Spacetime Bicycle

Fast, Day 5

2011-11-16T07:33:00.000-08:00

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

2011-11-15T13:30:00.000-08:00

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

2011-11-14T07:29:00.001-08:00

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

2011-11-14T07:28:00.000-08:00

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

2011-11-12T21:40:00.000-08:00

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

2011-11-12T21:30:00.000-08:00

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.

2010-04-13T21:26:00.000-07:00

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.

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Year In a Month, Chapter 2

2010-04-09T11:05:00.001-07:00

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

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West Texas on Tortilla, Day 2

2010-04-08T15:18:00.000-07:00

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

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West Texas on Tortilla, Day 1.

2010-03-30T14:37:00.000-07:00

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.

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Year in Month, Chapter 1.

2010-03-30T08:17:00.000-07:00

My friends and I tend to make ridiculous claims,
after beer and a handshake stories are made.
Eating a bug, a punch in the face, getting a stupid tattoo,
flirt with misfortune in the literal sense and we can turn a bar into a zoo.

An eighty year old nurse turned into a fling,
naked at a bar in german we sing,
oh non-monetary bets and the fun they can bring,
which brings me back to this one evening…

Baker and I sat drinking pitchers for cheap,
in a seedy old bar named the Derby.

This local hole in my suburban hometown,
attracts the horny and hopeless from the communities ‘round.
Cigarette smoking cougars listen to jokes,
servers supplement tips by distributing coke,
avoiding fights when testosterone fills the air,
is what you must do in this sinner’s lair.

The scent of this place is uniquely rotten, like aimless aspirations being burned,
newports and camels cling on to your cotton, and over the band pathological lies can be heard.

One time me and Quin came here on acid, each with our own personal mission.
He wanted to convey the disguisting selfishness of humanity,
and I wanted to change his position.

I thought that even here, I might find beauty and kindness,
but from this goal I was eluded.
Next time I want to visit the Derby while tripping,
I’ll take my twelve hits of LSD a little diluted.

Baker and I were arguing about the upcoming NFL season on a random Wednesday night in 2007.
I ranted confidently about my Dallas Cowboys, and he about the Steelers,
who would have the better season was the night’s question.

The best outcome for this dispute was for these teams to meet in the final game,
the Super Bowl would be in Miami that year, which inspired this particular ridiculous claim:

“The team with the better season, which means the one who goes further in the playoffs, will win the bet…” I began the challenge “and…” “and… the loser… walks to Miami, from right here.”

I caught him off guard with my bravado, a ridiculous bet for sure,
but one that I was not afraid to lose, and excited to win, somehow a story would emerge.

He tightened his mouth, and shook his head as a male does when wrestling with the weight of a wager.
His drunken mind scanned over all of the reasons why one should not take this bet, but as soon as one positive reinforcement was sent down the frontal lobe assembly line his stare became that of a laser,

the connection was made, and he stuck his hand out firmly and said “Deal!” in a confident voice.
Our handshake was a contract and it was now for fate to decide, how the universe would ramify our choice.

I won the bet, albeit in vain, as the Cowboys lost after their bye.
Time went by and Baker’s debt remained, remaining second to his three DUIs.
I offered him chances of redemption, such as the main story of this book,
but procrastination and the law gets the better of Baker
so many pounds of punishment he later took.

It is still in dispute just how much she weighed, this auditor the universe sent,
but at the end of this tale justice was paid, as Nursopotamus peacefully slept.

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Welcome Home

2009-03-09T05:30:00.000-07:00

Last time I took a red-eye flight from California to Atlanta, I was a main character in one of the most boneheaded gaffs in human courtship that I have ever heard of. I was leaving San Diego, on business, and when I say business I mean I had to return a rental car back to the west coast for my father's company. To be compensated for a roadtrip across the western United States is my idea of work. I dropped the car off and picked up my first class boarding pass for the flight. Having earned a bit of cash from this "job", I decided to prepare for the flight with a couple of beers at bar next to my terminal. Admiring the woodwork on the bar, basking in the artificial ambiance of a friendly pub, and sipping my Sam Adams, I noticed a woman also trying to wet her whistle before take-off. A mild faced blonde, bare minimum make-up, sporting her comfortable, but semi-stylish, valour jumpsuit sat a couple stools down from me. She had a good figure, the kind of woman that makes you say "why not?" I made some comment to her, I can't remember what it was, probably could have been anything, "Going home or leaving home?" or "What's your favorite cheese?" Whatever it was, it gave her an opening to begin talking about whatever she was thinking about, like turning on a TV.

We chatted over a couple beers and she asked where I was sitting, I pulled my boarding pass out and found the seat number. "I'm gonna upgrade and get a seat next to you, is that cool?" And of course it was "cool", I rarely do NOT want to talk to people, nonetheless an attractive drinker on a four hour red-eye flight. She got her seat switched and we boarded the plane. The stuardiss continued to bring us Jack and Cokes, as we had requested. The booze, the elevation, and the easily acquired company of "Jackie" in first class, began to take its toll on me. Nothing sloppy, just a shit-eating grin and do-no-wrong James Bond attitude, rather James Bond's aloof blonde brother attitude to be more exact.

The entire business class was sipping away on their respective cocktails, all socializing with eachother and cutting up. I had never seen such a party atmosphere on a commercial airline. The vibe was becoming very conducive to debauchery, and Jackie and I were becoming very touchy in our fat first class leather seats. "If I'm not mistaken, this is my ticket to the mile high club" I thought to myself. The cabin lights were off, and the stars were aligned for me to have a one time rendezvous with this Pensacola layover passenger, and I would return home on MARTA a fully satisfied man, having crossed one arbitrary feat off my list of things to do.

As I whispered something into her ear, she leaned over and spilled some of her drink on my lap. And as any lady with manners would do, she began to dab it up with her napkin. My libido began to burn, and my cool was lost, must have been the pressure building in my ears making me an absolute retard. In retrospect, her "lap dab" should have transitioned into my placing her hand where I wanted it, or at least a kiss, beginning the alleviation of any tension that had been building between us. But instead my imagination took it too far, instead of an appropriate make out session, or a discreet hand job, I pictured a liquor soaked blouse, and the tearing off of clothes right there in the plane. So what did I do? I playfully knocked a little of my drink onto her lap, and shirt, except it wasn't a little of my drink, it was... my whole drink. She shuttered with chills as she felt the Cola, Ice, and Whiskey soak through her clothes, all while I continued to smile, not yet realizing what I had done. Examining the damage, and wiping up the mess, she slowly began to realize how wet she was (not in the good way), how sticky her seat would be, and how ruined the escalation of this mile-high seduction was. Just as I was begin to take her frustration seriously, she was making up her mind to switch seats. My "Liquor Fight" whim had obviously crashed and burned, my drink was empty, my ego was bitter, and my libido stood there like a confused puppy wondering why nobody was playing with him. I spent the rest of the flight looking out the window, not necessarily focused on anything, eventually falling into a pouty slumber.

So I returned home from my cross country bike trip a more experienced traveler, in many ways. This flight was a much more peaceful one, I just jammed out to the jazz station on the XM radio on the plane. As I arrived at Hartsfield, and lugged my giant bicycle box onto the MARTA train, I felt back at home amongst all my brothers and sisters of Atlanta. The sunrise was beautiful from the train as I rode up to the north side of town, watching the melting remnants of a harsh southern winter that I had, for the most part, been away from since December. My linen pants and sandals were perfectly appropriate back in California, but they would be returning to their hole like a groundhog for another couple weeks.

It was surreal to see my old stomping grounds, for despite being gone for only three months, I felt that I had been through years worth of experience. After traveling at a human powered pace for all this time, in no more than three and a half hours, I was back across the continent. My mother picked me up from the station, and welcomed me with a caring hug, the location had not yet began to feel natural, but mom was the same as ever.

The next couple days I spent slowly visiting all of my friends who had been holding down the city since my departure. I was very proud of all of them, each person had been making strides and advances in their lives and seemed to be more on track than ever in pursuit of their goals. They spared me too much praise, knowing that it makes my self-aware ego of kind of uncomfortable, I would rather just be made fun of and bought a drink. The most integral in the unification and motivation of all of our (my friends) efforts, is Weldon, my film making friend who recently returned home from his residence in New York. Very grateful am I that he has returned to AlphaNuRoswell for the time being.

Weldon, Demorris, Baker, Amanda and I all went to a local spot in Roswell to finish off our Friday night, my first Friday night back. The "Dirty" Derby, a smokey, grimey, AlphaNuRoswell mainstay that has an ever-evolving base of regulars, and a turnstile of drunk younger people finishing off their night at this late night haven. It is known for its motley clientele, occasional bar fights, a place for cougars as well as recently legal girls, drug trafficking and awkward bathroom conversations. We saw some familiar faces, some sad cases, and just generally funny characters, all of which can expected from the Derby.

