 1,600 miles. We need to get to Yosemite. Travis and Hilary will be there when we get there. And hopefully some of our other friends will be there too. Yosemite is awesome, and I'm more than ready to stand there and enjoy what is.

Jake and I have been planning this tour for 9 months now. Jake was in Iraq when we first had the idea. And now, with our departure so close, I'm definitely feeling good about Hood. Jake was there for the first tour I ever did, which was back in 2000. And now, I'm definitely ready to get back out there and travel the backroads with my old friend.

Speaking of bike tours, Chris and Kyle have been on the road for nine days now. They are still in Virginia, and heading west every day, as they make their way across the country. You can see Chris's blog here.

The Adventure goes on. Thanks for reading. And, congratulations to the newlyweds: Travis and Hilary.

Namaste.

Next Big Adventure

2009-05-28T21:59:00.001-04:00

The Adventure has begun. I'm on vacation with my family. We're up in western Massachusetts, enjoying both the natural and human-engineered wonders of the Northeast Kingdom. The mountains are green with the beauty of spring. The air is clear, and visibility is good. During one recent hike, we were actually able to see mountains that were thirty-some miles away.

I am happy here, looking into the distance and daydreaming about the future. The long hard Days of Writing are transitioning into something different, The Days of Travel.

Earlier this month, I was in Colorado with my brother Chris and our friends Heather and Ilyse. I took the Greyhound out, enjoyed Colorado, and then drove back to Maryland with Chris. Now we're in Massachusetts. After that I'll be back in Maryland for a couple weeks, working, packing, organizing, friending, and attending bachelor parties and a wedding. There will be lots of bike work. Chris will be setting out on a cross-country bicycle tour with his friend Kyle. And a week after that, I'll be driving back to Denver so I can begin my Summer Bike Tour with my friend Jake Belvin.

These past travels, as well as the ones that are to come, are all part of something larger. They are part of my Next Big Adventure: The 2009 Full-Time Friend Mission. In the next couple months, I will do my best to strengthen the bonds of friendship. I take to the road, using a variety of transportation tools, and visit the people that I don't get to see as much as I'd like too. I will visit people, call people, send cards, and bellard people with emails. Time and money will be spent. Late nights, early mornings, and lots of selfless giving (at least that's the idea). There will be sweat and stress and unforeseen challenges, but it's all in day's work for a Full-Time Friend.

New Dylan

2009-04-29T02:07:00.000-04:00

Well the new Dylan album came out today. Together Through Life is the title. And I had to buy it. New releases always come out on Tuesdays. So I biked nine miles to the store and bought the album, paying ten dollars and fifty-nine cents, which included tax. I had no CD player with me (I rarely bike with headphones), but I did open the album in the parking lot so I could see if the rumors were true. They were. The liner notes said: "All lyrics by Bob Dylan with Robert Hunter except 'This Dream of You' lyrics by Bob Dylan."

Nine out of ten songs were written with Robert Hunter. Robert Hunter writing with Bob Dylan! This was exciting news! Good news for Grateful Dead fans, who are of course familiar with the incredible body of work that Robert Hunter has produced over the years. The Dead have always admired Dylan, and vice versa. And we must not forget that when Jerry Garcia died in 1995, it was Dylan who stepped forward with one of the great tributes in the world of music.

The excitement of new Dylan has been building for months. I first heard about the new album a few months ago from my friend Jake Posko, a fellow Dylan fan who is also one of my close musical compatriots. As the weeks went by, Jake and I kept each other up-to-date with the various Dylan news items, including the interview that Dylan did with Bill Flanagan, which in itself is a treasure box of Dylanosity. And along the way I checked in with Rolling Stone to see what they were saying. In the April issue, I found a review of the new Dylan album by David Fricke, one of the senior editors at Rolling Stone, and I smiled with excitement as I dove into the review. But the article soon caused me to question whether further reading would be worth it. Fricke's review started off commenting on Bob's current singing voice. Immediately I thought: "Yeah, David, that's the voice he's been singing with. . .which Dylan were you listening to the last ten years?" To open a review with such an obvious point just seemed like an odd idea. But the review was short and so I read on.

