With a new rear tire and some freshly acquired winter gear, I left Julie’s apartment early Sunday afternoon, ready to get back on the road. I was feeling tired, but, keeping a moderate pace, I felt good about riding. I was in no rush, not feeling pressured to push 100 miles, or even 70. I was going to be content with whatever distance I traveled.

Early on through the ride, I passed by an amusement park, featuring a few rollercoasters and mini-golf and some other attractions. Coming up to the first rollercoaster, whose track lay just 100 yards off the road, I stopped and stood, watching some folks begin their ride. Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack-clack. Right off the start, the cars were being pulled up a big incline by some sort of ratcheting chain mechanism. Once at the top, the cars were released, and gravity was left to do its work. Down the first hill they flew, but quickly they reached the bottom, a small valley, and were brought up another hill, smaller than the first. To reach the top of the second ascent, however, no mechanical aide was necessary, no clack-clack. Just the momentum gained from soaring down the previous hill was enough to easily carry those cars and their passengers to the crest of the second rise. I watched those thrill seekers having a screaming-good time, and I thought about the power of momentum, and how it’s force has affected me thus far. I realized that momentum is my biggest asset, or has been, in keeping me going every day, ensuring that I wake up every morning, pack up my gear, and get back on my bicycle, to ride into personally unexplored territory and cover dozens of miles. Those times when I am down, exhausted, and ask myself why the hell I’m doing this, why I should keep going, I finally have found my answer. Momentum. I have been on the road for over two months now, covered well over 2500 miles, 15 states, countless towns and cities. This has become my life. Just the same as most people get up every morning, take a shower and get ready for work, even though they may not particularly enjoy their job, and sometimes ask themselves why they keep going, I get up and cook breakfast and put on my padded shorts and bandana and hop on the bike.

The difference between what I am doing now, however, and what most people do on a daily basis, is that I am free to do this however I choose. I have no boss to answer to, no quotas, no real deadlines other than the ones I set for myself. I can take a countless number of routes, take breaks whenever I feel, and I don’t feel the pressure to shower or dress fancy for anyone. Also, I can stop at any time. This is entirely for my own benefit. I have no mouths to feed other than my own. Along the way, I sincerely hope that what I am doing has a positive effect on others, whether it be strangers I meet along the way or those friends and family following along from the beginning. But at the end of the day, this is about me finding out about the world and where I fit in. As in every situation we find ourselves, weighing the pros and cons, positives and negatives, cost and benefit, I have to constantly decide whether what I am doing is worth the mental and emotional strain, the loneliness, the hassles and unfriendly people. While momentum can be attributed to me getting up every day and getting back on the bike, it’s really the positives that come my way on a daily basis, outweighing the negatives, that keep me pedaling, pushing on to some unforeseen goal. The friendly encounters, conversations with strangers, random hospitality, beautiful scenery, words of encouragement, and seeing family are what push me forward, what make me realize that this is all worthwhile for now. So as long as those positives keep coming my way, as long as exhaustion never catches up to the momentum, I’ll keep going.

That’s what I have done the last two days. On Sunday I took a few breaks to take some pictures and to enjoy a delicious lunch of a tomato and cucumber and avocado and cheese sandwich. I am going to cut back severly on my intake of refined sugar and processed foods, preservatives, and really make an effort to keep my diet full of natural foods, fruits and vegetables, whole grains, and freshly prepared baked goods. I think it will have an extensively positive effect on my overall well being. This sandwich was my start. I also picked up some oats and wheat bran to eat for breakfast, and some trailmix to snack on. The hardest part of this new diet, sadly enough, will be giving up donuts. I don’t know what it is about donuts, but I have a weak resolve when it comes to resisting the sugary baked goods. Moderation will do for now, I suppose.

After my tasty lunch, I resumed riding and put in some more hours before stopping in the small town of Waconia. It was nearing sundown, the shoulder on the highway was relatively narrow, and towns were becoming more spread out, so I figured this would be a good place to stop. It seemed friendly and quaint enough. I first came upon a city park as a potential resting place. I asked a couple walking by if they knew anything about camping at the park. They told me it probably wasn’t a good idea, the park was patrolled. I asked about churches around, and they pointed me to a Catholic church just across the street. I mentioned something about notifying the police about staying in town, so they don’t bother me, or maybe in hopes of the helping me out. I went to the church and rang the doorbell at the rectory. A woman who looked quite frightened answered the door. I told her my story and asked if I might sleep at the church. She said she wasn’t comfortable with that. I told her I just wanted to sleep outside, by the church. She said she was not comfortable with that but that there was an open lot across the street, owned by the church, maybe I could sleep there. I asked if that would be alright, and she said ‘I guess.’

