Five weeks of sitting around, sleeping in a warm bed, eating lots of great food, and not biking much has really taken a toll on my physical fitness. I’m sure the high altitude does not help either. The last two days have been exhausting. Granted, there has been plenty of climbing, and even some headwind yesterday. All in all, though, things have gone alright so far on this resurrection of my journey.

The first day found me biking down interstate 25, which wasn’t terribly fun. I had to take a detour from the very beginning due to construction. There was no shoulder and I definitely did not have the self-confidence to try to balance in a one-foot shoulder on the side of the interstate with heavy traffic. Hello no! So I had to take about a six mile detour up some big hills. I came across some more construction later and had to push my bike through dirt through a construction zone littered with nails. That brought me out on to a frontage road, which was a nice alternative for quite a few miles. When I got to Colorado Springs, I got off the interstate and began heading west, up into the mountains to the Garden of the Gods. It’s a nice park with beautiful red rock faces. At the Garden of the Gods, my couchsurfing host, Cheyne, met me, and we rode back to his place in Manitou Springs. Cheyne and I hit it off pretty well, and he made some vegan cupcakes. He’s a bit of an aficionado when it comes to those.

Day one left me terribly exhausted and a bit dehydrated. I woke up sometime in the very early morning with a terribly sharp pain on the left side of my head. I managed to get back to sleep and it was gone when I awoke later, but I’m not really sure what that could have been indicative of. I made sure to eat a kiwi and a banana the next morning. Yesterday also left me faily exhausted. I had a lot of climbing to do. Luckily I was off the interstate, but still on a fairly busy highway with a limited shoulder at times. The wind was at my back for the first half of the day, but around 2:30, a big gust came up from behind me, and suddenly everything changed and the wind was at my face. That slowed me down quite a bit. Still I was determined to keep going and make it up to Royal Gorge, just west of Cañon City.

Unfortunately, as I was passing through Cañon City, I got a flat tire. I thought I would hurry and try to patch the thing quickly and still try to make it up there before dark. I walked my bike with the flat tire about 400 yards to a church across the street. I figured it would provide a safe place to take everything part and do the work quickly. I patched my tube but quickly discovered that, while pushing my bike with the flat, I had peppered the tube with holes, due to the staple that was stuck in my tire. So I figured I might as well just use a new tube. Well, once I got the new tube on and got my bike back together it was already dusk. Darkness would be falling very shortly. I knew I wasn’t going to make it up to Royal Gorge before it got completely dark, and I didn’t want to be riding at night on a busy highway. Plus, I had asked a woman at the church about campgrounds, and she said there were only private ones up there, which are expensive. So I thought that maybe sleeping outside the church might be an option. There was some kind of event going on there, but not something directly church related. At first I thought to just bide my time and wait until everyone left. I biked off and made a few phone calls. Then I realized that I was much better off talking to someone and getting permission to be there. Who knows, maybe they would let me sleep inside. So I went back and asked someone about sleeping outside the church. She put me in contact with another man, but he did not actually work there. He was searching for someone who did. Finally he asked me exactly what I was looking for. I told him I just wanted to sleep outside the church for the night, as there were no cheap campgrounds around. Well, he told me I should go down the street to a shelter, called Loaves and Fish, where I could have a warm place to sleep. He gave me directions and set me on my way.

I didn’t really know what to expect. I’ve never slept at a shelter before. When I got there, there were about 10 pages of paperwork to fill out, asking tons of questions that didn’t really apply to me. I felt bad for being there. I’m not exactly the type of person these things are set up for. But, I am techinically homeless, and the woman there was very welcoming and seemed to be completely fine with me being there. There were seven other guys there and probably four women, one with child. They were all really homeless, from what I could tell. One man had just been divorced and gave his wife everything. He is a truck driver. To get rid of his wife, he sold his six trucks and gave her the 1.2 million dollars. Another man was trying to sober up and get closer to God. I don’t know any of the others’ stories. One man was deaf. I believe he was the father of the child.

