Fast, Day 5

I stayed up til 3 or so last night on a future planning binge. I woke up later(830) and feeling groggy. This is possibly because I ran out of my concoction mid day yesterday and have just been drinking water. My back is sore, my energy is low, outside is extremely foggy.

I would love to eat and take a nap, but I will settle for working. I intend on enduring this sub par feeling awaiting the next surge of light.

Fast, Day 4

Day 3 I experienced slight back pain, possibly from the kidneys, possibly muscular. I was not starving at all, but I was craving cigarettes, which was strange. As day 3 came to a close I received a deep tissue massage that alleviated any back stress for day 4. Maybe toxins from the cleanse land in my back muscles?

Day 4 began with yoga, and then some teas. I am feeling focused and clear, relatively. With this particular fast, as my body sloughs off toxins, I also feel my mind letting go of stresses and distractions. In order to make the most of this fast, my main intent is now meditation.

As food fades away, all I have is my body, air, the sun, and positive input from people and books, and I intend to embrace all of those in the coming hours and days.

Fast, Day 3, Morning

This fast is already feeling 3x better than previous fasts. It is likely due to a couple of yoga sessions.

In previous fasts, I halted my discipline and focus at the fast itself. This time, I am making an intention for yoga and reflection, and the payoff is QUICKLY apparent.

I slept 6 hours last night. I feel energetic and my mentally stability and patience is increasing slowly.

Yesterday I drank a chai tea, this morning a green tea. And of course still drinking the lemon/cayenne/syrup concoction.

Feelin goooood.

Fast, Day 2

Today I was hungry.

The End.

Just kidding, I actually was not that hungry today (considering). It seems that my body may be a little better at fasting than the last time I fasted. I intend on continuing this trend of ease and focus throughout this entire experience.

My energy is not as free as a wild horse, much less an unleashed blast of light. Rather, it is more an old man on a walk. This is better than a few days ago, when my energy was that of a fat ol' bulldog, who has grown tired of purina and hardwood floors.

There is more soot and clods and consumption that will be sloughing off my body and mind in the coming days. This will leave clearer my vehicles of production, through which my soul can shine through. My expression shall be as clear and vibrant as light through prism.

As I breathe I ease,

over the hills and meadows my body leaves,

unfolding and only hanging on by a leash

to keep my finger typing the keys,

Fast Day 1

So I am ending Day 1 of my fast. Today I started building a greenhouse, did a food demo at a party, and drove a pedicab for a few local intoxicated socialites. I really enjoyed the company of my friends, more than usual, possibly because I was less concerned with imbibing other things.

I am hungry as fuck, of course, and doubted if I would actually do this fast. But as I write THESE WORDS, I am becoming more certain that I will follow through. Albeit tough. Scratch that, it's going to feel great! I need it.

Last time I fasted this way, I began experience back pain on day 3, possibly kidneys. I will be keeping notes as to how I feel so I, and you, can better learn from the experience.

I am about to make the lemon, cayenne, and syrup concoction. I am eager to "eat" it. I anticipate great joy in tasting that mix. If there is one thing I have learned in life, it's that satisfaction is very relative.

I am off to make the concoction, and hopefully get a good nights sleep. I will be using my brain a lot this week.

Love you.

Starting a fast

Many things in my life have led me to another fast(bad eating, low mood, need for focus and clarity). I will go seven days, drinking only water, lemon juice, syrup, cayenne, and maybe an occasional tea.

I have done this before, and end the fast each time with an unintended binge(beer, tacos, will even smoke cigarettes). I open the floodgates, and previous habits resume at some level.

It is my goal to eat for power, eat for energy, eat for a balanced mind. In my experience and research, this is done by eating almost all local foods, and eating only meat that you can agree with how it was procured and came to you. For strength, I will eat only vegetables (no starchys) and meat, teas and coffees for six days a week. On that one other day, I will eat and drink whatever I want. I would prefer it be locally grown, but I will even allow leeway on that in the form of beer, sprite, candy, etc...

West Texas on Tortilla, Day 3.

We let the sun burn away the cool air, we do not spread our wings too soon,

Once the desert has warmed up a bit, we emerge from our respective cocoons.

Rather into moths than butterflies, which are reserved for comparisons of grace,

We were beings of utility not aesthetics, our value not found in our face.

We tuned up our bikes at "Will's Garage," primarily patroned for it's convenience and rates,

If I had known we would be riding uphill all day, I could have spared the labor on brakes.

As we rode away from our site, and bid farewell to Will the Nomad,

That character faded, into the breadth of the land

but with land so grand and the pathways so few,

a character that stands tall will return to your view.

Not excluding John and Carrie, and the shiny Ford Truck they were flexin'

They had just finished a hike to the top of Big Bend, that had the Brit feeling slightly more Texan.

