the nature of nature

The jungle doesn’t judge. As you weave your way through it’s lush umbrage, moving aside the greenery invading your path, it welcomes you. Even though your deep breath and snapping footsteps destroy it’s loud silence, it doesn’t hush you, but harmonizes with laughter and vibrance. The sticky gold oozing from a tree’s skin leeches onto yours as you ascend it’s branches. Barefoot in an effort to soak up the prosper of it’s blood, you climb to the canopy seemingly weightless. You nest in the tree tops in awe at the span of the sky, and smile.

The sky doesn’t lie. It won’t cheat you, or make you for a fool. With boundless color and fervor it entices your senses and screams your name. It invites the smell of freedom and peace to your nostrils and you literally breathe in it’s glory. It’s baffling breadth awakens you while the sun sets to sleep. A dome of dark hues settle inwards and the stars begin to twinkle into a broad band of luminosity stretching from one horizon to the other. Guided by constellations you are confidant to your path. With deep night the winds increase and blow through your body to push you forward as a sail, to back you, to keep you balanced. Almost as if to soothe your mood, the winds change and whirl you in all directions. You have the responsibility to decide where they will influence you. The clouds roll in and mask the night sky to deliver the most miraculous gift of all, and you stick out your tongue, thirsty.

The sea seems to rise from beneath you as the droplets start to fall. Rain kisses your cheeks and rinses away all the worry, fear, and sadness as it soaks to your core. You become a part of it all, encompassed in the showering reign. Pitter patter, the melody of mist offers the soundtrack to accompany the tramp of time. The estate of space will sing to you, and it’s better if you’re quiet. Your thoughts don’t matter, they simply get in the way. With breath and sigh you communicate with the present. Time to head ashore and dry off. The air you breathe understands, and settles. And the sand is soft to your toes.

The ground you traverse exists, and you bear upon it, and that’s it. That’s all there is. With nothing asked for in return it boasts with unimaginable variety, offering you a bountiful resource. Your steeped skin begins to quench as you bake next to the fire. The flames perform for you, strutting in cadence like a marching band. And you don’t have to entertain in answer, you don’t have to tell a story to the sleeping coals, though glowing so grand. You don’t have to speak to engage. They ask only for an attentive audience, a wide-eyed soul to whisper to. Your blushing skin almost too hot from those flirting flames. You are entranced.

With a sharp crackle and a loud POP from the fire you snap from your daze and shoot your gaze up, no, further up. Again the sky overwhelms your being as you absorb every star, every droplet of water in the sea, every grain of sand on the beach, every tickle of the flame. The frenzy of the instant engulfs you inside of it, and you remain timeless...

These are reasons why I took to the road alone. To connect with the colors, and brighten them. To free myself from the radical dramas of the blind. To come to terms and accept myself and (hopefully) flourish in the world’s bounty without greed, without mockery, criticism, or deceit. To be in control of myself, and not merely in the lee of another. So I guess, I'm seeking the truth that is so commonly found in nature, and just as easily lost in society. To only connect.

Here's to you

I wake up early with the sun baking me inside my tent. The chill of the night is long gone and I’m now a sweaty mess twisted deep inside my sleeping bag like an ant in a cinnamon roll, eager to escape it’s sticky cling for fear of a surely suffocating death. I manage to peel it off like a wet sock and take a deep breath of sour air. I need a shower. Where am I again? What day is it? With a quick unzip and a slow and sore departure from sleep I fiercely do a deep eye rub as if to snub the dreams out from my mind and accept reality again as I stumble into the sun. I’m rarely camped at a real campground but this happens to be one of them, a KOA just south of Montreal. I take a seat at the complimentary picnic table and spread out my map of Quebec to decide where my feet will lead me that day.