I felt a bit uncomfortable being there, and I’ll admit I was a bit fearful of theft. Maybe it wasn’t the case with all of them, but I felt that I had so much more than them. I didn’t belong there. But, I was there, and so I made use of the situation. I was able to take a shower, and the woman gave me some leftover enchiladas from the night before. I went to bed at ten, which was great, and slept fairly well on the top bunk of a prison bunk. The mattress was firm, but not too hard. I think three of the other men were snoring, which kept me up for a bit, but I was tired, and I managed to sleep soundly most of the night.

I awoke around six and got up to get an early start on the day. There was breakfast ready- eggs with ham and peppers. It was really good, but the man working in the morning did not give me much. I didn’t want to ask for seconds. I packed up my stuff and left the shelter before the sun was all the way up, around seven. The ride back east, toward Pueblo, was decent. Again, back on the busy highway. The sun was in my eyes the whole time, making sight-seeing nearly impossible. I had to concentrate fully on the road in front of me, making sure to dodge debris. Now I am in Pueblo, about to head south. Tonight I am hoping to make it to Walsenburg, or just west of there, to Lathrop state park. Hopefully I can camp there for free, or at least for cheap. The weather has been quite warm during the day, in the seventies, but at night it still gets pretty chilly. Hopefully I can make it far enough south before the real cold weather hits. The forecast low for tonight in Walsenburg is forty-one, so that’s not too bad.

Well, the battery is about to die on my laptop, and I want to have some daylight when I stop to camp, so I best be scooting along.

It has been over a month now since I last packed up all my belongings into four bags and slung them onto the frame of my bicycle. Almost five weeks of time off with family, and it has been great. In Montana I was able to get the rest and relaxation that I so desperately needed, as well as get some work done. Here in Colorado I have been revisiting bits of my childhood and enjoying some amazing weather. Above all, it has been some fantastic time with family that I hardly get to see. But the life of a nomad is all about not staying in one place for too long, and so the time has come for me to move along.

Tomorrow morning I plan on jumping on that bike seat again and resuming the journey, beginning what will be the third leg of the trip, toward the left coast. A lot has changed in the past few weeks, and my setup is considerably different. With the cold weather that I could possibly be facing, some better gear was necessary to stay warm and healthy. The sleeping bag I have been using is only rated to about 30 degrees Farenheit, so that would not do. Luckily my aunt Karen’s boyfriend Kim happened to have an old bag that he wasn’t using, a much heavier bag that should be good to about zero degrees. I set up my hammock in their back yard and slept outside for about a week to test things out, and it worked well. There was at least one night below freezing, and I slept fairly well. Actually, the worst part wasn’t the cold but rather all the noise of suburbia- road construction, lawn mowers, barking dogs. I also picked up a fleece blanket to line my hammock to help add a little more insulation. In Montana I bought an insulating base layer shirt- a long sleeve shirt that is supposed to breathe well and wick away moisture but also keep you nice and toasty. The picture on the package displayed people climbing ice walls, so I hope that is a fair indication of its effectiveness. I’ve got some warmer gloves, a few more pairs of wool socks, and even a pair of army surplus Swedish wool socks, thick and heavy and great for sleeping in. To supplement my alchohol stove, the other day I built a small wood-burning stove from a tomato sauce can. It puts out a larger flame, burns longer, and the fuel is free. The downside is its size. Much harder to pack than my alcohol stoves. But I think the larger flame will come in handy. While here in the Denver area, I sold my bike seat, my prized leather Brooks saddle. I was excited when I bought the thing, as I had heard nothing but praise for those high-quality saddles, but in the end, after 3500 miles, my own personal experience did not jive with the stories. My ass wasn’t digging it. Nothing against the quality of the saddle; it just wasn’t the correct shape for me. So I put the thing on craigslist for $60. (I paid $100 for it). Within an hour I already had three people emailing, desperately wanting the saddle. Shit, I should have listed it for $80. So I used that money to buy a new saddle. I rode that for a few days, but it wasn’t quite right, and I actually ended up exchanging it for the model of saddle that I had before I bought the Brooks. It is the same kind of saddle that I rode over 2,000 miles up the Pacific Coast on last summer. I could have saved myself quite a bit of money (and pain) if I had just kept the one I had before and forgotten all about the Brooks. Oh well. You never know until you try for yourself. So now I have a brand new saddle as well.