Twas a good ol' friday night, taking it relatively easy, as we all decided to leave. As I stood near the exit, I felt a rubbery weight on my exposed toe, and looked up to see it had just been stepped on by a rather large, ugly man. This curly haired lummox had just walked across my foot, "Watch out for the for the toe" I said to him, "Oh yeah?" he replied, rather antagonistically. Guys like this have an equal excitement to potential conflict, as they would if I were a hot woman that had just given him a compliment. But since the latter never happens, a fight is often as good as a fuck to end off the night for a beligerant bruiser such as this. "These are nice fucking sandals." I said, as he stood in front of me. I did not take him seriously, it had been a while since my sarcasm or hyperbole was NOT taken lightly, and instead were taken for "fightin' words". "Lets take this outside," he retorted, and I dismissed this statement as having little value or humor, and brushed it aside. He walked outside, the exchange, in my mind, was over, and forgotten. Weldon and I then walked outside, where I saw this brute still standing there, with his fist rapidly approaching my face. He caught me just above the brow, sending me flying backwards onto the ground, leaning up against the outer wall of the bar. I felt blood drip into my eye, and saw it on my hand as I touched my forehead. The guy's croanie laughed at me, as I rose to my feet, sort of confused by the ambush. Weldon took offense to this laughter and confronted the other guy, who hit Weldon. I realized that my nose was fine, vision was in tact, and I did not feel dizzy or shaken, the punch had not really phased me physically, just took me off guard as something I would not expect from a civilized human. I was not angry, blunt impacts to the head were never something to shake my emotional state too much, my cranium is rather solid. Nonetheless I knew it was customary to fight after a sucker punch, if you aren't knocked out, so I approached the culprit so as to continue the bout that he had started. To my surprise, he backed up rapidly saying "No No No!" which left me udderly confused. I realized that Demorris, my 280 pounds of muscle ex-football playing friend had joined us outside and had thoroughly intimidated the lummox. We sort of circled around, with our right hand cocked back in an awkward limbo of semi-aggression. Him, afraid of my giant friend, and me, calm but confused, for I did not not exactly feel threatened. We broke up this little dance and I examined the chaotic remains of this little exchange, looked at Baker's face, who had missed the whole thing until now, and found the whole situation rather hilarious.

As we rode home, Weldon and I laughed about the situation, Demorris remained fired up, for he is quite protective of his friends, Baker was trying to sift through our "What the fuck just happened?"s to find out what the fuck just happened, and Amanda berated me for "starting shit." The sex-deprived lummox, the Yoko Ono in the car, supportive friends, and the overall ridiculousness of the night basically can be summed up one hospitable phrase: "Welcome back to Georgia, Joe."

New Job

2009-03-09T05:01:00.000-07:00

I have not found anyone to pay me any money yet, I do not have a boss, and I have not filled out any tax forms, but I am starting a job today. You can tell the difference because I didn't stay out drinking last night, I woke up early, and I am drinking coffee right now, and I like it. I am an aspiring writer, as in, I want to make this here very action a discipline, and get paid for it.

This blog is my external hard drive, the trustworthy internet atmosphere that I will be storing information on. I will continue to write about parts of my trans-america adventure that I have not yet written about, as well as new articles about various topics. Some entries might be heartfelt and introspective, some might be meditative or schizophrenic, some could be funny and anecdotal, and some will be purely occupational in nature, straying away from any me-ocentric themes.

Delving into sports, restaurant and concert reviews, event promotionals, and good ol' travel logs, I will expand my universe of production to a potentially more marketable and financially sustainable enterprise. It is possible that I will be no good at writing about food or sports, and my ill-experienced attempts at them shall be documented and critiqued. But this, of course, will be okay, I will find out what I am good at, what I enjoy, and what I can sell.

If this endeavor is the least bit fruitful, it may give me the freedom to live my life as adventurously as possible. Each new festival, volunteer opportunity, spelunk, sporting event, bike tour, camping trip, and general travel will no longer be a hinderance to a job, but instead will be a new opportunity to learn about and articulate the many different facets culture and nature that people want to read about.

Your criticism would be highly appreciated in any of my articles; for this blog, for the meanwhile, shall be as much of a resume' as an expression of my experience.

From Jazz

2009-02-23T23:44:00.000-08:00


Grinding gears of consciousness, the noise that we exude
   flowing honestly, in forms of art, forged in solitude
insanity fear desire and love, these formats, these directions
   from beneath and from above……..
    These words restrict, as your mind perceives,
   views of our depth, our potential, and reach,

   In the smile of a child, saxophone of Coltrane,
   The first touch of her lips,
   A raw intuition…
   transcending the brain.
   a tangible empathy, heavy on your soul,
   a collaboration of spirits,
   in a seemingly effortless flow.

From these, and to these, directions we know,
All categorization becomes restrictions imposed,
Quantum physics jazz poetry and love,
Nature and nurture and rules from above,
Metaphysics souls
The cosmos, and your dog…
EGO AND POWER ARE EXTRANEOUS,
 
   in dimensions afar

To do is to be, for you is for me, enlightened are souls
   From fear they are free,
You may study and label these tools of our fate,
Or have the ability to know this knowledge is innate

This knowledge, connection, and love is all around
Do not resist, don’t fight, open you eyes, ears, be aware, and your heart
Will be found.

Shoveling Manure

2009-02-20T16:19:00.000-08:00

Twas the night of the SuperBowl, and I was riding down a ranch road toward the organic farm. I regretted missing the most important game of the year, but something about depriving myself of such non-natural entertainment is esaily justifiable to my well-being. Nestled in a lush valley, this environment exuded some of the richest scents my nose has ever smelled, flourishing with juniper and evergreen shrubs, like a natural rock garden, everything glistened with dew, even at dusk. I attempted making the hike up to the reserve at night, lugging my full load through rocky river beds. I made sure my knife was in a quick draws distance, for the night in this valley is full of the sounds of prowling and howling.

A rancher that saw me walk by his ranch and came by and scooped me up, saving me the 5 mile uphill hike, all of which is unrideable by my bike. I was so grateful for this, being that I felt I was being stalked, as I must have looked to be quite a cumbersome animal as I heaved my 90 lb. bicycle over rocks and sand. Arriving at the reserve, I was enthusiatically greeted by the cast of characters that make the organic farm work. Most excited of which was my friend from back home, Nicole, glowing with joy and an unbridled smile she gave me a much awaited hug.

The communal center of the farm was a house, lined with herb extracts, grains, books on geology, metaphysics, and agriculture. I ate some quiche they had prepared earlier, each ingredient thoughtfully harvested from the farm, everything from the eggs to the purple wildflowers that adorned the crust. As became apparent to me, when you grow your own food, putting much of your love and work into it, you can truly taste and feel the difference, as if you are part of the grander circle of life, rather than a part of the grander circle of the economy.

I slept that night in Nicole's yurpee, a dwelling inspired by two different aboriginal shelters, a yurt, and teepee. It had a bed and wood furnace, it was minimal, but as with any nontent shelter, it was a luxury in my eyes. I was awakened way earlier than I am used to, luckily for Nicole there was a breakfast waiting for me, so I was less ornary and stubborn to awake than I can be. At breakfast was where I met Peter Bigfoot, a 6'4'' white haired patriarch, deep set eyes and a chief-like gait that let me know who had earned and worked for this beautiful mountain retreat.

Peter Bigfoot offered Nicole and I the day off, for I had traveled a long way to visit her, but both her and I agreed that working at the farm was what should be done when visiting the farm. Nicole and Minnie were both put on wood chopping duty, a task that I would have initially embraced due to its strength requirements and violent precision, a truly therapeutic activity for males. But Peter liked to leave this task to the females, as part of their toughness training, if you will, an "opportunity" for them to get blisters, use hand/eye coordination and strength. I was assigned to manuer and compost distribution, which I thought was a joke, but it wasn't. So me and Michael, a compassionate cro-magnon fellow who worked like the Buddha meditated, shoveled wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow of nitrogen-rich and properly cured manuer into the garden, where we tilled it into a new line ready for the planting of asparagus. Following his lead, I found a rhythm of awareness in this task that brought a slow and disciplined contentment to this work. I breathed efficietntly, smelling the scents of the garden and of the compost, I made my movements as gracefully powerful as needed, and I found ultimate beauty in all of the workings around me on this farm.