Most of the time it’s been relatively obvious as far as which general direction to pursue. Thus far, my route had taken me right around Lake Ontario. Starting from Niagara Falls, I walked about 180 miles in 12 days to a little town called Grafton, which is situated about 78 miles west of Toronto. Following the shore line it was pretty hard to get lost, and the only time I strayed from the water was when I found a host for the night and had to deviate from my route a little bit. Some days I’d have to tack on an extra 10 miles just to assure myself of a safe place to sleep, but it was always worth it. Today however, the decision was a bit more difficult. I could either walk 26 miles south to a no-name town just over the border into the United States, where I’d have unlimited phone access again as well as the comfortable familiarity of being back in my own country. Or I could opt for 21 miles north to Montreal where I’d have a sure place to stay for free for up to 10 days, as well as the chance to meet up with an old friend. I know, it seems like a no brainer, right? Go north and romp the streets of Montreal with a Tarzan of a man or sulk my way south so I can remove myself from the world of French speaking, metric measuring, confusion.

The thing that made this decision an arduous one was that I was ready for solitude again. For the past two weeks I had hung up my walking shoes and put on a pair of rubber boots as a WWOOFer in that tiny town called Grafton in Ontario. It was a great, rewarding experience to lend a hand on the farm, and the family I was fortunate enough to stay with was amazing.

By the end of my stay I think I had met their entire extended family and I totally felt like one of their kids. It was really interesting to experience the dynamic of another family, to be tossed into the mix of their daily life. We were WWOOFing virgins on both ends of the deal, so hopefully my hosts appreciated my labor as much as I appreciated their warm hospitality. I know I’m looking forward to doing it again in the near future on another farm. But man, the second those rubber boots came off, my walking shoes practically sprinted themselves onto my feet, giddy again for the open road, for the silence of thought.

So after one night of sleeping under the naked stars again I wasn’t sure if I was ready for another plaster ceiling quite yet. But if there’s one thing I’ve observed by being out on the road, it’s that with every choice you make in life you learn a little bit more about yourself and the world around you. The tricky part is being aware of these discoveries. Embrace them, and allow them to teach you something. Good or bad, the experience exists. So I figure, it doesn’t really matter. I’m not a religious person, but I do believe everything happens for a reason. So I’ve become very lax nowadays when decision time comes. Let happen what will. Only connect. I went north.

Montreal was magic. Simply supreme. That’s all I have to say about that. I don’t want to spoil things, now.

Ya know those brief moments when time seems to get stuck, and you just float there in space...I live for those. Everyone does, I’m sure. They only seem to last long enough to notice that it’s happening and then by the time you realize how special the moment is, it’s past. You try to reach back for it, to regain that absolute ambiguity, but now it’s merely a breath of color, a mood. Like for that instant you didn’t exist.

Kind of like the way the gentle tap of rainfall on your tent and the sharp crackle of a camp fire sound exactly the same. But you keep your eyes closed anyway so you never find out which it is. It can’t be both. Or that flicker of time when your sailing on the open ocean and suddenly the wind dies, the seas cease, the boat floats on air, and all is completely still. Utterly quiet. Then a second later it all roars back to life, and the world starts spinning again.

Or the way your body surges from the inside out when someone tells you they love you for the first time.

Yup, life is worth living for those few seconds of perfection that happen every now and again. Here’s to the universe and it’s sorcery. Here’s to you.

I can no other answer make, but thanks, and thanks...

Traveling by foot is down right sapping! The relation between distance and time has been playing games with my emotional state. I've had to get used to the fact that I just can't cover much ground in a day's span. Riding in the saddle all day served up it's tasty share of aches and pains, but walking dishes up a $6.99 buffet of soreness for my body to feast on, and it never seems to get full. So I'm a tugboat constantly pulling along the chain of emotions and pushing physically against the barge of pain with each step I take.

I've been covering about 20 miles on a good day, considering time for a rest and refueling every few hours, chatting with folks along the way, and providing myself ample time at the end of each day to find a suitable post for camp. By four or five o'clock scouting out a decent place to pitch my tent is more urgent and time consuming than I ever imagined. I've found myself frantic many times at dusk with no safe place to go, and have ended up camping along roadways and behind convenience stores. Needless to say it's a wondrous and enlightening experience, and even though most nights I'm clutching my knife in one hand and pepper spray in the other, I always awake excited with the new sun to see which path will be shone bright.