So I am already for the cold, I hope, but the forecast for Colorado for the next week lists the high temperatures in the 60’s and 70’s. All these gloves and insulating layers, and I’ll probably just be wearing a t-shirt for the next few days of riding. But the nights, that will be a different story. Lows are down into the 20’s. I have a couch to surf for tomorrow night, and a place to stay a few nights after that, but there will be two days in between where I will probably be camping. We’ll see if I’m ready. I’m looking forward to camping at the base of the Rockies. It has been absolutely gorgeous here in the Denver area since I got here. A few days of rain, and a few days of chilly weather, but for the most part I have found myself going outside with long sleeves and regretting it.

One of the best parts of being here in the Denver area, though, has been the opportunity to revisit some of my childhood. I lived in Littleton for five years when I was younger, before my family moved to Knoxville when I was seven. I went on a few bike rides and rode past our old house, the elementary school where I went to Kindergarten and first grade, the creek where my brother and I used to catch minnows, old friends’ houses, and the parks and ponds where we used to go fishing. It’s so wonderful to get back some of my childhood memories, to think about places and details that I haven’t thought about in a long time. So much of my childhood memories were seemingly wiped out after my mom died, and I have had a really tough time trying to regain some of those experiences. Being in this setting did help me concentrate more and gave me some visual cues. Still, I feel there is so much more that I have lost and may never regain. Maybe I just need to spend more time here.

Starting up again after such a long break has brought back some memories of the beginning of this trip. The thoughts that go through your head are quite funny. Here I have already covered over 3500 miles; I traveled for almost three months to get to Montana, but yet I still get nervous about getting back on the bike. I start to think of excuses, of possible scenarios that could delay my departure. Even after all that experience, there still exists that initial fear of flight. I know that once I get going the confidence will quickly rush back to me and I will feel fine, but there is always that initial barrier of doubt to break through. It’s funny, I just started reading John Steinbeck’s Travels With Charley, and as I have been reading his account of getting ready for his trip around the country in a camper truck, I have been awe struck at how completely he has described me and everything I have done and dealt with so far. As he describes his own nature and his own feelings along his trip, I feel like I’m reading my own account. I keep thinking, what’s the point of me writing a book. He already related everything I have felt. He already met these people I am meeting on this journey. Why be redundant. It is an amazing feeling, though, to read his words and understand completely what he is relating, I mean to the very last detail. It’s a real trip. I’m excited to find out where he went and how the rest of his experiences compare to mine, traveling around the country 50 years prior.

Well, I best get to bed and rest up before my big day tomorrow. It’s only about 65 miles to Colorado Springs, but the altitude and the dry air really make a difference. I rode 60 miles from Boulder to my aunt’s house, south of Denver, the other day, and it kicked my ass. I didn’t even have all my gear with me. So tomorrow should be interesting. I am very excited, though, to be getting back out on the road, seeking adventure again, looking to see new sights and meet new people. I only hope it all goes as well as the rest of the trip has so far. One must have faith. Time to dust off my wings and take flight. I will post pictures soon, but for now, I leave everyone with a fun video.

Ice blocking with my cousins, Jess and Ryan-

Logistically, the bus ride went off without a hitch. I even arrived in downtown Denver slightly early. No mechanical problems, no break-downs, smooth driver changes and bus transfers. From a mental perspective, however, the ride was entirely another story, filled with sadness, frustration, exhaustion, and a little humility.

The first leg left the depot in Great Falls after 3pm, only slightly behind schedule, with half a dozen passengers, en route to Butte. There were two girls probably a little younger than myself and two men probably ten years older than me. Perhaps there were one or two other passengers, but I don’t remember. I overheard one man saying to another that he was just released from prison. Freedom and a bus ticket. His term had only been three years, so it must not have been too violent of a crime. I was curious, but the man never asked.