Of course the role of the critic is an interesting thing. I've learned to never trust critics. If a book, or film, or musical recording looks interesting, I'll go and check it out for myself. What right does the critic have to play god and deliver final judgement on the pride and joy that some artist has created out of nothing? Well, the right of Free Speech is the answer to that. And so the critics and the reviewers keep on spewing their opinions in newspapers and magazines the world over. Some critics are more educated than others. And although I'm not crazy about Fricke's recent Dylan review, I still respect him for his knowledge and obvious love of music.

Artists, even the ones who have the strongest self-confidence, can soar or sink by the critic's pen. But in the end, Time is the greatest critic of all. Bad reviews fade away, just like the good ones and the luke-warm ones. People end up buying what they want. Dusty albums and books are passed down from one generation to the next like treasure maps. Collectors and and fans cling to their collections with a fierce pride. We love art for many reasons. And thankfully, artists love art too.

Well, my friends, what we have here with Together Through Life is another piece of art in Dylan's long and famed catalogue. I feel no need to review the album as a whole. How many stars would I give it if I were working for Rolling Stone? Who cares! If you like Dylan, and if you're interested, buy the album and listen for yourself. Or maybe go to a music store--the kind where they have the headphones--and stand there and listen. It's like Warren Zevon said in the interview from the album Preludes: "But I'd have to say, at the end of the day, if the average person hears a piece of music and are really put off by it, there's no criteria by which you can say they're wrong." The morale of the story being: listen and decide for yourself; listen to whatever you want; listen hard and don't look back.

But I was up on my Dylan when I bought the new album, so I kind of knew what to expect. I had absorbed the last three studio albums: Time Out of Mind, "Love and Theft", and Modern Times. And I was ready and excited for Together Through Life.

I've since listened to the new album several times, and I've enjoyed the listening immensely.

First, the musicians: Tony and George, who play bass and drums respectively on the album, have been playing (and touring) with Dylan for many years. Mike Campbell, of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers fame, graces the album with guitar and mandolin. David Hildago adds a fine accordion. And Donny Herron plays: steel guitar, banjo, mandolin, and trumpet. The big mystery after listening to the album is: who is playing the violin? (No violin credits are given in the liner notes.)

There are moments on the album that speak to me, moments that make me smile:

"Beyond Here Lies Nothing" is the first song, and Dylan must realize the self-deprecating, tongue-in-cheek possibilities that this song represents as it's the first song on the album, the gateway of all that is to come.

Hearing Bob chuckle at the end of "My Wife's Home Town," makes me think of something from Dylan's Masked And Anonymous band Simple Twist Of Fate. A bandleader at the top of his game.

And then there's two different lines from two different songs that touch on the futility--yes, futility--of dreaming, an interesting concept, which also, as it happens, turns up in Masked And Anonymous. First: "My dreams are locked and barred, admitting life is hard," from the song "Life Is Hard." And second: "Well now what's the use in dreaming? You got better things to do. Dreams never did work for me anyway, even when they did come true," from the song "I Feel A Change Comin' On."

In the song "If You Ever Go To Houston," the singer is searching for a girl staying at the Magnolia Motel. Maybe it's just chance, but when Robert Hunter, the co-writer of the classic song "Sugar Magnolia" is on board, it's hard to hear the word magnolia and not think of it as a nod to that old Dead tune.

Music is a powerful force. And there's something about warm lilt of "This Dream Of You" that makes me want to reach for my guitar and play along with the band and the mystery violin player. What key is that, guys? Ah yes, the key of G. Play on.

I also want to reach for the guitar on "I Feel A Change Comin' On." This time were in B flat. The lyrics make me smile. I like how Dylan hints at the current state of grace that his 67-year-old voice is now in by singing: "I'm listening to Billy Joe Shaver, and I'm reading James Joyce. Some people they tell me I got the blood of the land in my voice."

As for my final thoughts on critics: I've learned that we're all critics. We all watch, listen, and read various things, and we love to give our opinions to our friends and families. For me, I've learned to be more patient and less judgmental with my reviews, and more careful with my word choice. Most people ask: "Was it good?" which is a very serious question indeed. My sister Janice and I have discussed this issue at length. She said that most people, when they ask "Was it good?", are really saying "Did you like it?". But still, people are responsible for their words. We must ask ourselves: are we really prepared and qualified to decide if a work of art is good? Liking something--or disliking it--is one thing, but deciding the goodness of something is a whole different game of dice.

Dylan of course realizes the inherent discrepancies of language, and he uses it to prove a point in the last song on the album, which is fittingly titled: "It's All Good."