Speaking of bright lights, I've only had one encounter with the police. In Toronto I set up camp on a point by the water in a thicket of trees, well hidden. At midnight I unzipped my tent to see seven flashlights shining in my groggy eyes, with an equally stunned set of bike cops behind them. They seemed tickled to see a young girl camping out there alone as I told them about my journey. They ran my Missouri license and asked me all kinds of questions, mainly about tattoos or any other identifiable markings I may have on my body. I felt like Mitchy from Dazed and Confused when they asked if I had any pot, and I kid you not they replied, "Well, it'd be a lot cooler if you did! "They joked around with me for half an hour and told me to bundle up and stay safe, but not to camp out there again. That pretty much sums Canada up right there. Very lax, these folks.

It's interesting to see the difference in ways people react to me now, with a 40 lb pack on my back in comparison to a fully-loaded touring bike. While riding I'd get noticed in a supportive way, receiving encouraging ges

tures and looks of awe as I peddled by. It didn't seem to matter how much I stank or how sweat-ringed my neon clothes were, my bike kind of spoke for me. Most seemed to have an automatic amount of respect for that way of travel, and people knew what I was up to. Now as I limp into a place all haggard and dusty with a perm-a-squint on my face people assume I'm up to no good. They look at me with discern as I clumsily squeeze through the tiny isles of the variety store, my pack knocking off product all over the floor. They see me as a bum, a loaf, a poor lonely girl who's lost her way. On my bike I was approached at an overcoming rate, always the same questions of "Where are you from? Where are you going? How long have you been gone?" Now people yell at me from their cars screaming "Where you runnin' from, Girl!" And, "Does your mother know where you are?" Sometimes I feel as if I am being avoided, or even treated as a threat. Almost as if I get to close, they'll discover something missing an hour later.

Actually most people I run into are quite amazing. If they just give me a chance they quickly realize I am not a bum. I'm a motivated traveler who's choosing to live this way. I have dream, an everchanging itinerary, and a force inside of me that keeps me moving forward. Even though I may be rummaging through the dumpsters for food (not much luck there), I still have decent equipment and clothes, an education, and a bath every once in a while. I'm sure as shit never going to steal from anyone. I'm more like a skunk, I should be more afraid of you than you are of me. I also stink, I do have spray, and I'm not afraid to use it! There have been several instances when strangers have offered me free coffee, bought me meals, or just shoved money in my hand. Those situations are rather awkward, but much appreciated! Thank you! I never know quite how to handle those surprising affairs. It's hard to refuse something when it's insisted upon you keep it, when contributing makes them feel good. They get to be a part of my journey. My gratitude to their beneficence runs deep, and it's the compassion of a stranger that keeps my journey advancing. For anyone who helps me along my way I take their name and a picture and when appropriate I ask for their address so I may send them a postcard and let them know my whereabouts. I want to remember them, all of them. Here are only a few...

This woman bought me a Gatorade and gave me $20! First day walking.

The woman on the left gave me $10, and the one on the right gave me free coffee and a donut!

Bruce and Tracy found me on the beach and invited me for dinner and a bed to sleep in. They even gave me a goody bag to take with me of the leftovers! So much fun!

Stayed with couchsurfers in Toronto! These two were so sweet.

Rick gave me $20, referred me to a woman to stay with in the next town, a book recommendation, and advice on life!

It's funny because of all the wonderful people I've met 80% are extremely worried for my safety. I know there are a few rotten apples out there, but I'm awe-struck by the bushels of Golden love, sweet Grannies, and Red Delicious seeds of wisdom that blossom from this Tree of Life. Their generosity, concern, compassion and hospitality reassure my belief that people are good. It's exciting to wander through a town and find people to talk to, to inspire you. You never know when the next person you meet may change your life. I have found that no matter the impact, there is something meaningful to learn from every encounter be it person, plant, or animal. That's the great thing about walking, the pace is slow enough to really soak up the surroundings. I start to realize how huge the planet is and how unnoticed the majority of things are. Even though the tress, stones, flowers and blades of grass line the roadways, have they ever really been looked at? Have they ever really been appreciated? Sometimes I catch a glimpse of a tiny mouse scampering under a rock, or see a pallid flower forcing it's way through a crack in the shoulder of the road, and I wonder if it has ever been seen with human eyes before or if it ever will again after mine have lain upon it. I begin to feel special, privileged, as though I now have a purpose, to acknowledge the beauty. If only to give thanks for the charm of bark on a roadside tree. Many thanks, indeed.

chin up!

