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.