For many of the "students" of Peter, or workers, this life was a stepping stone on their larger path, a way live in a peaceful sanctuary, a way to learn about the value and essence if natural medicine, a way to be different, but for Michael, it was just... what he was doing. I inquired about this seeming lack of a "grander path", what about his legacy? or impact? He had not really thought about it before he explained, he had not thought about what he might be capable of, or whether it is important to fulfill one's "potential". I explained to him my desire to achieve, the desire to lead, and change. I expressed my inability to just "become a monk" or "do nothing" because of the fortune and comforts I grew up with, these are luxuries I should not take for granted, my struggles are ones that I must CREATE. These things are burdens of the MIND, things that I think about, they give me a comfortably stressful imagination, an idea of contentment, but not by any means a reality of contentment. If I leave these dreams to ferment in my mind, and I do not plant them in the world, than these thoughts will just become rotten regrets, toxifying my body and soul. Michael learned from me as I spoke about one's ability to share peace, to use your abilities to affect other's lives positively, and I learned from him about the nature of doing, the peace and awareness that is to be found in work.

Peter and his wife Patricia, and the five of us were like a makeshift family on the farm. After a day of work, it was time for dinner, which was prepared by different people, depending on a rotating schedule. With meat from the beloved cow "sweetpea", eggs from the chickens, and vegetables picked fresh from the garden dinner was prepared with much TLC. As the spread is set and laid out for serving, everyone gets together and sings a couple songs chosen by Peter. They were old spirituals, and corny americana, and semi-religious songs that we all sang with child-like excitement, forcing smiles on every face as we sang these choral appetizers. The servings were very large and able to fill my huge appetite and some, I realized that with seven people working in a lush desert valley, with the knowledge and hard work of a good leader, resources and food can be plentiful and luxurious. After dinner, as everyone's food settled, Peter would read a chapter or two out of a book that everyone would agree on. I was there for "White Sands," an account by ex-military personnel of their extraterrestrial encounter. Aliens really are a strange reoccuring theme in my life...

After Peter and Patricia retreat to bed, "the kids" stay up a bit longer, relating, laughing, and philosophizing about the things that only "we" can relate to. It is not wisdom that brings the youth together, that is for the elders, but more likely the furvor with which we consume new ideas, make up our own, learn and discuss old teachings, and just embrace and explore the things we have no preconceptions of, all without fear of not knowing for sure, without fear of being wrong. Nathan showed us a video, breaking down the Mayan calendar, why it was used, how it was used, and what it means for consciousness.

The lessons shown by this man discussing Mayan astrology, prophecy, and history, rang so true to me, along with Nathan, Nicole, and Minnie, that we found ourselves excitedly agreeing, with joy, these ideas that accurately portrayed and gave reason to these climactic, exponential times we are living in. I will not delve any deeper into what I learned, but I will share with you the aspects that will remain as guidestones in my life. That with integrity, awareness, and intent I can truly manifest, without doubt, the reality that dwells in my imaginations. I can realize my dreams for they are that of compassion and peace, a divine empowerment that we are all capable of in this coming age. It is these flowers of knowledge and nuggets of truth that beckon me out of my comforts and into these new adventurous experiences such as the organic farm.

The Last Leg, pt. 1 of 3ish

2009-02-08T13:25:00.000-08:00

Oh the saguaros, a type of cactus, each unique like a snowflake, obtuse and goofy like an outdated politically incorrect charicature, but wise as the sedimentary cliffs whose foregrounds they adorn. These iconic treepods colonize the south faces of mountains and hills across much of Arizona, worshipping the sun and guarding their limited supply of rainwater with vertical regiments of thorns. The desert is a vast and ancient canvas for thoughts of humility, a resourceful collaboration of survivors that forces humans to look to the sky to fantasize. Your niche is found meticulously here, but with care and awareness it will be welcomed, as the brutal network of life seems to feed on itself as it grows in a carefully weighted imbalance.

These 100+ year old saguaros greeted me as I rode past the indian reservations of Arizona, mostly Apache. I was warned about the drugs, crime, and intolerance of white people by some... white people... before I travelled through these run-down communities of native americans. And as with the rest of the trip, I found that only dogs chase bicycles, not humans, even darker colored ones.

The weather remains dry, sunny, but with potent breezes that wait in the shadows of the mountains to cool my neck. So long as I have water to moisten a parched mouth, this weather is favorable for these poly-mile climbs that I encounter in these western landscapes. I tried ignoring the fact that I was missing the Super Bowl as I coasted down the fun side of a mountain coming into the town of Roosevelt, a lake community that hosts a lucky breed of people that have realized that the west is the final frontier (that i know of) of undeveloped beauty in America. I asked a couple of locals about this organic farm that i was headed to, for it is easy to get lost or confused if you are not familiar with the local ranch roads. "You're going to see Peter Bigfoot? whoo wee, he is the messiah up there." one man replied. I worried that my friend Nicole had joined a cult, and I also worried that in order for me to get fed and have a place to stay, I would have to act interested and inviting to all of the cult jargon. But it wasn't a cult, and instead of listening to cult jargon, I just had to shovel manuer and build fences to earn my keep.

To be continued later today...

A Mindful Expanse

2009-01-31T23:16:00.000-08:00

May I thrive in my youth, may the forest be lush
On the path of truth, as I walk through the brush
taste the nectar of new, as I remain fit and fresh
For the rapid expanses of this world without rest.

But do not pass by these relics of wisdom,
Timeless treasures untold by text,
else you may grow, remaining wise a child
Upon a rapid expanse you will rot like the rest.

So just as you imbibe this information so lush,
forget not the naivete, of the rich without rust
In the history of media, we see propoganda repeat
But from the mouth of an elder, the truth will flow free

In a mindful expanse may curiousity take you afar,
may you learn of the future from an old burnt out star,
Baseless expansion is a repetition mundane,
But embrace the WHOLE path and ascension you'll gain.

Virgin Superpowers, the price of compassion, and more UFO insights.

2009-01-31T18:26:00.000-08:00

I made my rapid descent down the mile high Franklin Mountain, and coasted across the border of New Mexico as I bid adieu to Texas. One state further from my home in the south. Most people I have met on this trip have impacted me in some way, and it's starting to seem the adventurous spirits and kind hearts are growing, per capita, as I travel further west.

Old people, other travellers, and hobos continually are the most open-hearted people that I encounter, possibly because of the time on their hands mixed with a grander perspective of experience. John, a retired coach and teacher, inquired about my adventure as I was leaving Texas. We spoke for a moment and he offered to treat me to some Arby's, so I followed him a block down the road and joined him for dinner. He spoke at length about his coaching career, his family, and about the parts of Texas that he, and I, are so fond of. He was interested in my journey, but especially eager to discuss the begreenman.com advertisement on my sign. "You don't buy the whole global warming thing, do ya?" he asked as he assumed his "ready to lay one on ya" body language. I avoided my opinions on the matter, as I prefer to do with anyone that has a hard stance on a topic. I have found that I learn much more that way, and conveying my own opinions is just a useless exersize of pride unless I believe the person will be receptive. I explained the actual, intended nature of the greenman sponsorship, but of course ended with "why did you ask, how do you feel about global warming?" He spent the next hour telling me about all of the liberal conspiracies, the true abundance of oil, the sad direction of our country, the futility of man to have any serious impact on his environment, and the ultimate power of God. Remaining primarily socratic in this discussion I was able to understand his views and where he acquired them. It was very interesting to me to see a conservative viewpoint of the secret liberal conspiracy, for I have long been familiar with the liberal viewpoint of the secret conservative conspiracy.

Just as my interest was diminishing, and I was feeling that I could predict his opinions regarding just about everything, he tossed me a curveball. I believe it was sparked by my mention of the Marfa lights, and my inquiring about what life was like growing up near Roswell, NM. He began recounting his memories of childhood and adolescence. He described the local media coverage of the Roswell UFO crash, which was as you would expect if a UFO crashed in your community. But, after a couple of days, all of the information delivered was changed, the witnesses were no longer heard from, and the weather balloon explanation was delievered to the public. "I was there, it made absolutely no sense and everyone in my town knew it!" he recalled. He also cited numerous accounts from pilots that he knew seeing flying saucers, trying to chase them, and then them rapidly ascending out of view. "And just like the crash in Roswell, they were told to no longer report these sightings, so they eventually quit showing up in the newspaper, but the pilots kept seeing them." he explained as I was reminded of History channel programs that I had seen on the matter. As I tried to follow up with a question about his opinions on the matter I was interrupted, "and the one that made the least sense, Joe, was the one I saw with my very own eyes, riding with my family in our car..." "ya..." "there was this slow-moving round craft, large and low-flying enough to have a big shadow over the road, we stopped and watched it as it passed, most of the town saw it and was talking about it the whole next day! well... the day later the paper told us it was a lunar phenomenon... the moon?" I inquired about how these mysteries line up with his political views, and more importantly, his religious views, for he had been able to explain most things with the bible up to this point. For the first time in our interaction, he was at complete loss for an opinion, all that he believed stepped aside for this phenomenon. We have all seen UFO documentaries, which are about as entertaining as Bigfoot documentaries. It wasn't his stories that lit up my eyes with wonder, it was the incongruency of his arrogance, and the dumbfoundedness with which he told these stories. I liken it to a devout atheist detailing an experience about how he saw an angel bring a loved one back to life, honestly and passionately, and then being like, "I can't explain that one."