Mr. Bonner (4-14-11 to 8-18-11)
Beloved companion of the lonely road. I'll never forget our 900 miles together.

Water is heavy!

In the most positive of ways, I've learned that you can't really plan for anything. No matter how much time, effort, money, or training, things just change. It's a goal of mine to always find the good. Even when your dreams are crushed.

It's about a month into my new life,and it's been a great experience to say the least. My mother, step-dad, our good friend, Ryan and I cycled together from Osceola, WI to St. Ignace, MI, roughly a 500 mile trip. We pushed hard in that first week, endured some hefty pain, and bonded through the hills and winds. As they are all responsible, successful adults, the three of them had to return home to their loved ones and resume the daily life. They sure did one hell of a send off, though. I owe my life to these people, without whom I could not have made it this far. The gratitude runs deep. They changed my life.

From St. Ignace, MI, which is the most southern point of the upper peninsula, I cycled solo going south along hwy 23 all the way to East Lansing, which is where I am today. Along the 900 mile ride my body decided to do some stupid things. Things I had no control over and that could potentially effect my art career, should I ever decide to try and get one. After hours of repeated vibrations and pressure on my hands during the ride everyday, the nerves in my left (dominant) hand started to fail. My hand would go completely numb every few minutes, and I was constantly shaking it out to regain feeling. At the time I had no idea that this problem was something serious. I did my best to ignore it.

When I reached East Lansing to my aunts' house 2 weeks ago my hand was in really bad shape. I had a severe "claw hand" and lost complete function of my 4th and 5th fingers. The muscles were weak and I couldn't do simple things like pull up my pants, button and zip things, or pick my nose. It was impossible to write or draw, which was really frustrating considering my desire for daily journal and sketchbook entries. I could not close my fingers together, making it difficult to do simple things like cup water for a drink, or accept change from the scary lady with no teeth at the run-down petrol station on the corner of Murder Ln. and Chainsaw Ave. Then having to strain to pick up the fallen coins off the red-splattered sticky floor, rising again to find a sudden and awkward companion to the wiry-haired woman; a very hungry looking pig of a man, sweaty and breathing heavy from ravenously feasting on wandering nomads and wayfarers like me.

Long story short, after a few doctor visits and a couple different opinions my hand has made a decision for me. Though I tried to remedy the problem with a heat-molded wrist brace and thick padding added to the handlebars, both failed to prevent further damage to the nerve. Apparently ulnar nerve problems are very common among cyclists and it's a relatively easy fix. Get out of the saddle. Har har, easy! To the daily commuter cyclist let's say, this might not be a big deal to wait a few days for it to recover and then resume riding as normal. Just take a few sick days or go on vacation. Or drive. But with plans like this, plans to cycle an average of 60 miles a day, everyday, for years, it becomes somewhat of a let down.

After the initial shock of my preparations and dreams being slid out from under me, I realized the table was still set. Nothing had spilled, just a few tears beaded on the linen napkin. I can't give up, I sure as hell am not sulking my way back home! So the only other option I see fit is to walk. I'll have a walkabout, yes indeed! My mom has shipped me my hiking pack and I've done a few practice walks around town, trying to once again mentally and physically prepare myself. One of the major adjustments that I'll need to make is the amount of stuff I can carry. It's one thing to peddle around a 110 lb load on wheels, a whole other to carry that weight on your back. I need to learn to perfect the art of minimal living. No more camp stove, cooking equipment, water filter, or multiple changes of clothes. No more emergency kit, full sized towel, or inner tubes either. Just a little food and water, one change of clothes, my tent and sleeping bag, sketchbook and harmonica. If nothing else, at least my creativity can thrive. Maybe I'll be starving and smell like poo, but the best art is produced from pain and suffering, right?

