The Summer I Almost Rode my Bicycle from Eugene to Portland

Number of miles: 5,188

Number of days: 83

Number of days it would take me to pedal the circumference of the world, at this rate: 398

Percent likelihood of this happening anytime soon: 0

Oh, how dearly I wanted to be able to write that title without the inclusion of the word "almost", but alas, there simply wasn't time enough. I considered at least crossing the border into Maine, just to plant my foot down and say that I'd been there, but I guess that honour will be saved for another trip. But I won't leave yinz on tenterhooks, if you're wondering: yes, I made it to Boston on time (well, Cambridge, technically). Now back to where I left off:

I still haven't quite gotten used to the east's notion of national forests, with all of their grandfathered private property; here, it's commonplace to find outright cities well within national forest borders, along with all their requisite commercial amenities. Even stranger, though viewed as some sort of park, the Adirondacks are not national forest or national park or even state park, but rather a strange amalgamation of public and private lands that enjoy some kind of protected status.

Adirondack Loveliness

Fortunately, one does not need to understand their politics to enjoy their beauty, and beautiful they were. The weather has been fairly predictable, with rainy mornings burning off into blustery, crisp, sunny afternoons, which makes perfect weather for riding through the forest, passing through cascades of tumbling leaves. The thought has occurred time and time again over the last week: I've wanted to see the Northeast for several years now, but I don't think I could've picked a better time and a better way to see it.

Sunset over Lake Durant

And the states are getting so tiny! You mean to tell me that each one of these dinky little places has the same number of senators as, say, Oregon? I could eat Rhode Island for breakfast! I crossed Vermont in less than a day, and that was following a less-than-direct route through the mountains. Vermont and New Hampshire both share a quiet, unassuming dignity and splendor; rather than trying to charm with glitz and glamour, they tend to sit back and let you arrive at the ultimately inevitable conclusion that, yes, it really doesn't get much better than this.

My last night on the road before Boston, I stayed in the garage of an abandoned house. These types of houses are easy to come by, and I've stayed in similar places a number of times on this trip, but this place was a bit different, in how suddenly the family departed. My guess is that it was foreclosed upon; there was a lock box on the doorknob, but the house was still full of stuff. The fridge was mildewing and the toilet cracked from improper winterizing, but the house was otherwise frozen in time; a calendar on a door read November 2008. They took the furniture and whatever else they must've deemed important, but it was surprising to see what'd been left: I found two rifles, entire wardrobes (including a seriously snazzy suit that fit me like a glove), a motorcycle; I slept on a cozy futon, a pair of warm Sorels inserts on my feet. I sometimes wonder what the ex-owners would think of me lying there, enjoying the ghosts of their former lives, but I think it would be okay with them (inasmuch as losing a home can be okay); if I were in a similar position, I would like to know that it weren't all just sitting there unappreciated, for no better reason than financial disagreement.

Well, if you've been paying good attention, you may've noticed that I've started to talk as though my trip ends in Boston, which brings up the question: what now? While it's certainly true that I'm putting down my bicycle for a while, it's because I've got some serious fun to tend to (because, you know, my trip hasn't been fun enough): it's time for Honk! Fest, the rip-roaringest music festival of the globe.

Honk! Fest! Attracting over 25 different brass and percussion ensembles from around the country (and in a few cases, the world), we will together watch Boston crumble at our feet like the walls of Jericho, from three solid days of brassy madness. I have the good fortune to be reuiniting with my long-lost love, the Yellow Hat Band of Seattle, for this event. After Boston, YHB, along with several other of the bands, will embark on a weeklong mini-east coast tour, through Providence, Northampton, New Jersey, and NYC.

So, the real question is, what happens after NYC? In short, I don't know yet. There are still many places that I want go while I'm over here, and friends that I want to visit, but I don't know how much bike trip I have left in me; my body is holding out surprisingly well, but my bike needs some serious maintenance if I'm going to continue riding it any meaningful distances (I've just been sort of riding it into the ground, lately, knowing that it just needs to get me to Honk!, and that I can take care of the rest later). Moreover, there's only so long that I can struggle against the ever-worsening weather.

Most importantly, though, I'm missing home, wherever that is: I'm missing being settled, and I'm getting awfully strong urges to start settling down for the coming winter. I want a kitchen that is mine; I want to be warm, and have reliable access to electricity; I want to have more than one set of clothing at my disposal (even if I end up wearing the same stuff, anyway); I want to spend time with friends and family, people I've known for longer than a day or two (no offense to all the people I've met along the way); I want my cat on my lap and my magazine subscriptions. I want Northwest beer served in a 22 at 10% minimum, dammit!

But. You never know. I know that all of these things will be waiting for me, whenever I decide I'm done, and it's hard for me to imagine not being on the move anymore. Before arriving in Boston yesterday afternoon, I spent a good amount of the morning walking around Walden Pond, and sitting on its well-worn but well-loved banks. Such treasured and tender moments seem to happen on a daily basis, and I know that there are a hundred more waiting just over the horizon for me. I think, though, that those same moments can be found in more mundane surroundings, and it's really more a matter of outlook than opportunity. This trip has certainly taught me, amoung other things, a deep appreciation for simple things, and I'd like to think I can carry that sentiment with me in whatever I do with my life.

Walden Pond

So. No answers as of yet. At this point, Honk! comes first, and then we'll see where my feelings and the weather guide me. Fortunately, I've been practicing that for three months, now...