80 or 90 miles later, I ate a giant chocolate chip cookie at an Indian reservation cafe after a long, cold night trying to sleep on the land nearby. Everyone there was so friendly and hospitable, like family that you don't know that well. I noticed an lone old man with a bandanna around his neck smoking a pipe (not a peace pipe, he was just a white guy). "You enjoying that pipe?" I asked "Ya I gave it up at sixty, but when I hit seventy I thought 'what the hell, might as well enjoy it...'" I guess it meant his last days. He told me about the cars he restored, and his retired mini-adventures throughout the most beautiful areas of the western U.S. I asked what he retired from, and so grateful am I that I did. He was a military phychiatrist from the 50's to the 80's, specifying in marriage and sex counseling. I was hooked, what thorough experience this man must have. "We're you good at your job?" a question that brought a thoughtfully somber look to his face. "You know, thats a tough question, I was good one on one, but when I had to manage and make decisions for entire wards, I don't believe I was very good at all..." He would reference my question to him more in our conversation. We talked about which wars carried which vices, alcoholism in Korea, drugs in Vietnam, and he was adament that I took all of his accounts and opinions with a grain of salt, for he did not know any data to back them up, which I appreciated as a seeker of truth. He said the worst atrocities witnessing and guilt problems that he counseled were in 'Nam, but he thinks they are even worse now, which he again prefaced with his lack of expertise. "Was I good at my job?" he said again, as he explained the archaic methods of psychiatry used back in the day, including electroshock therapy and the medical diagnosis of homosexuality, both of which he believed to be asinine and backwards in hindsight. I asked about regressions in medical industry, to which I saw an answer immediately fill his head, as if it was a grand thought that has lived silently in his mind for years. Prescription drugs? Insurance? Misdiagnosis or over treatment? No... he simply replied "Compassion." He told me that even back in the days of electroshock, and misunderstand of bipolarity and such, Doctors he knew, including him had vested interest in there patients. This was the culture, it was common practice for nurses to provide words of encouragement, hugs, and general acts of love to their patients. He said he watched this change over the years, in every facet of our society. Doctors now had subjects, not patients; marriages and especially sex were becoming dispersonal behaviors of selfishness, utility, ego and status. Being a marriage counselor became more and more difficult for him, the relationships he counseled weren't even real relationships as he used to know them to be. Sex now was a digital exchange, and not a holistic experience of love. Touching was foreign, public interactions were battles, and not moments of unity. "Was I good my job?" I got the sense that being a marriage counselor in today's society is like being good at alchemy.

He told me of his battle with cancer, with which he had a long stay in a hospital, which he commended repeatedly for their treatment. "They saved me, it is a great and advanced facility. but... i did not feel like a human, when my family wasn't there I was alone." I guess in today's medical industry, as with many cold, removed parts of our society, if it cannot be reflected on the quarterly statements, it will not be seen at all.

As I left, deeply impacted by the man with the bandanna's insights, a couple flagged me down and asked where I was coming from. They told me about Rob Thompson, a man who had stayed with them on his cross country tour. Rob had also stayed with Rose, from Alpine. This couple loved him, and told me all about him, which I was eager to hear, for the more I learn about him, and others, the more I realize I am cycling in the shadow of giants. He skateboarded around the world, sailed the waters, and cycled over 20,000 miles in between. Recently falling into a depression back in his home of Australia, he is trying to muster up a book of his experiences but has found little support. The couple also told me of their hiking friend, who did the Pacific Coast Trail, the Continental Divide Trail, and The Appalachian almost back to back, frequently hiking 45 miles a day! I was in awe of the tales of these great achievers, and the speed and intensity with which they attacked their explorations. "Know what was funny about both of these guys?" said the man, eating his hamburger "both of 'em were virgins, just waitin for the right one." I was amazed, but not surprised. It made sense. I feel there is a part of men that becomes either complacent or distracted when you enter the sexual world. It's almost as if these adults had the skills and means of full grown men, but the youthful energy and adventurous spirit of a boy... Wow... I thought... virgin superpowers.

After the awe of this new insight set in, I looked back down at the man eating his half pound of ground Angus and he smirked in agreement of what I was about to say. "I think I'll stick with my modest pace, for now."

Atlanta Girls, dont hesitate to visit west Texas.

2009-01-28T11:17:00.000-08:00

Down in the west Texas town of El Paso...

2009-01-27T13:29:00.000-08:00

I fell in love with a redbone stripper.
Not really.
Fortune Cookies and UFOs part 2 is waiting, but here is an update of my trip.

I left Marfa, after spending the night watching the aliens (from outer space) all night. Rode next to the Chihuahan Mountains, a range separating the States and Mexico, patrolled heavily by border control. I spoke with a border patrol agent, who told me tales of conflict and corruption here on the border. Columbian drug cartels, smugglers, paid off border patrol agents, Ex-Mex Army hired mercenaries, and good ol' regular Mexicans all roam these roads and land around Van Horn, El Paso, and Juarez, Mexico.

The ride took me three days out of Alpine to get to El Paso, most of it was nice, winds dont piss me off as much anymore. I saw some Pronghorns, the fastest mammal in North America, which I tried to chase after dismounting my bike, but they eluded me with a slow jog. As I rode into El Paso, I witnessed the vast smog covered shanty town that is the majority of Juarez. It literally looks like a third world country, sitting right next to a modern American city with LaQuintas, Denny's, Lowes, and Bed Bath and Beyonds. I arrived at my hostesses house and took a shower, I realized I was covered in salt dust as I tasted it on my lips, my body and hair was laced with some sodium substance that had stuck to me as I rode through the desert wind.

The next couple nights were a blast. We went to a minor league hockey game/UFC fight on ice and went to the club district of El Paso where I got to indulge in the El Paso nightlife. The city is full of beautiful mexican girls, all of which whom know how to dance very well. I found myself in the black section of the club more often, which is more conducive to my less demanding style of "booty dancing".

I spent the last two days catching up with friends and planning an online newspaper/archive that will publish my communities achievements, creativity, humor, ideas, and news. It is eventually where I will be publishing most of my thoughts and experiences. I am pretty excited about it.

Anyways Im gone from El Paso now and had to climb a ridiculous mountain to get out, 5 mile steep uphill.

Fortune Cookies and UFO's pt. 1

2009-01-20T13:19:00.000-08:00

I arrived in Alpine last night after getting a late start out of Fort Stockton. The ride here was peaceful and without complication. The Texas hill country that has been my home for some days now is starting to change. As I climb in elevation the anonymous plateaus begin to become charismatic ornaments on the horizon. Their stubby flats rise to peaks, there non-descript slopes become unique ravines and paths, beckoning exploration.

The omnipresent winds here are becoming more dynamic, and I am learning how to get to know them. Each gust is like a traveler, bearing climatic information of the region from which it came, often changing its route when introduced with an obstacle. Alpine is kind of flat, but is surrounded by these straggling mountains, a part of some larger, distant mountain range im sure. The stadium-like nature of the land captures weather, it can be raining in Alpine, resting clouds funneled into the lower pressures above the city, and all around, over the mountains, the sun shines over the desert, dry as a bone.

Alpine is much more romantic than most small, middle-of-nowhere towns, there is a school here, and it is a gateway city to Big Bend National Park. These factors, along with its essence of a salty, Texas ranch town, surrounded by the inspiring insulating mountain walls, makes for a very cool mix of traditional southern ranch life with an artistic liberal vibe of a pacific northwest community.

My recount...

My hostess is a wonderfully smiley and hospitable individual, her dad also stays with her, he continually cracks me with his daily bickerings and his desire to just rock out all the time. I did some research on the Marfa Mystery Lights, which are a luminary phenomenon unexplained by any physicist, astronomer, or any freelance luminary phenomenon explainers. Rose, her son, Matt, and I took a a lil trip out there to check them out. And sure enough, I witnessed unidentified moving specks of light just below the horizon. They truly make no sense, and whatever they are, made themselves known, but did not perform to the best of their abilities, as near as i can determine from the accounts of other locals. They look like flickering stars right above the land, changing color slightly, joining with eachother, splitting apart, and dropping or rising back out of view. I consider myself to be an intelligent, insightful, and articulate individual, but when viewing this enigma, my sentiments were as basic and confused as any child, "look at that one.... its moving!... you see that?... woooowww....what the..."

After spending the night at Rose's home, having a delicious spaghetti dinner, and watching UFOs (no big deal), I decided to use the next day to walk around Alpine. Walking around town is easy, everything is on one main road, and you stroll from one end to the other in twenty minutes. After checking out the bike shop, and the music store, I went to a bar nearby, mostly comprised of cowboys and mexicans. I saw a couple of students from the nearby school. They were using the WiFi at the bar and drinking beer. I, needing to rotate out my music for my one gig mp3 player, went over and inquired their taste in music, and if i could snag some tunes of his computer. This goal was never achieved, but the adventures and friendships that followed could have never been foreseen.