Their surprise encounter was followed by deer, who tend to mistake cyclists for some predators hunting,

Little do they know what drives these legs, is just a little bit of peanut butter and honey.

I guess a "little bit" of PBH was not quite enough on this day altitude ascension,

For with only 10 miles to go I felt the "Bonk," you may have heard distance athletes mention.

My limbs turned to noodles and my mind turned to mush,

Any little thread of thought still in tact, I had to use to say "push."

I had "X" miles to go til the Border Patrol station,

Where I would greet them with unheard of appreciation,

as my cells would rejoice in a feast of hydration,

and consciousness and survival would be my celebration!

Needless to say the mirage was real, and I filled my body with water,

We talk to the agents about the dangers of the desert, especially when it gets hotter.

They told us a story of some dehydrated border crossers who had not only lost their mind,

but were all on the verge of death when they confessed they had left their buddy behind.

They led the crew back to the area, where they left their friend a day before on foot,

they found his body, after the path of clothes he disrobed, and his skin had already begun to cook.

Well I did not perish in Big Bend, nor was I deported,

I just learned to keep my metabolism and cells, a little more supported

We had 5 miles to go, to the quaint west Texas town

of Marathon, where fine cuisine and a pallet quenching pale ale could be found.

Well well well, if it wasn't that traveling garage,

Only a forest of randomness could provide his camoflauge,

With our friend the nomad, a hydrated Boz, and Geoff for the time being free,

The night would be a celebration, as we rode into Marathon instead of two we were now three.

At the Marathon Inn we arrived to the kindest and prettiest face,

She aged like wine and greeted us kind, to this obscure little West Texas place,

Her name was Autumn Joy and she was our late winter pleasure,

She told us some tales of the Appalachian Trail, and how she found this desert treasure.

I must mention Jack who could have spoken of his misadventures all day,

half denim, half elastic, this perpetual child just wanted to play,

Comfort in fatigue

...the people I meet

......My legs could do no more today

.........I embrace rest with ease

In these kind gems

...off the beaten path

......attract all the independent souls

........descendants of pioneers

I find such comfort in fatigue!

...in this town travelers tell stories

......I lay in my sleeping bag

.........After local cuisine and smiles I feast

Kind souls from all around

...feed my hungry heart that beat so hard all day

.......and a beer, and brisquet burrito, caress my legs

..........that fought so hard for this desert town stay.

RETURN TO TABLE OF CONTENTS:

http://paddletohaiti.blogspot.com/p/related-reading.html

Year In a Month, Chapter 2

Demorris’ House, 2007.

.

This bet had spawned deep from my adventurous soul,

I had aspirations for travel since I was 19 or so.

I hungered for culture, longed for challenge, and feared not the consequences of a rambler’s life;

but these dreams remain delayed by my daily desires, weekend excursions and the resource consuming nature of vice.

.

And this is why, folks like Baker and I, make commitments to foreshadow fun,

now the seed was planted and the story shall grow, we only wait for the time to come.

At this time I resided in a hood called the ‘Shire, nestled in my Suburban town.

It was where Mexicans moved up, and drug dealers retired, and it was where I lived when the bet was laid down.

.

My time there had come to an end, so I moved in with a good friend of mine.

His name is Demorris, he hails from B-Farms, where he moved at the young age of nine.

Demorris came from the mean streets of Memphis and at this young age of nine,

he lived with his mother, addicted to drugs, and was already living a hard knock life.

His mother, seeing what would be in store for him if he stayed at home,

sent him to the Roswell, GA, an upper-middle class suburb of Atlanta, to stay with his Aunt Sherline and Uncle Mo.

.

Here, Demorris graduated high school with honors and excelled in sports while making life long friends.

I am one of these friends, welcomed by his family to stay as the year came to an end.

.

Staying with a black family was quite the experience for me, and one that inadvertently opened up my next phase of life.

I learned for the first time how to match shoes with my outfit, how to use hot sauce, seasoning salt, to give bland food a bite,

I learned how much fun the clubs in Atlanta could be if you went well dressed with a hyped up entourage,

rather than a rigid wallflower holding a beer, you might as well wear camoflauge.

I realized that before I could leave my homecity I had to experience all that it gave,

so for the next year I would flirt and flourish with Atlanta and this would be my 2008.

John Chris

.

I earned a living making pizza at a local family owned joint, patroned primarily by rich milfs and their kids.

One day, Demorris’ cousin, John Chris, began questioning all that I did.

He downgraded my wage, expenses, and time I spent driving over

Which was strange, coming from the jobless bum on the sofa

.

“You don’t even know what a truck like that can do… gotta load that bitch up, make that horse work for you”

He was referring to my Toyota Tundra,

implementing one of his many colloquialisms

In a raspy guttural falsetto that sounded dominant and wise

Not for the context, but more for the rhythm

He proceeded to tell me about the goldmine upon which we sat.