Our first stop was in Helena, a quick pickup of a few more passengers. I think one person got off as well. We had about ten minutes break, and most people got off to smoke. I decided to use the pisser, get some fresh air, and at least take a peek down the street and get a limited view of the town. As I walked to the sidewalk, out of the tiny depot, I had the intention of just looking both ways down the street, but before I reached the edge of the parking lot, I spotted a dog across the street. It was a black and white mutt, probably some kind of cocker spaniel mix, with floppy ears and a friendly demeanor. It was sniffing around behind some buildings, heading toward the street. Watching the dog, I thought to myself, wouldn’t that be great if the mutt came over here across the street and gave me company on my short wait here in Helena, if I could have a little friend for a few moments. Then I thought about how dangerous crossing that street could be. We appeared to be downtown, and this road probably was a relatively major thoroughfare. No sooner had I finished this thought about the dog crossing the street did I see the intention in its movements. Raising its head and quickening its pace, the dog was heading straight for the roadway. Oh shit. The road was clear directly ahead, but when I looked to the right, a fresh line of traffic was progressing from the next block. In a whir of three seconds, the dog darted out into the street just as a pickup truck was speeding by. The dog noticed the truck at the last moment and attemted to change course, but it was already too late. The truck also tried to avoid the collision, but the driver’s potential sight of the dog had been blocked by a parked car, so there was not enough time to react. The dog avoided the front right wheel of the truck, but could not stop himself from sliding under the double tires of the dualie rear axle. With a thud and a yelp, the rear end of the truck raised slightly as it passed over the dog. I could do nothing the entire time but look on, stunned. The driver of the truck and the woman driving the minivan behind him both pulled over the side. The rest of the traffic line veered slowly to the left around the animal. At first the dog was completely still, laying on its side in the middle of the lane. I thought at least it had a swift end. After a few seconds, however, its legs started twitching, then moving more desperately. It looked as if it was attempting to right itself with its legs, but the head was not coming up, the body was not shifting in the necessary manner to perform such an act. Meanwhile the driver of the truck was out and moving toward the dog. He picked up the dog by its legs. At first I found that method a bit humane, treating the dog as if it were the trophy of a hunt. Why couldn’t he pick up the dog like a pet, cradle the animal. As he carried the dog to the other side of the road, I could see that it was bleeding heavily, leaving a thick trail of blood through the street and up on the sidewalk. It was fair of the man to pick the dog up by the legs. When he set it down in the parking lot on the other side, just past the sidewalk, I could see that the dog was moving no longer. It was definitely dead. Who knows, maybe it was dead before, just having post-mortem convulsions. I remember that when my mom accidentally ran over our cat in the garage, even though the kitty’s head was smashed and the she was definitely already dead, one of her rear legs continued to twitch for almost a minute.

I stood motionless on the opposing sidewalk for minutes as all this passed. The truck driver and minivan driver were both over there. The police arrived. I had desperately wanted to run out into the middle of the road just after the incident, to lay a warm and sympathetic hand on the dog, to possibly offer some comfort to the dying animal. I wanted to walk across and kneel next to it after the man had set it in the parking lot, but I knew I was better off staying on my side of the road, in my parking lot. In a matter of minutes the bus would be resuming traveling, and I needed to be on that bus. I didn’t need to be caught up in witness questioning or having to stay with the animal until the proper authorities arrived. Luckily the man and woman had both stopped to take care of all that. Still, my heart sank for that dog. As I turned around to get back on the bus, I saw that the ex-inmate and the other man were standing twenty yards behind me. They had witnessed the event as well. I think the death struck me a bit more than them, but we were all speechless.

On the remaining ride to Butte I tried to write a little, in spite of the bumpy ride. After a while I gave up and stared out the window. Beautiful country, passing through the mountains, past rivers and farms, rocky cliffs, untouched lands. Snow flurries.

In Butte I had to change buses. The drivers load and unload the checked bags, but passengers are responsible for transporting the luggage from one bus to another. With my backpack on, I lugged my two big duffel bags 100 yards to the next bus, then came back for my bike, which I had to box up for the bus ride. I’ll admit that I had some reservations about leaving my two bags to go back and grab my bike, but I figured no one could get very far in that short amount of time. All these people were waiting for the bus themselves, anyway; why would they try to run off with my bags. Still, logic always comes second to fear.

The second leg had more people, more noise. One guy behind me was fairly vocal at first. He and his friend had also recently been released from prison. A middle-aged guy got on toting a guitar. This led to much joking from the guys behind me. The man also had a tool belt and slammed it heavily against the side of the upper luggage racks as he tried to stuff all his belongings into the compartment at once. One of the guys behind me commented that he was the kind of guy that gives white people a bad name. A ridiculous comment. Once we started moving, nearly everyone became quiet. The man with the guitar tried to make small talk with a young girl sitting right in front of me. She obviously wasn’t into it, and I could tell that this man was probably going to be obnoxious.