I soon realized that these two individuals, Ryan, a 27 yr. old student at Sul Ross, and Mark Fuentes (pronounced "Fyoontz" for gringos), a former sailor, were exactly the kind of people I would be likely to have fun with in Alpine. I also kept in mind the importance of having a crew in these small towns, for most of the women are either taken, or recently "released." They picked me from Rose's house around 11 p.m. on Friday night. I had already been drinking dark local brews with Rose and trying to play glow in the dark Ouija board.

We went to Harry's Tinaja, a local bar with a band, and guitars available for any pickers who felt so inclined to entertain, a pool table, and dartboard with one dart. All carefully arranged and managed by Harry, a surly german immigrant whose bitter wit was as dry as the salty air in west Texas. Mark and Ryan kept worrying and pondering their friend's whereabouts, Billy Ray... "well he there, but they always kick him out", "maybe he's in an alley somewhere", "do you think he's already wasted?", "Is that girl in town?", I heard all of this and attempted to predict the persona of Billy Ray.

We eventually found the festively faithful fun-seeker from West Virginia and I immediately got the sense that the crew was complete. We had only shared a couple of pitchers at this point, but I felt a trust and connection that was familiar from my friends back home. As I was organizing a game of "dart" with some patrons, a game that involved random beer chugs and daring dart predictions, I met and began instantly flirting with a new girl in town named Carrie. Pretty face, great figure, and soft full hair, and a big ole' mole on her chin. But the more pitchers we finished off the less noticeable that mole got and the bigger her breasts became. So we slowly became victims of an instant intoxicated chemistry and became that "get a room" couple making out heavily at the bar. Suddenly, busting through the bar entrance was a wild-eyed redhead sociopath with a shiner 'neath his right eye and a Shiner Bock in his right hand. This man spared us any friendly introduction and just started picking fights with everybody but me. I stared at him, waiting my turn, and I'm pretty grateful that he didnt return the stare. Despite my ears raised and hands ready, my mind could not take this redneck seriously, I would not have been able to hold back a disprespectful guffaw had our eyes met for more than a second.

He yelled at Carrie, and Carrie yelled back saying they're over and whatnot and people in the background were like "That's Jesse, he just got of prison." Jesse decided to push Mark, who despite his small stature, bucked back quickly, but all was dissipated by the bouncers and the wild Jesse was thrown out. The next ten minutes I was warned by Jesse's proud uncle "He's crazy, he'll kill you, he was in prison for four years," to my reply "Well that would suck to go back to prison and get your ass whooped all in one night..." This was the beer talking, I'm not that proud. Luckily beer also has the ability to put me into a ADD mania, allowing me to forget about Carrie and her baggage and move to the next locale with Ryan and Billy. Only to be grateful the next morning as I awoke with a headache, instead of a shotgun wound, a motel bill, and mole staring at me.

Me, Billy, Ryan, and Mark were all very hungover this Saturday morning, and we wanted to bury these ailments and separate ourselves with pounds of fried rice and chicken from the local chinese buffet, the idea of yours truly, a bottomless pit on this trip. We gorged ourselves over raunchy tales of the previous night, probably at an inappropriate volume for the diners around us. But I've always thought that if you articulate such inappropriate matters in a charming enough manner, they can be stomached by anybody.

As Mark complained complained that his fortune wasn't really a fortune, "One cannot see outside without windows" or something of the useless nature, we all read ours:

I was to "Bring sunshine to someone's life"

Ryan was to "Help out a friend"

and Billy Ray was to "find unexpected happiness by travelling south,"

"Fuck!" exclaimed Billy, "Im bout to move back to West Virginia this week... NORTH!!!"

So unshowered and ill-planned we bought an 18 pack of Lonestar and headed 100 miles south to Big Bend national park and Terlingua in Ryan's Explorer...

Late Goodnight

2009-01-19T14:47:00.000-08:00



Know that I am with you, as you lie awake at night
 As thoughts spawn, and scatter ‘round your mind
  Keeping you blind, from that which you hide
 That which these thoughts cover like ivy, and keep out of sight
Know that I am with you
 As you step into the void
  Fear not for I will hold you
   We share a naked joy

Far away, I cannot touch
 But my memories won’t subside
  What is had once, of infinite depth
   For you my love survives

No separation felt, no distance real
 Know we are one
  In this emptiness we fill
Fear not, it is in the ocean
 Where love likes to play
Basking in the depths
 Riding the currents of time and space

In this garden
 Of nothingness
  Our love embrace may fill
 Peacefully abide, and rest your mind
  In the emptiness we fill.

Desert Dharma

2009-01-13T23:49:00.000-08:00

A detective of dead deer I've become,
I analyze their death and their age,
and other species of roadkill
whose decomposition I guage

I yell when I feel I need too,
only the hillsides to listen,
till I connect with fellow souls,
the wormholes of distance

My efforts and joys communicated with eyes
spoken with furvor in expressive tides,
bornagain evangelist of the town of Sonora,
Love took the form of Laura Zamora,
Out of the cold for the night I received,
Warm hotel room, comfort achieved

Red was the man, a loner in Junction,
spread the word of the future,
was his blessed function,
We share a fire, and the ideas of life
our species' direction, and divine foresight

Roaming freely is Karma,
the sun and the wind,
rustle at night,
do the dried up sins,

and a dormant love,
needs only a bond to thrive,
all distance is false
in the network of life.

West Texas, the land.

2009-01-13T22:51:00.000-08:00

Pedernales falls was a great experience, it would surely be my summer hang out if I lived in Austin. But I had to leave, as I always do on this trip, and began horizon hopping. The hill country out here is an artisan of vistas, a canvas of sunsets, but my legs work for my eyes feasts. For it is also home to the prevailing westerly winds and nightly 30 degree temperature drops. I lay in my sleeping bag each morning watching the sun, waiting for it to warm the air around me, this part of the country lives and dies, rests and stirs, burns and freezes by the suns rays, and I anticipate it to become more extreme as I enter further into desert climes. Because of these late starts I find myself biking after sunfall each evening, when the downhills adopt a bittersweet nature. Though I cover more ground during these rapid descents, the lack of exertion and cutting wind bite my damp body and almost make me long for another calmer and warmer ascent.

I hastily choose a camping spot with a defensive feng shui, protecting me from wind, authorities, cougars, bears, coyotes, aliens, crazies, and whatever else may feed fear. I recognize the creepyness of some of the places I choose (hunting land, abandoned gas station), but fear only makes me colder, so I dont bask in the emotions of imagination, just a distant appreciation. This accepting mindset also allows me to have good dreams, because the shallow outdoor slumbers tend to be saturated with subconscious activity. I do sleep with a knife, though.

Pedernales State Park

2009-01-08T18:51:00.000-08:00

Photos by Geoff Lininger

After Austin...

2009-01-08T12:55:00.000-08:00

[note: dictated by Joe from the road~]

I set out to beautiful skies, warm sun, and cool, crisp air. I would have sacrificed all of this for stagnant wind at worst, for I was met with 12-15 MPH eastbound wind...the worst possible wind conditions for my travels. I couldn't even use my fastest gears going straight downhill. I made 30 miles in five hours, a timespan that should have yielded about 60 miles in better wind conditions (less than 5 mph). So, I cranked up the tunes and just huffed my way through it.

Days like this, it's more an avoidance of negativity than a reward of success. I just try not to think about how slow I'm going and focus on the scenery, thoughts of life, or, nothing (ideally).

As I arrived in Pedernales State Park around 3 PM, I was finally able to relax and enjoy the old rocky seabed, scattered with small evergreens, mesquite, and the shrubs and cacti that find their home on the rolling hills and buttes of the Texas hill country. I made camp and hiked to find a spot to watch the sunset.

It's not like watching it from the plains, a mountain, or on a westbound highway. I had to duck and weave to catch segments of the fiery sky majesty that is the hill country sunset.

Rich, deep blue canvas defines the
atmosphere before dusk, vapor trails fade like
amateur graffiti in the sky
broad, white brushstrokes of cirrus clouds
leisurely wander to the west
to be painted and burned alive
by the sun as it retreats
clearing the heavens for the stars
all framed by the Earth's horizons

The clouds come alive before they rest
they dance and shift their hues
every second surf the scale of
yellows, reds, purples and blues

They show differently for each viewer
infinity of perspective and focus
but the night comes and puts us all to rest
and the hills quietly stir as the moon
paints the skies gray,
then fades to the lustrous milky way

Joe Stops in Arlen, TX for a Cold One

2009-01-07T11:40:00.000-08:00

People

2009-01-02T01:52:00.000-08:00

Austin has been an inspiring city for me, a culture of sustainability, live music, organized recreation, artfully composed food and cocktails, and absolutely fantastic people. My hostess, Jen Reese, is a lovely woman whose heart is big and focused, and her friends are a tight knit gang of great people. Jen Cash, infectious laugh, Amanda Hager, who I teased for being amicably seductive, her husband Josh, who has an amazing "Charlie" impression (from "Its Always Sunny in Philadelphia"), and a slew of others whose names my memory failed to catalogue whom were all thoroughly entertaining and intelligent.