I wasn’t terribly satisfied with the interaction, but I figured it would do. The couple I had talked to earlier were now sitting on the steps to their building, which was just across the street. I went to talk with them again, and they offered to call the sheriff, so I could talk to them. I thought that was a good idea. I would let them know I was going to sleep on that lot, with permission of the church, and perhaps they could offer me more information on a better place to stay. The man called, and a county sheriff officer came shortly afterwards. I was sitting, writing in my journal when he pulled up, but I quickly jumped to my feet as he was getting out of his car. Standard interaction- I don’t remember if he asked how I was doing, but I certainly asked how we was doing, which he of course did not answer. I think it must be part of police protocol to never answer that question. Before anything else, he asked for some id. I first gave him my Tennessee driver’s license, the id I usually give, since it has my home address on it, but he wanted something with a more recent photo, as my picture on my license was taken when I was sixteen. I gave him my California id, which is less than a year old. He got on the radio on his collar and called in my numbers. I expected my run in last week to come up on the record, but the dispatcher said I was completely clear in Minnesota, no note of the warning for biking on the freeway. I guess that would only come up under my Tennessee id?

I told the cop my situation, about sleeping in the lot with the permission of the church. He told me about the vagrancy laws in the county, the anti-transient statutes to keep people like me, basically, from causing any trouble in the towns, disturbing the peace. He said you’re not allowed to sleep outside anywhere. Even with the permission of the church, I would still probably get hassled by the cops, and they do patrol that town. I asked if he could offer any help, anywhere close by I might be able to go, maybe at a police station. All he could tell me was that there were a few motels in town. Not an ideal answer.

Well, by the time we were done talking, it was pretty much dark. I didn’t think it was a good idea to get back on the highway, since the shoulder was narrow, it was getting cold, and I didn’t really feel like riding in the dark. I would have to find something in town. The man who had called the police called me over. He wanted to show me a few spots I might be able to hide and sleep. One was behind, or in, some thick brush by a small brick building. The other was in the stairway outside his building, just outside the laundry room. He said no one would be going in there at night. Then there was within the fenced in dumpster area. The area was large enough to fit two or three dumpsters, but there was only one present. None of the three seemed particularly enticing to me, so I told him thanks, that I was going to go cook my dinner at the park and come back. Instead of doing that, however, I thought I would try my luck first with interacting with more people. The town was fairly dead, and not much was open other than some bars, so I went in one. Only two people there- the bartender and one patron, who obviously couldn’t care any less about anyone else in the bar. I ordered a beer and asked the bartender about places to stay. He had nothing to offer. I sat and enjoyed my beer anyway and watched a football game on the tv. The bartender was somewhat friendly and talked to me a bit, tried to offer some ideas, but mostly they were just to get a hotel room or go to the other bars. Sitting there at the bar, drinking my beer, and pondering what my next move was, I decided that I should listen to my gut feeling on the situation. As much as I hate the idea of paying so much for just a place to sleep for a few hours, despite the fact I would have to put it on my credit card, I decided I better just go ahead and get a room at the Super 8. I would be warm, safe, and have a bed and shower. That’s what my gut said, so I went with it.

The man at the front desk was nice and gave me 5 bucks off the rate since I was traveling by bike. It felt good to get out of the cold and take a nice long hot shower. I slept alright, got up around 8 the next morning, packed up and went downstairs to enjoy the continental breakfast. It was pretty much just cereal and donuts and muffins- prepackaged sweets- but I did get two bananas and some applejuice. Unfortunately I couldn’t resist the donuts and did have one. Other than that, it was just cornflakes.

Yesterday’s riding was alright. I found myself getting frustrated early on in the day, not by anything that happened, but just on thoughts that came up about some encounters. For some reason I started thinking about all the times I had been disrespected, treated as less than human, often by cops, and I got angry. I had to stop at a church and stretch and lay on the sidewalk, staring up at the sky, to calm myself and move on from the thoughts. After that, the ride was decent enough. The sky was really pretty, plenty of clouds. It rained for about 20 minutes at one point, but luckily I had stopped to use a bathroom at a park when it rolled in, so I saw it coming and was able to get shelter under a picnic area. After that, it was ever-changing temperatures, and I was constantly adding and shedding layers to keep up.

As the sun was going down last night, I came into a town called Cosmos. I didn’t plan on stopping there, but I did stop into a gas station to pick up a snack and ask about the towns coming up, as they were fairly spread out, and I wanted to have something to aim for. The lady behind the counter informed me that pretty much all the towns between Cosmos (a town of about 580 people) and Montevideo (a town of at least 5,000), which was 50 miles further, were tiny, much smaller than Cosmos. I told her my situation, that I was just looking for a place to sleep. She said her neighbor could put me up. Her neighbor, now, is a man standing outside the gas station, with whom she had been talking as I rode up to the place. He is a smaller-built man, about my size, probably around 50 years old, named Jerry. He looked weather-worn and had a beard. When I first rolled up, I thought that he was the kind of guy that would offer me a place to sleep. When I walked into the convenience store, surprisingly he said nothing.