He taught me about recyclables of all kinds and what facilities paid for this and that.

Demorris vouched for these claims, but with a grain of salt,

as if working with John Chris was a risky endeavor.

But cash in my hand would feed my weekend,

As I learned the ways of John Chris, crafty and clever.

.

John Chris and I would wake up early and hit all the apartments nearby.

It was a daily race between us and the Mexicans

to gather up all of the washing machines, dryers and refrigerators in sight,

dishwashers, pipes and heavy scrap.

Most valuable of all were air conditioning units

Because of the copper and aluminum inside

We would ride to the recycling center and unload our scrap

onto a mountain of metal and receive compensation.

Sometimes we would raid closed down restaurants for their appliances.

These methods were illegal, and in the case of confrontation:

“I’d tell ‘em to fuck a duck! HA HA!” he would howl

Luckily we got away with all of our methods of metal procurement,

without ever having to tell an authority to have sex with a water fowl.

.

No scrap was too large for John Chris to handle,

His body was large and out of shape, but strength was all animal

He used to be an all state defensive lineman,

opponents he manhandled,

.

he probably would have been bound for the NFL, had he not told superiors to fuck a duck

Now this strength was used to move motors and 700 lb. buffet carts into my truck.

No appliance was too heavy, no machine was too wide,

He’d climb atop the truck, and stack metal to the sky,

He may not have been the sharpest tool in the shed,

but he had a knack for building a 2 ton puzzle in my pickup truck’s bed.

.

The first day we made 70 bucks by two oclock,

Then I took him by his buddy’s house to pay a debt

When he came out, stuffing a baggy in his sock

I said “what the fuck? Why you actin’ so sketch?”

Now I knew he had demons, and I had no judgements

But crack in my car!? I told him never again!

He said he was sorry, which I believed that he meant

But I soon learned, you cant trust a crackhead…

.

After several weeks of learning the tricks of the trade

I had moved enough metal, to get my own place,

I said bye to John Chris, and thanks to his folks

And moved inside the perimeter, to be in the flow.

ATL, shawty.

.

I had acquired a new taste for Atlanta, and an increased sense of style

To indulge in my homecity, before I traveled for miles,

.

We hosted parties, for arbitrary celebrations,

We bothered our neighbors, as rooftop Frisbee sensations

We were like kids who were allowed to drive and drink

Inventing games in the day and at night we had flings

We were seducers too, natural was I, Dandy was Buz,

And Demorris was a protector, looking for love

.

One of the laws of the universe is that everything is funny

And if you spend more than you earn, you will run out of money

To keep this year rolling I pawned my car title

I justified the decision as an opportunity to cycle

They say that necessity is the mother of invention

And for me being broke sparked an adventure

Nomad a what

.

My father used to tell me he wanted to do a cross country ride,

This little dream was instilled in my mind,

He raised a family and started a business and never got around to this vision

Now he was fifty, kids out of high school, but his body would say no this mission

He had acquired multiple sclerosis, and not to mention bad knees,

But I was free of career, kids, or girlfriend, and quite primed for such a journey

If I was to hop on a bike, ride and camp all the way west,

Why not complete this poetic cycle, and ride for MS

I had a couple months left of stationary living,

It was October, and I was to leave on Thanksgiving,

Two months was way too long for me to prepare,

This time to plan, I should have spared

I set out in green tights with the best gear around

Grin and beared december weather and Alabama towns,

Made it to the gulf, and on to Nawlins,

Wink wink in Baton Rouge and on the news in Austin,

Somewhere in West Texas I gave Baker shit on the phone

“You better walk to Miami, shit, I’ll even go”

In fact a bicycle nomad seemed to me a good fit

I said “Baker, walking is crazy, lets just bicycle it”

Why stop in Miami why not head to Key West

Why stop at Baker? Invite all my friends

.

Before my trans-am was over my next trip was set

A ride down the east coast, as Baker makes good on his bet

RETURN TO TABLE OF CONTENTS:

http://paddletohaiti.blogspot.com/p/related-reading.html

West Texas on Tortilla, Day 2

I awoke to the clean and crisp desert air, after a good nights “sleep” in the tent,
rather, a “series of naps,” as it was referred to by Geoff.
I crawl out of the tent, and see Geoff is already taking pics,
I lumber to his hilltop, as he yells, “You gotta see this!”

To my amazement the land below us was blanketed with fog,
it seemed the windy mother removed these sheets, revealing her sleepy childs grog,
Buttes and plateaus and peaks in distance pierced the mist,
I see this is how these thirsty desert plants, take their little sips.