My good friend, Weldon, and his girlfriend Marlin (sp?), came and visited Austin during a southern roadtrip. It was great to hang out with a friend from back home and got me really appreciating everyone that is in my life. Seeing how much fun Jen and all her friends continue to have in their "next phase" of life nurtured my optimistic view of my own circle as we grow and choose careers and spouses and whatever other changes come along with thirty-hood.

In this spirit of meeting new souls and missing old ones I believe some "thank you's" are in order before I begin the "next phase", not of my life... but of my trip across country: A desert immersion, sunsets, stars, animals, dryness, sparseness, big rocks and long roads.

Mom! Infinitely and unconditionally supportive, everything a mom is supposed to be and more.

Dad, made me me, no expression of gratitude can express my thanks for the tools he so creatively and intuitively provided me with.

Cheryl and Deedee, beautiful people in my life whose humor and smiles warm and motivate.

Bob, couldn't have designed a better man in my mom's life than if I had a "make your mom a fiancee" kit. Thanks for the support and apparel, Im putting it to good use.

Lisa Torch, fascinating individual, great friend who understands me about as well as one could after knowing me for only a year, inspiring and intelligent. Any tangible impact i make on this earth from this point out shall partially be accredited to you. Not for a moment are taken for granted.

Nana and Papa, compassionately and joyfully matriarching and patriarching their giant ship of family and friends, truly grateful am I for your contributions to my life.

Gramma and Granddad, you live forever in my thoughts.

Nancy, Jack, and the kids, thank you so much for the camelback and camping gear, it has been a heavily utilized addition to my set up, allowing me to stay warm and comfy in the roughest of conditions. Love y'all.

Emily Coates, powerbars and first aid stuff... yeah yeah yeah, thanks for being who you are, a shining deliverer of goodness and activity, and an increasingly proactive one at that, we need more Emilys.

Karynne Abel, gives my hungry mind a run for its money, a soul I sincerely hope to be able to continue to explore. Her home was mine for a brief period, a highlight to say the least.

Jim, Jeannine, Niven, Kirsten, JoeDan and Will, and Berlin, thanks for being the fun family you always are during christmas.

Mark, Sharon, Jay, Brian, and Steve Maloney, a very interesting and active family, I delightfully observe their progresses in life, thank y'all for the support.

Scott Mackey, owner of bike shop in Baton Rouge, thanks for the tune-up and the supplies, support like that is greatly appreciated.

Kianga Kelley and the rest of NBC33's staff, y'all were all great to meet, seems like a fun place to work. Your story on me was a very important part of my journey, it really jumpstarted the fundraising.

Katie Tutweiler, one of the best tourguides and hostesses I could ask for. New Orleans was 43% more fun because of you.

Colin Grussing, the greenman guy, you like Kianga and the news, and Lisa Torch, have played such a crucial role in any money that I am able to raise on this trip.

Tobey Neale, Kacie Hodges, Amanda Godbee, Emily Jones, Laura Broussard, trusting, warm, hospitable individuals who make adventures like this comfortable and fun.

Justin Gill, thanks for fattening me up with your moms cooking, prepared me well for the bitch of a ride that Alabama turned out to be.

Gus and his wife, Jon and Melissa Oyster boat couple, truck stop east of the Texas border, and all friendly strangers that I have encountered all across the south, Thanks, Americans can be pretty cool if you put yourself out there.

Below are all those who have donated to the MS Society, thank y'all so much, if anybody knows someone with MS, you understand how valuable any advancement of treatment or research is.

Ms. Helen J Crow

Mr. Green Man

Moshe Cohen, haven't met you bro, but I hear you're cool and the right kind of person, thanks a lot.

JoPaula Lantier, you made a good one

Karynne Abel

Mayela Alvarez, I wish I had Maya in my pocket.

Mr. Greg Busby, Pond artist, thanks a lot Greg, say hi to the Ms. for me.

Weldon Powers, my favorite independent filmmaker

Ms. Emily Coates

Ms. Lisa Christine Torch

Mrs. Andrea Mironov

Ms. Sharon K Goocher

Mayela Alvarez

Dorothy & Bill --- Maloney(nana and papa)

Nell Stephenson Lynch

Mrs. Candace Robbins

Ms. Ann E. Grue

Mary M Boswell

If I left you out, my bad, Ill get ya later.

Truly Fulfilling

2008-12-26T20:44:00.000-08:00

When I first started this journey, it was my intent to be challenged, meet great people, and soak in all forms of beauty across the southern half of the United States. And due to the nature of the trip, I saw it as my duty to raise a little money for a cause that I cared about. I am not a very cynical person, I have faith in people, but as of late I have been overwhelmed by the interest and inspiration sparked by my ride. I merely wanted to open a door for people to feel like they have a part in helping people, but I did not expect so many would walk through that door with such enthusiasm. It began to hit me during my first day in Baton Rouge, when a woman noticed my sign attached to my bike, and told me she had just been diagnosed with MS. It was so very rewarding seeing that despite her discomfort, she did not feel that she was fighting this condition on her own. This, along with other sentiments by strangers on the road about their familial connection with MS, has truly motivated me and affirmed my commitment to this cause.

Funding for medical research does not grow on trees, support for the sick, regardless of your political philosophy, takes initiative by individuals. So grateful am I for eveyone's support so far, be it to the MS Society, or be it to me for following a passion off the beaten path. I have only scratched the surface of what I am capable of, in terms of enjoying life through trying to make this world a better place for all. I recently heard of my father and step-sister's plans to visit Kenya and help build schools and hospitals for the AIDS inflicted youth of the area through their local church. I swelled with pride upon hearing this news, two more people making efforts to step out of their comforts to help others.

Altruism is a topic that I enjoy arguing about from a philosophical standpoint, no matter if I take the side of its validity and trueness in nature, or the devil's advocate of it being just another selfish means to fulfill our own needs. But that is just a mental exercise for me to play with, because my reality truly values its role in people and in life. We are approaching seven billion people on this earth, exponentially multiplying, and we consume a lot, we've had a violent history, and continue to be a cancerous growth at the expense of other life on this planet. A pessimistic view I suppose, but it is how we rise to meet our challenges, and how we deal with our role here on this planet from here on out that I am truly concerned with now.

I don't know the nature of life, honestly. It may be a selfish, ruthless experiment, destined to fail, or it may be infinite growth and expansion, innately resting in the realm of love and compassion. It is probably a coexistence of both, a harmony of disharmony. We have reflected this percieved duality since first gazing into our own eyes in a calm lake, since the wars, the cures, the conquests, the revolutions, the extinctions, the births, the oppressions, the liberations, the murders, the rapes, the creations, the celebrations, the explorations, the cultivations, and the conservations. I wonder, which of our abilities, traits, or tendencies does god, or mother nature, or karma favor? Which one does my heart favor, which one do you favor, which one is best for my family, which one is best for the world? Will I sit here and ponder my ideals from afar, thus comdemning that reality to a distant, childlike fantasy?

I am grateful to be here, it is a gift that is not guaranteed. All I have to do is follow that which I know is right, that which is truly fulfilling, that which I live for, that which I die for.

Baton Rouge

2008-12-18T10:37:00.000-08:00

Thanks for visiting my blog - and if you haven't been here before, here's a quick overview of what I'm doing.

On December 1st, I embarked on a bicycle journey starting in Atlanta, GA, to raise money for The National Multiple Sclerosis Society. I plan to end the trip in San Diego around the beginning of February. I am visiting national parks, towns and cities, and landmarks both natural and cultural. This is a great opportunity to raise awareness and funds to the elusive cure and treatment of multiple sclerosis. Here's the link to my sponsorship page:

http://main.nationalmssociety.org/site/TR/Events/HOM-General?pg=fund&fr_id=7540&px=5475565

I am currently in Baton Rouge, and my next stop will be Opelousas, Louisiana.

NEWS: I have a new corporate sponsor: www.BeGreenMan.com. They have donated the green suit I am wearing, and proceeds from the sales of Greenman suits generated by my tour will be donated to The National MS Society. Visit www.BeGreenMan.com.

You can read all about my various adventures by clicking the links to the left. I'll catch you at the next stop ~

New Orleans Happened to Me

2008-12-15T22:39:00.000-08:00

There are few, if any, subjects that intrigue me more than the infinite dance of chaos and order. And no more rewarding are these interactions than when they seep out of the realm of physics or cosmology and into the humorous reality of human experience. My New Orleans visit has been a righteous production of random and ridiculous, meaningfully focused absurdity.