I have convinced myself that there are quite a few pros to walking rather than riding. I won't have to worry about my bike getting stolen, for one. I can fit through smaller spaces, and traverse on beautiful hiking trails that I would have been restricted from before. I will walk facing traffic, so the likelihood of being intentionally run over by a heart-broken, middle-aged man drowning his sorrows in a liter of fine, aged scotch he was saving for their 50th wedding anniversary is slim to none. I just need to hone in my cat-like reflexes and learn how to be agile with an extra 50 lbs and bulbous tumor of gear on my back. Easy peasy. I'll also be able to get a little more creative with my modes of travel. Though I'd like to rely on ecological ways of travel as much as possible, I'll be able to easily catch a train or bus, or hitchhike if need be. It will also be much easier to find a suitable boat to crew on, and I won't have to worry about stowing, shipping, or selling my bike when that time comes. Besides, six months down the road when my hand is completely healed I may be able to take up cycling again, you never know.

Speaking of selling the bike. I'm getting that out of the way today. An ad will be published on Craigslist to sell beautiful Bonner, and other camping equipment that I'm doing without. The money will be extremely helpful, so hopefully I'll make it a few extra months without having to worry about making more. The extra money and time will allow me to get by while my hand heals and I can then work on a portfolio of sketches to sell along the way.

I'm a little behind schedule, and it's going to take me three times as long to make the same distance as I would on a bike. So I'm also going to use the extra cash to get a bus ticket to give me a head start on the next leg of this journey. I'll be taking a bus from here to Niagara Falls, ON, tomorrow. My route takes me north around Lake Ontario to Montreal, then southeast through New Hampshire and Vermont straight to RI. My goal is to make it there by October first. I hope to spend a week or two there, maybe make a little more cash at my old landscaping job, and then start searching for crewing opportunities as I make my way south along the coast before winter hits.

All is good. Tomorrow stage two begins, and I can shed the weight of luxury as well as the extra 10 lbs (no exaggeration) I've gained from being spoiled and well fed at my aunts' house the last couple weeks. Ruth and Terry, by the way, have been amazing. I am extremely lucky to have been welcomed into their home during this time of transition so I could recover and plan for the next phase. I greatly appreciate their unconditional hospitality and love, without which I would be in a totally different state of mind and health. On the same note I'm ready for the road, and I'm looking forward to the hardships I'll endure and learn from, as well as the glory of freedom once again.

Special thanks to all the families I've stayed with along my way so far. You will never be forgotten. Love you all.

These are the Johnson's. They are a family of cyclists I ran into on the road who invited me to camp out with them on their site at Tawas State Park, MI.

Meet the Wheeler's. They took me in and even made me a feature of their weekly paper in Standish, MI.

Then I stayed with the Crissman's through WarmShowers. They even had a pony I got to ride!

And of course my awesome aunts, Terry and Ruth, who let me crash their place for a whole week during recovery.

a new way of life

Hello again! A lot has happened in the last 11 months. Last November I decided that in order to really get the ball going on this trip, I needed to save money and pay off my debts. The quickest way to do this was to move back home to Kansas and live with my parents for a while, rent free. So I held a sale in my apartment by the beach, packed up a couple suitcases and came crawling home, temporarily caging my independence.

Life at home has been awesome. I was quickly able to get a job, and slowly started to make a dent in the debt. I got it all paid off in March of this year, and since then have been saving/spending in preparation for my trip. When it's all said and done, I'll be leaving with roughly $1,300 in my pocket.

Soon after my debt was paid I met him. I mean, I met the one. His build was strong and rugged, with a sturdy frame and a smooth style all his own. He glistened in the sun as he swept me away off my feet, and I was instantly in love. As we rode off together into the sunset I know we'd be together forever. He made me feel safe and secure, like I could really depend on him to get me through anything. I could tell he'd be in it for the long haul.

