Lessons from a Night in the Woods...

On the date I set off pedaling from Worcester County on the lesser known stretches of Route 9, my mother felt it necessary to see me off with a grand breakfast. Those who know me can attest to my love of food, and know all to well that I'll never turn down a meal. The sole pitfall was that this feast, immense and delightful as it was, found me comatose on the sofa for two hours.

Needless to say this delayed my day considerably, and as nightfall approached and I was without cellular reception and seemingly no where near my intended destination, I began to search for any suitable, discreet place to make camp.

It was amazing how quickly an hour passed as the sun retreated beyond the tree line leaving only a fragmented amber glow. As the forest began to awaken with new life, I found a clearing at the top of a hill about thirty feet off the road. After riding about 60 miles, I now faced a new challenge--hauling my bike and it's nearly 70 lbs of accompanying equipment into my would-be campsite. Somewhere, somehow, I found the strength and upon reaching the top, I took a moment to observe my home for the evening.

The space stood distinct for two reasons. The first, was that this clearing appeared to be manmade as downed trees and logs lay in neat piles. The second, and more ominous, distinction was found no more than 50 feet away on a tree that stood on the bank of a nearby brook--it was a sign that read, "Atlantic Salmon--Catch and Release."

Under normal circumstances this sign wouldn't bother me, but as many of my friends and family were quick to point out--these circumstances were NOT normal. To many, the idea of riding your bike to San Francisco borders lunacy. When trying to assess my state of mind, one of the first questions was almost always, "What about bears?"

I should make it clear, as I've repeated ad nauseam, once you step out into the wilderness (even if it is only around the corner from your doorstep) you automatically drop down a few levels on the food chain.

As much as I had made this point, this sign brought the potential presence of bears straight into my awareness--and here I was pitching my tent in their kitchen.

Dried pine needles crackled beneath me as I secured my camp. Curling in my sleeping bag, I couldn't help but tune into every sound of the forest. Every buzz, every chirp, every breeze that stirred the trees, even the babble of the brook--every sound became menacing, but none as menacing as the rustle of the pine needles. The slightest sound, no matter how subtle, made my heart pound, and in a matter of minutes I found myself making my peace should a bear decide me a far better catch than a salmon.

After what seemed like endless prayer, I managed to salvage two hour of sleep before waking at 4am. I raced to pack up camp, figuring it was the prudent thing to do in case bears were most active at dawn, and found myself peddling into the sleepy town of Worthington, MA.

With the exception of a small town center, it was mostly rural farmland and I continued on my westward course. Were it not for what I saw next, I probably would've forgotten Worthington as quickly as I had rolled through it. I approached a farmhouse on the right and my eyes were drawn to the shaking grass. Curious, I crawled to within ten feet of the disturbance to find a large, black mess of fur--I don't think I need to tell you what ran through my mind and out my mouth..."BEAR!" The force of my...scream...nearly knocked me off my bike and I learned three valuable lessons:

1) Should you come upon a bear in the wild, keep a low profile, and refrain from sneaking up behind it and screaming. Move along--it's a bear, and therefore unimpressed by you.

2) Between their sharp claws and teeth, jaw strength, sheer power, and animal instincts, nature has equipped bears infinitely better for a fight. Remember fight or flight? In this case, hope that you've been genetically programmed for flight. Furthermore, hope that you're faster than a bear.

3) Know your bears. More importantly, don't be like me--know your beavers.

I don't know if beavers are equipped with the capacity to feel shame, but I'm pretty sure that beaver felt embarrassed for me.

As I continued to my next destination, Peru, MA, I found myself carrying considerably more weight--if I couldn't face a beaver or a few hours in the woods, how could I hope to make the trek to San Francisco?

But still I rode, knowing only one thing for certain--whatever the question, no matter how difficult or trying, I have one thing on my side--time. This is, after all, going to be a long journey.

The Road to Peru

Peru, Massachusetts is one of the Berkshires best kept secrets...in fact, some would seek to keep it that way.

My first welcome to the town whose largest attractions include a Mass Highway Department garage, a town hall (approximately the size of a shoe box), and a Methodist Church (slightly larger than said shoe box); was a stately white sign proclaiming "Welcome to Peru" with a bumper sticker offering the following admonition, "If I were you, I'd turn back now."

If I told you I didn't seriously take this warning as a sign from God that perhaps my trip was ill-fated or misplanned, or perhaps my preparations or provisions too few--I'd be lying. The truth is all these thoughts crept through my consciousness, and after the night I had just passed I found myself saying, "It's not too late, you can still turn back."

And as I sat there pondering the meaning of that bumper sticker, I realized that I was facing my first moment of truth--do I press forward and continue the climb, or do I turn back and live to ride another day?

To fully appreciate my dilemma, you should know how my journey began...

New Posts Are On the Way...Seriously!

The past 5 days have found me pedaling furiously through Central and Western Mass and now through the Lower Adirondacks. That being said there has been relatively little time to update the blog, but not to worry, that is about to change as I'll be passing the next two nights at the lovely Blessed Hope Church in Binghamton, NY. This should allow me some time to track down a computer with an internet connection and really start churning out some tales for your reading enjoyment. Stay tuned--against my better judgment I'll be letting you all know what kind of adventures (and misadventures) I've been having this first leg of my journey.
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"Beware of Trees" and Other Words of Advice, Wisdom, Support, and Encouragement

"Beware of trees--yesterday, a biker was killed in Washington when a tree fell on him."

"Remember--10-12% of everyone you meet is a psychopath, sociopath--I'm just saying it's okay to carry a piece."

"The best defense against bears...peanut butter. Before you go to sleep, slather yourself in peanut butter."

"You'll regret your decision."

"You're going alone? You're crazy, you know that, right?"

These are but a small sample of the responses I received when telling people my plan...to bike across the country to San Francisco in 50 days.

Inevitably, they all led to the same question--why?

I have my own battery of answers...

"Because I can."

"Because I want to take some time to discover and pursue other passions."

"Because I want to go on an adventure."

"Because it's always been something I wanted to do, and my window to do it is shrinking."

I could probably list out my answers all day, after all, God knows I've been asked the question more times than I can count. And as many times as I've been asked, I doubt anyone has asked why I've decided to make this change more than myself.

I suppose the best answer I have for why I'm about to embark on what many consider to be a perilous journey is provided by Albert Einstein,

"Few are those who see with their own eyes, and feel with their own hearts."

For all his expertise in the fields of science, mathematics, and theory, Mr. Einstein's insights into life, love and compassion are oftentimes overlooked--and it may be because my brain is attuned to a sociological way of thinking, but it was always those insights that resonated with me most.

So there you have it--the core of my reasoning for going on this trip--to see with my own eyes, feel with my own heart, and have a little fun along the way.