I suppose it began when I left the comforts of my oyster boat and hit the road west into Louisiana, despite the buzz of south Louisiana's first snow storm in more than a decade. I really did not have a choice, it's not like I was gonna stay in "RandomFishingCommunity," Mississippi for another night, THAT would make absolutely no sense.

Cold and wet didn't take much of a toll on my spirit during the first half of the day's ride, which I paused just east of the state border to delve into some of the local cuisine: A wonderfully obese shrimp po'boy, bowl of gumbo, and a local brew by the name of Southern Pecan, which happens to be my new favorite by the way, assuming its lustor wasn't merely contextual.

But after I left "J's" restaurant strong headwinds began ruthlessly robbing any inertia my two legs could muster. I'm not gonna lie, I almost cried as I rode on the side of highway 90 going a turtle's pace of 7 mph, and no opportunity for any refuge in any direction but forward. So I just screamed, all by myself, I yelled, I yelled "F#@K!!!" and "THIS SUCKS", which actually helps because upon hearing yourself yell to essentially nobody but the heavens, you become able to laugh at the ridiculous nature of stress, which is a spirit lifter ( a lesson I learned from my good friend Ben, on "dealing with stress of a retail work environment).

So needless to say, I didn't reach the 20 mile, swamp-laden, welcome mat that brings you into New Orleans from the east until well into the night. I was so hardened by my endurance of the regionally atypical winter weather, that the possibility of swamp wildlife or New Orleans crackheads did not shake me in the least, for they would have been encountering a relatively fearless and violent version of myself.

Any remaining fatigue and stress was soothed however as I entered the French Quarter and took the ferry across the Mississippi River to my hostess' lofted abode. I was already falling in love with the city as I heard the backdrop of swampy swing and hungry hospitality that is the soul of the Big Easy.

After a good nights sleep, in fact a great night's sleep, I roamed the west bank community and began soaking in the impoverished's ability to comsume and remain festive. My hostess admittedly liked to "get lit" as she prepared for a night out so I joined her and drank wine and Colt 45s as she rattled off numerous entertaining anecdotes about what it is like to teach kindergarteners from the bottom of the socioeconomic spectrum. Heartwarmingly funny and emotionally taxing as you might expect. She had an obscure taste for nightlife, a lust for humorous hyperbole in the world of bizarre fetishes. We went to a dragshow, which due to my intoxication level, was not at all creepy, and solely hilarious. Following this was a semi-conscious romp through Frenchman Street, littered with vague memories of cocktails and the horn-adorned sonic landscape painted by hoppy accordionists. It was on this random evening of excessive drinking that I met up with my new hostess, a lovely laidback romance novel author (or so she introduces herself as, truthfully shes a student in business school, but thinks that this is boring) with a knack for tour-giving in her home state of Louisiana. A state that she rightfully loves and takes much pride in.

I sit here writing in my green spandex suit chuckling to myself, reflecting on my stay with Cathy. Not girlfriends or doctors have seen me so many times with my pants down in the span of 72 hours as she. The first of which occured as we enjoyed a local jazz band at a bar, and upon making a very bravado pool bet, and losing, I was contractually obligated to run down the block and back naked. I fulfilled my end of the bargain without offending anybody. No viewers of this stunt, male or female, interpreted my actions as "crazy rapist," or "PCP pervert," or any other negative or fearful judgement, just the jovial joy that it was. They even took pictures (God, keep those in the right hands...) which I thought to be a testament to beautifully fun-loving culture of New Orleans.

On Sunday I awoke dehydrated and sore, but I embraced this hangover because it was not unexpected, it was deserved. I alleviated it the best I could with a shower and a couple chugs of water, which usually does the job for me. Cathy put on her best "figurative tour-giving hat" and took me to what was left of the Lower 9th Ward, which in case you didnt know, was the area of New Orleans that was under 18 ft. of water during Katrina.

I did not anticipate the emotional weight that this experience would carry. I've always had somewhat of a detached appreciation for the wartorn or improverished ghettos of the world, so I expected to be enthralled by the images at the very least. But seeing an entirely gutted community with such a deep and significant history (it was the first area where blacks were allowed to own property after emancipation in this country) almost brought tears to my eyes. Knowing that entire family homes homes were swept away by mother nature's unmerciful hand, and some unlucky individuals even lost their lives in there submerged attics evoked a very heavy empathy in me. Not once did I think about the logic of living below sealevel, just that this was a home to many, and only a true disaster could ever sever those residents from New Orleans.

Nothing follows a sorrowful historical lesson like an arbitrary southern drinking game in the park. I learned how to play "Stump." Stump requires a few hammers, a few more nails, and... a stump. It involves flipping the hammer into the hair, and with a fluid, descending blow, forcing your opponents nail further into the stump. And drinking your beer or bloody mary as the rules require. The best part of this game is how stupid it looks from a distance. The festivities also included a savory smorgasbord of meats cooked by the grillmaster, just one of the many, and I mean many, thoroughly fascinating and hospitable individuals I had the pleasure of meeting during my stay here.

I finished the night off at a "Cajun Dancing" competition. A local sport of sorts where locals, all wearing a number, engage in friendly competition by showing off their best two-step with their partner. All while a live Zydeco band provides thier rhythm. I tried, with diminishing returns, to learn this dance, my partners were forgiving...

As I am a harvester and consumer of "meaningfully focused absurdity," especially in the fertile heart of this crop; my new, New Iberian native friend was a true practitioner of this way of life. This pensive and friendly man is a seemingly lazy fellow at first glance (as are many creative Louisianans), but turned out to be anything but (as do many creative Louisianans). He became founder and CEO of America's largest "greenman suit" distributor, noticing a potent market for the product after seeing an episode of FX's sitcom "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia." Begreenman.com, LLC, shall become my first corporate contributor to my cause of finding a cure for multiple sclerosis. He also donated a suit to me for marketing purposes which hopefully will benefit both of our purposes as I ride the rest of my journey in a green, full-body, lycra suit. But lets be honest, it wasn't entirely a business decision, I am a sucker for anything that makes me feel like a funny superhero.

Cheers New Orleans, we shall meet again, possibly on an even greater leisurely lucrative pretext.

Bozzle: Pair o' Docks

2008-12-12T13:44:00.000-08:00

Normal Ned (pink shirt) and Fat Fred (purple shirt) have a job to do today. They have to bring all of the boats to the left side. Both Fat Fred and Normal Ned can operate a boat. Fat Fred must end up on the right side, and Normal Ned will finish up his day on the left side. Skinny Steve (grey shirt on the right) wants a ride to the left side, but he does not have a boat license, so he can only ride in a boat, or be the second operator of a two man boat (like the C boat).

A boats can only fit one person.
B boats can fit two people, but only need one person to drive.
C boats need two people to operate.

All boats use one unit of fuel to get from one dock to the other.

Normal Ned only has 12 units of fuel to be distributed as needed.

Will he be able to complete the job today?

Path of the Moon

2008-12-12T13:04:00.000-08:00

When I close my eyes,
reach inside
a memory of bliss
of which I imbibe

If only for a moment
to pull on your hair
the scent of your neck
with my lips right there

Outward I seek
Sunsets I reap
Over mountains I climb
but with you I shall sleep...
Lay sweat on the ground
I'll never be bound
Upon all my journeys
with you I'll be found...

When I close my eyes
I can feel your silk skin
the touch of your thighs
and the warmth that they give

If only for a moment
we nessle like spoons
cycle of impermanence,
the path of the moon.

Sleeping on Water, west of Gulfport, MS.

2008-12-12T12:49:00.000-08:00

College apartments stocked with frozen meals and beer, state parks with a natural ambiance and and four legged beggars, country homes with the scent of livestock and 10 mile dialects... none of which carry the rewards of nomadic leaving as do the cabin of this oyster boat which I am sharing a fishing couple tonight. As I waited out a storm at a local chicken joint, a gentleman urged me not to try to ride through the weather, but to stay in his boat for the night. I sit now in a bunk, in the old boat, the winds rocking back and forth as my clothes dry on a line.

The man is weary of my writings, hoping that I leave out the parts about him and his wife arguing about who bought the beer, and who drinks more, and pleading with me to add that he was in the service. These are all semantics, the only thing I have judged these individuals as is being warm and hospitable, just travelling and working for a living, weathering the storms of life on the road, just like the one that rocks the boat right now.

I could not be happier at this moment than to just listen to anecdotes, advice, and bickerings of this migrant Kansas couple, watching the lights sway, the weeds on shore blow horizontal in the wind, and the sound of the rain as it pours on this gulf fishing port.