As night swallowed the daylight, the bus was hushed and dark, save one light- the one above the guitar-playing handyman. I wasn’t ready for sleep yet, so I put my headphones on and listened to music. We stopped a few times at depots to pick up a passenger or two. A few times we had the opportunity to get food at gas station convenience stores. Not the best, but it fills the belly. The night was cold, windy, and snowy. Despite the freezing temperatures, I enjoyed the time outside and took advantage of every minute we had of stoppage. A nice break from sitting in a bus seat. At one point we stopped in Bozeman for ten minutes. It was disappointing to think that I was in a town where my cousin resides, but I would not have to opportunity to visit her. Sorry, Cindy. I’ll make it back up soon, hopefully, and visit.

I tried to sleep throughout the rest of the ride to Billings, but it was tough. Handyman pulled out his laptop several times, and the glow of the screen was enough to light up the entire bus. He was sitting diagonally in front of me, and I found it difficult to avoid the direct light. It was annoying, especially since all it looked like he was doing was changing his desktop picture and adjusting some settings. I never saw him doing any actual work, just moving things around, wasting time. At one point he took down his guitar and started strumming. Although he was fairly quiet, I thought it was pretty inconsiderate to the people around him. And he wasn’t good. He wasn’t even playing songs, just wasting time again. As we approached Billings, the collective anxious energy of the entire bus could be felt. I guess most people were nearing their final destination. I still had twelve more hours to Denver. The guitar player started talking to the girl in front of me again. She now seemed more receptive and conversational. I couldn’t help but listen in. He started expounding what sounded like recycled lines about third eyes and cosmic energy and levitating. He told the girl he knew how to levitate, that he would show her when we stopped. I was curious, but not terribly so.

At the depot in Billings I had about an hour layover before connecting to the bus to Denver. I called my dad. While I was talking on the phone, levitator brought the girl and a friend of hers, the guy picking her up, over to the corner by where I was sitting. He said he was going to levitate for them. He wanted to do it in the corner to avoid drawing a crowd. Before he could perform the feat, however, the young guy laughed and said, ‘oh, is this the trick where you…’ and he explained the trick. I couldn’t hear exactly what he said and didn’t look up in time to see his movements, but the guitar player knew he had nothing and laughed it off. About five minutes later he brought another girl over to the corner to impress her. This time he performed the trick. I was stil on the phone and didn’t get to see it in full view. The girl fell for it.

The bus to Denver was much nicer than the first two. It had seats with full backs, unlike the others, which made sleep attempts a bit easier. There were TVs in the ceiling, but the driver said he would not be turning them on. The ride was almost completely silent, everyone no doubt trying to sleep. I was able to catch some z’s off and on for a few hours. Often it was difficult to differentiate between actual sleep and the dreamy daze of half-consciousness. I think all-in-all, I was able to sleep for about five hours total, with interruptions for depot stops here and there, to eat or use the restroom. I awoke for good around 8am. I had managed to sleep through a bit of daylight. With still another five hours until scheduled arrival in Denver, I decided to occupy my time with a book I picked up at a thrift store in Great Falls, Night by Elie Wiesel.

Night is a first-hand account of the German concentration camps of the second world war. Wiesel was just a teenager when he and his family and the entire village were round up into the death camps. The first day at camps would be the last time he saw his mother and two sisters. The book recounts his experience in the camps, witnessing thousands of people sent to their deaths in gas chambers and fire pits, the cruel and inhumane treatment, and the mental and physical toll of those unfotunate souls. The power of his descriptions lie in his lack of over-indulgence. He is completely straight-forward and honest. At one point he tells of a young boy, with the face of a sad angel, being hung in front of the entire camp, every prisoner not only made to watch, but to look the boy and two other hanged men in the eyes as they are forced to march by the victims on the gallows. It’s a heart-wrenching account. So much senseless death.

