conclusion

I'm having a hard time adjusting to the real world. I lost my debit card, left my credit card at the bar, hit something with my car, and sleep most of the day. My three weeks on the road helped me understand how valuable diversity in routine is. In touring, each day is made up of drastically different experiences, places, and people. But each day is also the same: Wake up. Oatmeal. Ride. Eat. Ride. Ramen Noodles. Camp. Sleep. The difference is the focus.

Such is life. We enjoy routine and are accustomed to it because we become good at it. After the first week I could set up and break down camp in an instant. I could ride up hills with 60+ pounds of life without much strain. I could be happy not talking to anyone, and smiling at everything. Although I established a routine, it was filled with vast diversity making it addicting and lively. If I had the time and resources I would keep riding all the way tip of South America. My goal now is to recreate this diversity in real world routine. I believe it is possible. Boston is a massive city.

People are key. Of everything I experienced, the people were most worthwhile.

Matt from Portland, his brother Greg, and buddy Jeremy were the first of my short relationships. I climbed a long hill with Greg. We marveled at the beauty of touring: the slow appreciation of roads, of bikes, of hills, and of nature. Matt and I talked about the subtleties of human powered adventuring and of the good found in bad things like "going over the high side." He's still out there riding somewhere on the coast, taking his time to appreciate and comprehend, meeting new people and inevitably contrasting them from our relationship.

Jefferson and Jarus Cox. The immensely interesting and fun loving brothers from DC. Different from Matt and his crew but still out for adventure in the short time off between tasks of ruling the world. I actually met them on several occasions as our paths crossed on the single path down the coast. They've made it to San Diego by now.

The European Girls. One taking the summer off and touring, like she does every summer. The other riding her bike to new work in New Zealand.

Karli and TramAhn. We rode together for a few days while my joints remembered how to function again. Santa Cruz was as nice as they foreshadowed. I shared the most scenic rides of the trip with them, likely because we rode slowly with many breaks.

A man walked up to me in camp outside of Brookings. I was sure he was a bum. His sun warmed skin and bleached hair complimented the tattered clothing and bare feet. Once he opened his mouth it was apparent that I was wrong. He had a friendly demeanor and eloquent disposition that is only found in the competent and educated. He gave me his spare fuel and explained his month long vacation, walking down the Oregon coast on the crest of the ocean where the land turns into sand. He was an elementary school teacher from Colorado.

California brought a new mood and new people. Adam and Ben ushered me to San Francisco. They were light hearted and heavy legged. The riding was much more enjoyable after I met them. Paces were fast and meals were long. I laughed a lot more.

The Canadians. Living the environmental dream and prospering. At sunset across a picnic table we discussed health care and the reasons it floats in its punctured ship.

I camped with recumbent Gary for three days. We didn't ride together because our paces differed but always met up at camp. He epitomized the alternative type of tourist. The retired and experienced. On my last morning I passed his bike outside a Mexican restaurant. I stopped in to share a last conversation and wished him luck on his trip to the border.

I rode with a high school economics teacher from Oregon for two hours. In the short time we designed an alternative approach to teaching economics at that early introduction so vital to the acceptance of the approach. I left him at the parking lot of a Walmart.

There were dozens unnamed faces I spoke with, shared meals with, shared thoughts. The old men selling fresh local food on the side of the highways. The park rangers, always loving their career like I hope to love mine. The once vibrant women working the bars, pouring the ale's and knowing that their lives are in that moment--not in the plans we talk about, or in the lives we wish we had.

And now back in Arizona, I prepare to leave again. It was almost an effort seeing my old friends for a last time before the move. Goodbye's and promises to keep in touch, plans to meet again. Who knows what plans will unfold and which were acts of gratitude or courtesy. As I drove away from the bar tonight I did my best to reflect on the reasons I left on my trip down the coast--and the many more guiding me to Boston--rather than lamenting on the lost moments of another minute or hour among them.

Being by the Pacific was made memorable by the people; living, learning, loving in Tempe was just the same. Thank you for your contribution.

-niko (by town lake)