The gas station worker, Terry, walked outside with me and notified Jerry about my situation and that she said I could stay with him. I was surprised that she would volunteer someone else for the hospitality. She said she would have me at her place, but her grandkids were there already. Jerry seemed fairly indifferent to the whole situation. He said it was alright if I stayed, but I would have to be out in the morning, before he goes to work. I told him that was fine, I like early starts anyway. He informed me that it was a small place, he had just moved in, there was electricity and heat, but no running water, due to leaks. I was also fine with that. There was still about an hour of usable daylight left, but I felt content to have a heated roof to sleep under, especially since the weather forecast for the area called for a low last night of 36 degrees. I’m pretty confident about my cold weather gear for most situations, but I’m not entirely sure I would fare well sleeping outside in that kind of cold, especially since I still haven’t picked up any decent gloves.

I walked with Jerry back to his trailer. It was messy but bare, and contained all the necessary furnishings. He said I could have the bed, since he usually slept on the couch anyway. That’s where is alarm clock is. He told me about how he was working on the plumbing, fixing leaks and picking up the mess the previous tenants had left behind. I asked about going to the bathroom, as I usually have to go in the mornings when I wake up. He said that was fine; he fills up buckets to use for flushing the toilet. Sitting on the couch in his living room, there wasn’t much for conversation. I asked him questions about the town, about him, about his place. He offered short answers and always came back to the same topics about fixing the place up and the mess from the previous occupants. I wouldn’t say it was awkward. I was too tired to really care about that. It was a bit weird, though.

Jerry offered me soda, which I declined, and drank beer for himself. A bit later his friend Dale came over, already a bit sauced. He brought with him more beer. Dale was a bit more conversational, but not in an ideal way. He talked loudly, mostly about himself, telling me about his divorce, his wife cheating on him, going to jail for threatening to kill his wife, getting custody of his youngest daughter, being handicapped. I’m not sure what exactly he had, but from what he said, it sounded like MS, and he walked with a cane. Dale’s eyes were always pretty wild open, he liked to yell, as did Jerry when he was talking to Dale, although it was never out of anger. They reminded me of a Minnesotan version of Cheech and Chong, except with booze instead of weed. But Dale loved talking about how he gave his daughter shit, yelled at her, and she gave it right back. He felt it was a good relationship. I saw it in action at one point. Dale gave Jerry money to get some booze, both for them and for his daughter, who is nineteen. His daughter gave Jerry a ride to the bar to buy the booze. The whole thing was interesting. Dale got some blackberry brandy, of which he gave me a few pulls. It was not surprisingly very good, and really gave you that warm feeling in your chest. He said they drink that when they go ice fishing, when it is 30-below zero in the winter.

So, overall, my stay with Jerry was mostly just weird. There really wasn’t much in the way of what you would call conversation. I think most of my contribution was a few questions, some nods and ‘yeahs’ and some forced laughter. Dale and Jerry got drunk and ended up yelling about fixing up Jerry’s house. Jerry was stuck on Dale being his friend. “All that matters, is that you’re my friend, right.” Dale was hung up on Jerry having fixed the stairs on the backside of his deck before getting the plumbing all taken care of. “Just take care of the plumbing first. That’s top priority. Why would you even think about the deck?” So back and forth, they yelled at each other. It wasn’t really an argument, just drunken ranting at a loud volume, on repeat. After a few minutes of that, I got up, went to the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth, and then came back and told them I was going to bed. It was around 10:30, and Jerry was ready for bed, too. Dale left.

Woke up at six this morning, got ready quickly, put everything back on my bike (I had taken my bags in since it was going to be so cold), and set out. I knew Jerry wanted me out, and I didn’t want any uncomfortable situations. I thanked him for the place to stay, and he wished me luck on my trip, pretty much the extent of the talk of my trip during the whole stay, excepting him asking me where I was going and from where I came. Oh, and I’ll just throw in the side note here that the bathroom smelled of fermenting piss, as he obviously didn’t flush that often, and there was little in the way of ventilation. Just thought I would throw that in there. I cooked my breakfast at the town park, across the street from the gas station. The sun was just barely coming up when I left Jerry’s, and it was still very cold. I need to get some gloves today, for sure.

By 9am, back on the road for an hour, I was finally able to shed my layers and get back to a t-shirt. I keep my jacket on, though, since it blocks a lot of the wind. So far the ride today has been nice. The traffic has considerably decreased, the weather is beautiful, and it is pretty much nothing but farms. At one point I heard a rustling noise and was surprised that I could very clearly hear the sound of the corn swaying in the breeze. It was a beautiful moment, discovering that. Right now I am stopped at a trucks stop, on my way to Montevideo, where I hope to find some gloves and a grocery store. Other than that, I’m looking forward to a nice day and some more calm riding, hopefully.

Before I end this, I do want to take a moment to point out a new page on the left entitled Donate. Not asking for much, but check it out and help out if you feel inclined. That is all.