Greetings From The Sweat Garage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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