Throughout the book, as I read about this boy and those around him, enduring these unspeakable horrors of inhumanity- starving, beaten- I thought about the fact that some of them survived. Some of them managed to hold on to what little bit of lifeforce remained, and to cling to some morsel of hope(?). They didn’t give in. That really says a lot about what the human spirit can endure. The sights this young man witnessed, the devastation, yet he never resorted to taking his own life. And so what about the people who did, and what about the people who take their own life under different circumstances? What does that say? Could the suffering of depression of some possibly be worse than what was endured at those concentration camps? Personally, I don’t think that’s a point even worth discussing. There is no answer to that question. But I’ll admit that as I read these pages, taking in the devastating circumstances of the lives of those people, I couldn’t help but think of my brother. How were these prisoners able to withstand such brutality, yet my brother was unable to endure the circumstances of his depression? How? I don’t know. I can’t imagine I could ever know. Our emotions and experiences are personal, never to be fully understood by anyone else as we understand them. I can read Elie Wiesel’s entire account of his life, but I will never fully comprehend the reality of his years in those death camps, and I will never completely understand how my brother felt in the last months of his life. That’s just something I have to accept.

After finishing the book, I found myself lost in a trance of thought. I wanted so desperately to cry, but I didn’t feel comfortable enough to do that. The tears were welling up just behind my eyes, but that is where they remained. I’ve found that, like most guys, I have the ability to completely negate the impulse to cry. That displeases me. I don’t like that I feel the need to hold back, and I don’t like that I have enough control to effectively block the flow. I wish I had cried on that bus, if only a little. At the last stop before Denver, I got off the bus and walked away from everyone else. As I stared blankly at the run-down little town surrounding, I was completely involved in thought about that book. It had consumed my whole being. I felt as though I had been dealt an overwhelming hand of humility.

As everyone began boarding the bus again, a woman came out of the station on an electric mobility device. She had braces on her legs. I walked up to see what was going to happen. As she pulled up to the door of the bus, it became obvious that she was not going to be able to get herself up the big steps up to the seats and that the small female bus driver was not going to be able to provide enough assistance. A man was there, perhaps someone she knew, maybe a worker at the depot. He was there to help. Still, I figured they might need an extra hand, so I stepped up and offered my assistance. I ended up being the main assistance, offering her support, standing behind her on the stairs. She couldn’t put much weight down on her legs, so I was supporting much of her weight and partly lifting her up each step. Getting her up the five big steps up to the first seat probably took more than five minutes. It left me exhausted, but the woman was ever so kind and helpful in directing the best method to provide her assistance. She was patient and friendly. As I walked back to my seat on the bus, I felt proud of myself that I stepped up and offered my help. I’ve always been the guy that wanted to help, but was too shy and never stepped up unless directly addressed. After reading that book, however, I wasn’t about to sit by and watch someone struggle pointlessly when I had the ability to do something about it.

When we arrived in Denver, I let everyone else get off before me, and as I walked to the front of the bus, I asked the woman if she needed help getting off. She did, of course, so I told her I would stick around to lend a hand. She couldn’t get off until her scooter was retrieved from the bottom of the bus, so I got off to collect my luggage and set it aside, make sure everything was accounted for, as the luggage transfer was handled for us in Billings. We were not allowed to touch our bags and never saw them while in the depot. One would have arrived in Denver before finding out something hadn’t made the transfer.

Coming down the steps was a bit easier than going up, but still exhausting work. The help this time was just the driver and myself, with me doing most of the supporting. Those buses are not terribly well-equipped for handicapped people, lacking adequate railings for support. But we got her down and on to her scooter. She was ever so friendly and gracious, and we talked for a bit while I waited for my aunt Karen to arrive. She was in town for a wedding and to visit friends. She had a wonderful spirit, and I am so glad that I talked to her. My aunt arrived, and I left the station feeling humble. That feeling was soon overwhelmed by the excitement of being in Denver, a place where I used to live, and where I have been considering moving back to recently, but after we loaded my life into Karen’s car, hunger overtook all other thoughts, and we set off toward a delicious lunch.