We had only 30 miles to do, enough to knock off the rust,
lord knows I had plenty, it had been half a year since a bike touched my butt.
Our first little stop was an old archaeological dig,
My main point of interest however, was our fellow tourists with their proud rigs,

Besides homeless, law enforcement, fellow cyclists and hippies,
another friend of the road is the retired and their shiny RVs,
There was the big hair from texas, and “dont ya know” from Dakota,
I ate my peanut butter and honey with a smile, on a trusty tortilla.

We made it to our campsite by two, with plenty of heat left for a hike,
On my gracious feet I walked into dog canyon, leaving behind our bikes.

Across the desert I walked, across the minefield of cactus,
talking with Geoff about gameplans, in case a mountain lion attacked us,

Oh this vast expanse how I love you so,
as we follow the dry river draw, where only storm waters flow.

We made it back to camp, and met our neighbor named Will.
When we had first seen his van, we were pretty sure he meant to maim and kill.
But he didnt use his middle name and he was not on an FBI list.
In fact he was friendly and fun, and for a nomad, not hard to miss.

He had a van that he called his garage, packed with two motorcycles and gear,
Somewhat of a mechanic and self-sustainer, he traveled our country freely without fear.
Only forty something years old, he managed to live off his Coast Guard retirement,
after seeing his rig and his lifestyle, I understand now why someone would work for the government.

Geoff explained how he managed to get time off work, on which this adventure pended,
Will couldnt resist the opportunity to flaunt his freedom and replied: “I remember when my vacations ended.”

“Forged by Storm”

Thanks for this pen, Ms. Lukefahr,
It now reflects the late afternoon sun,
But it also absorbs
my experiences in this dry river draw
As the ink from this pen flows to the
paper
so calm and patiently slow
I gaze in the distance, to a canyon
where this dry river wash goes
Millions of years does the flow
carve these walls
storm by storm
season by season
As I close this book and close this pen,
And wait the next generous deluge

RETURN TO TABLE OF CONTENTS:

http://paddletohaiti.blogspot.com/p/related-reading.html

West Texas on Tortilla, Day 1.

A year after my cross-country tour, I get a call from a friend 500 miles north,
Twas Geoff, whom I had met in Pedernales falls,
where I was riding through, and where he took breaks, from his iPhone’s calls,

It seems our meeting had inspired his own trek across country,
Not that lobbying the Texas legislature was not sufficiently exciting,
But before he had kids, and a dog, and a house, and a fence,
Why not try life, if for just a short while, powered by legs and rests in a tent?

He opted for a test ride of a modest 600 miles,
To Austin from Big Bend, the heart of West Texas style.
This challenge, this trek, and he would learn if bike touring was up his alley,
So he called me up, I obliged the opportunity, of this vacation from the Rio Grande Valley.

I left some loved ones behind, loose ends later to find,
and hopped on a bus with clothes and guitar,
Border patrol I was cursing, my greyhound slumber I was nursing,
The sonsabitches searched my bags as I sneered from afar.

I survived that encounter, and made it to the clock tower,
where Charles Whitman killed 14 and wounded 32,
This landmark glowed orange, and the Capitols flags were a soarin,
and all this I could see, from Geoff’s room with a view.

The next morning our shuttle arrived, friends of Geoff with a lust for life,
John was a Brit, who sold tanks and did triathlons like they were nothing,
and his girlfriend was Carrie, with a laugh and smile, far cuter than any button.

We doubled over what I did on a bike in a couple of weeks, in only 9 hours drivin,
Hill country faded, Big Bend began, as giant rocks jutted out from the horizon.

John and Carrie got settled in their lodge, nestled in Big Bends Chisos Basin,
Geoff and I mounted our bikes, and bid farewell to our friends, and hello to the 600 miles we were facin.

The first half mile was straight up hill, we rested three times as we laughed at ourselves,
At this pace we’d not pass a turtle, and me might get to Austin by 2012.

But as they always do, the hill ended and shot us straight down the mountain,
A four mile decents worth of wind to christen our faces, praise and freedom we were both shoutin’

It was not long before the park introduced to it’s native residents,
we saw two javelina, and a big bend patch-nosed snake, before we even got in our tents.

Since I came here with my father, as a young boy, this old desert has felt like home,
I feel as natural here as a Comanche warrior, although my ass remains white as a bone.

We met back up with Carrie and John and had a few beers as the sun set and brought West Texas chills,

I savored these luxuries but longed for sunrise, and the comfort earned after a day of climbing hills.

“Desert Silence”

The grease is back on my inner calf
reminding me I can never be to comfy
on a bike trip like this
Big Bend, Texas, my Big Home
at peace in the vastness

They say huge skies and grand vistas make you
feel small
I take a deep breath, at one with the desert,
I do not feel like that, at all.

I feel as strong as the monolyths
on the horizon.
As infinite as the skies
I hear the peaceful void of my being
in the deserts silence
where nothing is mine.

Return to Table of Contents:

http://paddletohaiti.blogspot.com/p/related-reading.html