His name is Bonner,

a Surly LHT, and he's the most gorgeous thing on two wheels in the whole world. Now I know I said I was in love with my bike in RI, but I was mistaken. That was puppy love compared to this. I had no idea a bicycle could bring one so much joy and happiness. Bonner and I, well we have this indescribable bond, a strong and silent connection. We go everywhere together, two peas in a pod. He's my home now.

I'm challenging myself to live in a new way. To traverse the world by bike and boat! Everyday is going to be a mission of survival. My new occupation will be peddling, mental and physical health my bounty. And with that health I will then give back to the earth, and do what I can to help. No paying job, no permanent shelter, no reliable food source, and no one else to rely on. Just me, Bonner, and the horizon. Only using money for emergency use and repairs on Bonner. As for food, I'm going to dumpster dive, scavenge, and take advantage of soup kitchens. I'll have an emergency two day ration in case I get stuck, but I really want to try and avoid buying food on a daily basis. I'm going to be camping a lot of the time, and every now and then I'm going to want some companionship, a living thing to talk to (sorry Bon), maybe a bed and a shower if I'm lucky. That's where http://www.couchsurfing.org and http://www.warmshowers.org come in. These non profit organizations contain like-minded travelers who open their homes to each other for free. Stragglers, dreamers, and wander-lusting thrill seekers are welcomed into a strangers' home where they are fed, offered a shower and a safe place to sleep. It's an awesome way to meet people all over the world, learn about their home town and culture, and make an instant friend. Since I've been planning this trip I've hosted a handful of earth-trod souls, each one inspiring me more and more to leave my key ring behind. I am so grateful to have this constant support line available everywhere I go. And the people are amazing.

After I've been on the road for a few weeks and gotten the hang of what it takes to keep myself alive, I'm going to spend the majority of my time volunteering around the country. Spending a week here, two weeks there, maybe a month or two at a time somewhere if I find a really intense project. I'm mostly interested in work on farms, but will gladly take on any opportunity that's thrown my way. Organizations like www.wwoofusa.org, www.workaway.info, and www.helpx.net are resources that I will utilize to find these volunteering privileges. These non-profits offer free room in board in exchange for an average of about 25 hours/week of your time to volunteer. Pretty fucking cool, I say. It's really important to me to do what I can to make each place better, to leave it better than I found it. Volunteering also will give me the chance to learn new life skills, to teach and be taught and to share with people. That alone is a gift with unmeasurable value. I'll keep what I learn with me for the rest of my life, replacing material possessions with mental ones.

Gradually I'm going to make my way east, and hit the southern coast sometime before winter. Port to port I'll be thumbing, asking those studly sailors if I can lend a hand. Hopefully I'll be making way soon enough, Bonner will be tied down and stowed away in the cabin and I'll be up on deck, sailing wherever the captain and the wind agree upon. I'm hoping to sail across the Atlantic sometime next season, maybe make it to Europe or beyond, and continue the bike tour when reaching land. I'll sail as long as I can, I have a feeling I'm going to fall in love with life on the sea. Maybe I'll even fall in love on the sea, who knows. I just know that I have to take advantage of this time in my life. I'm young and healthy, have zero debt, no kids, and astounding love and support from my friends and family. I have to prove to myself that I can do this, that I can be this independent, this strong. That I can survive in the wild, and still do good for people. I'm not running away from anything, not looking for anything, I'm just not interested in spending my life earning an idea. Earning silly pieces of paper with monetary and meaningless numbers and pictures vomited all over it. I'm not interested in filling my life and my space with society's idea of what is appropriate and proper. I don't fit into all of that, it doesn't make me happy. It's pretty silly to exist and be unhappy when you are in control of it. After all, happiness is a skill in itself. I want my time on this planet to matter, and to (although cliche) make a positive impact on the world, in one little place at a time, one day at a time. I want to experience total selflessness. I hope to learn to be completely self sufficient, have zero footprint, and survive with what would otherwise go to waste.

This is going to be a new way of life. I'm going to go out and see the world, and live this way as long as I can. After planning this dream for over a year, the time has come. I leave my key ring in the door in t-minus 5 days, 20 hours, and 6 minutes. Did I mention that I'm completely freaking out?