So some of you may have received an email informing you I have shared a Google map with you. I sent it to anyone who has left a comment on the journal so far. I have created a map that I hope will illustrate the names and locations of everyone who is reading along. I just thought it would be neat to have a spread of everyone, to put all that information together visually for myself and everyone else. So the idea was to set up a map that everyone could edit and add his or her name and location. I didn’t realize, however, that it isn’t that easy, that everyone would need to have a login with Google to add their place. So far, it hasn’t been a great success. But, I think I have come up with a solution to the problem. Now anyone can edit the map using a login that I have created just for that purpose. Here’s the details:

First of all, the link to the Google map is http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?ie=UTF8&hl=en&oe=UTF8&msa=0&msid=110005973904868810089.00045908df003fac941c0&z=5.

In the upper right-hand corner of the screen, there is an option to sign in. Click that.

For the sign in information, use the account I set up.

email: map@crestlinestudios.com

password: otisnomad

So just copy and paste the above info in the appropriate boxes and sign in.

Then, on the left-hand side of the screen, notice the link that says ‘My Maps’. Click on this.

Click on ‘Nomad Readers’, which will open up the map.

Click on the button that says ‘edit’, which will be above and to the right of the title of the map, on the left side of the screen.

Then find your location on the map, right-click on your location and select ‘Add a placemark’ from the menu that appears.

Then add your name in the title section and your location in the description section, just like the others. You can change the icon by clicking on the sqaure next to title section of your marker. I use the blue pushpin.

Then make sure you click the ’save’ button on the left side, where the ‘edit’ button used to be. Then you can click ‘done’.

I hope that everyone will participate. It’s just for fun, and I think it will be pretty awesome to put everything together once it is all said and done. That is, the route map and the readers map, and whatever other maps I may add in the future. Thanks for helping out.

-Otis

After a stay of just over two weeks, the time has come to hit the road. Tomorrow afternoon my plans dictate catching a bus out of Great Falls with a final destination of Denver, Colorado, in consequence of all other options falling short. Renting a car is far too expensive, especially given the current price of gas, and finding a ride proved to be unsuccessful. While opportunities have presented themselves, nothing came along that could feasibly work. As for flying, well, it’s pricey as well, and I think there are much more rewarding ways to travel. Who needs to get to their destination in a matter of hours? (And who wants to put up with that damn security, and the lack of meals, and the price of checking a bag these days.) No, I prefer the scenic route, which is, invariably, the longer way around. The bus fulfills this need with just under 24 hours of travel time. I know that may seem like an unbearably long time to be sitting in a bus seat, but by comparison, the first option I found, through Greyhound, was nearly 40 hours travel time, with a 13 hour layover in Butte on a night with a forecast low below freezing. Granted, I was able to find a place to stay through my uncle, but still, it entailed catching a 7:00 am bus out of there. I was pretty excited to find out today that I could cut the travel time in half and eliminate a lengthy layover. On top of all that, this more direct route is actually 30 bucks cheaper. Hot damn! And I found out that I won’t need to ship anything, as the cost of bringing all of my possessions, including my bike, will only cost me 30 extra dollars, which is exactly the amount I am saving by taking this route. Compare that to what would have easily been a 100-dollar shipping expense and the uncertainty that comes with such an endeavor.

So after two weeks here in Great Falls, staying with my family, what have I been up to? To be honest, not much. This has proved incredibly difficult, but probably for the best, I suppose. I definitely needed the time to rest; I was pooped after all those long days of wind and heat. Now I feel fully rested and ready for action. Itching for action, actually. But my body still needs some attention, some mending. For one, I seem to have done a serious number on my back. Yikes, I’m only 24, this isn’t right. My back is all in knots, and I have lost some range in lateral mobility. I need to loosen up before I compound this problem into permanent damage.

When not sitting around and doing nothing, I have had plenty of time to catch up on some web work, tackle projects I had put off while on this trip. I’m happy to say they have been very successful, and it has renewed my interest in pursuing this line of work as possibly a more extensive source of income. Lately I have only sustained the work because it proves to be an ample wage to quench my large appetite and ensure I don’t completely lose my struggling ex-student lifestyle. Also, I had made promises that I needed to fulfill. But now I look forward to taking on more work, perhaps putting myself out there a bit more and advertising myself, and maybe actually finishing my own website. So if anybody reading along needs web work or knows anyone that needs web work, here’s my shameless plug.

Now one of the goals I had set for myself during this time of rest and recovery was to reflect back upon my trip thus far, to recollect the events and emotions, and to try to put some conclusions or perspective on this journey up to this juncture. I’m sorry to say that I haven’t done much of that. I had planned on rereading my journals, both this online one and my personal notebook. While I did look over some previous posts, I didn’t really do much. I did look back in my notebook, turning to the entries I wrote just before I began this bike ride over three months ago. To my dismay, I found reading them to be very difficult. The weeks and months leading up to my departure were for the most part unhappy and full of strife. I was struggling with some really tough depression, coping with a recently-ended romantic relationship (not on bad terms, which I think made it all the more difficult), and dealing with some major familial issues at home. Suffice to say, there wasn’t much in the way of jovial correspondance on my part during this time. Reading all this and revisiting that period was somewhat devastating to my emotional stability and unfortunately somewhat diminished my enthusiasm in rereading my entire account. I know it only gets better from that point on, but I needed time to process all this heavy material first.

I’m hoping now that I may be sufficiently more prepared to resurrect my endeavor, but I’ve come to realize that my journey is definitely not over; there is much more traveling and adventure to come, and I may not be able to fully revisit and reflect upon the entirety of the trip until it truly is finished, until I do have some sense of completion and distance from the quest. I don’t think I have expressed it yet in writing here, but I have mentioned the idea to and had some fantastically positive encouragement from some individuals about the prospect of ultimately turning my accounts of this journey into a book. I love writing, and for the last year or so I have had the desire to really put something down that could be considered worthy of reading. I think the age-old advice is to stick to what you know. Well, I’d say I know a little about long and strenuous journeys full of rewards and disappointments, family and strangers, saints and assholes. So why not give it a try. Now I’ve had thoughts, and even said outloud a few times, that I wouldn’t necessarily want to get something like that published, that I would probably not pursue that too tenaciously. But who am I kidding. Why lie to myself and others- I would absolutely love to have something published. Now if hardly anyone ever buys it, who cares, but to have a printed and bound copy of my thoughts and ideas, my honest story and emotions and growth, complete with full-color pictures, that at least a few people would find worthy of their time and mental energy to read, that would be pretty fulfilling for me. I like the idea of honest stories, character-driven pieces that offer glimpses into the soul of one or more individuals, that present truthful accounts of emotions and growth, whether fiction or non-fiction. Just this past week I read Crime and Punishment by Dostoevsky, and I completed that book with a renewed energy and passion for writing, for the art of employing words to portray the portrait of a character, a situation, an ideal, and above all, a damn good story. It’s a powerful form of expression, and I’d like to try my hand at finding personal success in the endeavor.

So tomorrow I travel again. I wish so much that I could ride this leg of the journey. I want so badly to bike through Yellowstone and along the Rocky Mountains up here, but the weather is just not suitable at the moment, and I’m not really prepared. The temperature lows are now getting down into the teens all across this area and snow is beginning to prod its way into the forecasts. I would have to do some seriuos re-evaluating of my current systems and gear to have confidence in undertaking that kind of weather. I don’t think my hammock and current sleeping bag are suited to temperatures below freezing. Luckily I will have my time in Denver to mull over these thoughts and ensure I’m fit for resuming the biking out of the city and heading south to New Mexico and west from there. I’m more than itching to get back on my bicycle, back out on the road, so I think I will do whatever it takes to get to that point. For now, I need to prepare for 24 hours of seriously confined inactivity and the undoubtedly vibrant array of characters I’m sure to accompany on this next segment of migration. Gotta keep things interesting.

But of course I can’t end this piece without first at least touching on the past few weeks of time with family. That has been an important aspect of this entire trip, and I’m happy to say that I have thoroughly enjoyed my time here with my uncle, aunt, and cousin. Meeting friendly strangers is a blessing on a long and lonely trip, but when all is said and done, there are certain comforts that family provides that any stranger, no matter how hospitable, no matter what the level of instant connection, just simply cannot offer, in my experiences. I have never been terribly close to any of my extended family, and I am grateful to have this opportunity to visit and share and connect. These past few weeks, I have felt completely at home, which is something I’m not quite used to these days. I’ve wanted for nothing. It’s been nice. Still, my life at the moment finds me following nomadic tendencies, and the wheels must keep turning. Onward.