Immobile In Mobile

2008-12-12T12:24:00.000-08:00

Montgomery is an ugly town, and the rest of Alabama south of that can be pretty, but it is almost devoid of any refuge for the bipedal traveller. Luckily, I met Gus, and his wife, goat ranchers outside Monroeville who let me set up camp in their front yard. Gus' wife even brought a glass of OJ as I packed up my camping stuff the next morning. The ride into Mobile took me all day and night, but I could not give up early for I was too excited to be on the coast, and in a warm bed.

As I crossed numerous lakes and rivers coming into Mobile I was thrilled to see palm trees, department stores, and the salty gulf breezes that let me know that I was no longer in the Middleofnowhere, Alabama. I met my gracious host at a hookah bar in town where I promptly put my legs up, smoked hookah, and drank rich imports. I let the relaxation begin, and it had literally, just begun. My host was very sweet and friendly with cool cats and a comfy apartment. After a good nights sleep at her place I got in touch with a girl I knew from Atlanta who now went to school in Mobile.

It was my intention to visit with her, have a good dinner, and watch football and movies. We did just that, and more, for three solid days. It is almost counter-intuitive for a grown man to leave a giving woman, affection, hot meals, and relaxation to hit the road and sleep outside, especially in winter. But as with the cougar in Montgomery, I grabbed on to that elusive thread of ambition and followed it out of town and didn't look back. But I'm not gonna lie, if football was played all week long, I might still be there.

Cougar's Tale

2008-12-12T11:46:00.000-08:00

I got a hotel room in Montgomery the night after Wetumpka. I knew it would be my last night in a warm bed for a couple days, so naturally, I wanted to make the most of it. Hot shower, a six pack of Yueng Ling, I laid down and watched Showtime for hours. Despite my admittedly sinical view of Alabama culture, I wanted to experience some nightlife, and fortunately there was a bar right across the street from my hotel.

Not knowing what to expect, I strolled into the "American Pub" where I immediately noticed a busty brunette on the mic presenting shirtless young men on stage. "What kind of bar is this?" I thought to myself. It turned out not to be a gay bar or a bachelor auction, but an ultimate fighting weigh-in extravaganza, and local media was there to cover it all. I ate some fantastic hot wings and observed the goings-on. I noticed something that I had previously taken a mental note of during my visit to Auburn. All around the pub were little group of attractive blonde girls, but upon closer inspection I became cognisant of the optical illusion they had become masters of. It involves an orange tan, lots of make-up, platinum blonde hair, and those furry leather boots called "Ugs". This look turns any "5" or "6" into an "8" or "9" from a good distance. Kudos to those illusionists!

I befriended an energy drink distributor named Ernie. Him and I went to a different bar to finish watching the Charger v Raiders game, then went to check out some local music. Ernie might have been the best Montgomery representative in the whole town, very hospitable and supportive of my journey, as were the bartenders he knew. Needless to say I had quite a buzz going at this point so I decided to finish the night off back at the American Pub, for the weigh-in was over and it was still packed with women.

The melanin-infused and animal skin adorned females were much more enticing to me at this point, and it wasn't my intention to spend this night alone in my hotel room. Upon making friends with a couple groups of patrons I began to receive attention from a girl celebrating her 21st birthday, and her friend, who by my judgements, had recently celebrated her 42nd. I tried to delegate my focus to this mother/daughter combo so as not commit to any particular age strata. The cougar drew me away from her cub by showing off her tail and sticking her tongue in my mouth. I must admit, it was entirely a mandible intrusion, it was invited.

As she went to get more drinks I began thinking about how many more drinks I might have to have to keep up, how many more dumb conversations, and any weird hoops I might have to jump through to seperate this cougar from her cub, and how ill-rewarding this encounter would be as I rode 80 miles the next day with a hangover and five hours of sleep. Knowing that this clarity was valuable and swiftly fleeting, I stealthily fled the bar as if my logic was shoplifted.

As I tackled more hills and evaded dog attacks the next day, I became increasingly grateful for not having to chalk up a cougar encounter during my trip through Montgomery, Alabama.

On Comfort in Wetumpka

2008-12-12T10:18:00.000-08:00

I lay here, surrounded by dozens of hungry, but timid, feral cats; my headlamp reflects all of their eyes, all waiting with curious anticipation. I hear the sporadically awkwark movements of armadillos nearby, following their noses to whatever armadillos follow their noses to.

The breeze causing the dry, december foliage to stir, a crisp breath in the canopy is the exhale of my rewarding day. Zen can be an elusive pursuit, temporarily hijacked by fears and desires. But reaffirmation only requires an open eye on your part, to see the delicate, sublime balance that nature IS, as it rests.

This balance is forged of fire and ice, bloody and passionate extremes,

and like the mind,

the unified nature,

is none of these.

Your love is not benign, it writhes when it's not free.

To not be a slave, one must fight, faithfully,

in the face of that which made it

behaving violently,

faithful that upon dusk...

the dawn of beauty.

In these prose and on this night, I reflect on the value of comfort.

For what you give up and for what you shall fight, determines the value of comfort.

Country Dogs

2008-12-01T21:08:00.000-08:00

"Alabama the Beautiful" and "Georgia On My Mind", nobody was more thrilled about being on the division of two states than the gas station clerk, "The fireworks section is in Alabama". But I'm not gonna lie, having to go back in time to get fireworks was a concept that I entertained.

Both my hosts have been incredible thus far. Both very accommodating, friendly, and trustworthy people. I had a great salmon dinner in Auburn, and refreshing Orange Juice in Carrollton. These encounters of life were very rewarding and comfortable, unlike my welcome from the east Alabama canidae family. At about mile 40 or so miles of my trip today, I began to confront an unleashed influx of ill-mannered farm dogs. As I write this, I'm reminded of a previous entry Ive done about the difference between canines in a more natural environment than in a suburban or city environment.

It turns out that country dogs are f@$#ing crazy.

By crazy I mean intensely territorial and have impulses to hunt cross country bikers in packs. My first two encounters weren't that bad. Just yard-bound barkers. But down the road aways, dogs came in the road and attempted group mugging procedures, i.e. L.A. riots. I just sped up and barked at them, which seemed to startle them a bit, but not enough to ward away two of them from snipping at my bike.

So I learned about leash laws in the country, whodathunk? Next time i'll have pepper spray, or just hope that all the dogs I pass will be during my speedy downhill passing.

My butt is sore, the stars are beautiful, I'm well fed, and I'm not as much of an apex predator as I thought without implementing a more advanced use of tools. Thanks evolution!

First 15 days, Atlanta to Houston

2008-11-30T08:07:00.000-08:00

My adventure across the nation begins this morning I have a request for anyone who visits this blog. I will be bicycling the southern tier of the United States, attached is a map of where I am going. This is not a race, its an exploration, and if you have ANY tips of fun, beautiful, tasty, mysterious, dangerous, or just interesting places to see or people to visit, please leave a comment and I will try to check it out.

Points of Interest:
Local Cuisine
Caves
Waterfalls
Abandoned Cities or Buildings
Bars
Museums
Rodeos
Wildlife
........you get the jist. Thanks a lot

View Larger Map

FIRST 15 DAYS

Nov. 30---Carrollton, Tobey Neal
Dec. 1----Auburn, Kacie Hodges
Dec. 2----Wetumpka, Fort Toulouse/fort jackson state park
Dec. 3----Selma, Army Corps of Engineers
Dec. 4----Between Thomasville and Jackson, Stealth Camping
Dec. 5----Mobile, Emily Jones
Dec. 6----Gulfport, MS. Burnsway RV park
Dec. 7----New Orleans, Amanda Godbee
Dec. 8----New Orleans
Dec. 9----Baton Rouge, Couch Surfer
Dec. 10----Opelousas, on southern tier trail
Dec. 11----De Ridder, on southern tier trail
Dec. 12----Spurger, on southern tier trail
Dec. 13----Coldspring, on southern tier trail
Dec. 14----Houston!!! Uncle Jim House!!!

The Pieces are Falling into Place

2008-11-19T13:56:00.000-08:00

So I'm leaving pretty soon, and a new opportunity peeked it's smiling face around the corner to me. My good friend, Emily, called me today and expressed her desire to live a life of travel and volunteer. I told her I had been thinking a lot lately about visiting our elderly that much of our society has forgotten about, and talking with them about their lives, and my life, and just making their last days important to me, because they are. We were on the same page, we love donating our time to goodness, but we need to make sure it is worthwhile, not the selling of arbitrary products to increase our material wealth.

I told her of my friend Michael Galardi's Jolly Green Ice Machine, a concept thus far, but one day a travelling eco-friendly bus that sells exciting flavors of shaved ice at festivals and concerts. I thought that with the right merits, this idea could be a truly holistically fulfilling endeavor. Emily's mission of volunteering is important to me, and upon my return I will join her(in march probably). It is hard to get people to trust you these days to do good things with a donation, and everyone is so worried the liability of a volunteering vagabond, and people generally want to hold on to their money unless you are giving them something, understandable. I thought about combing Galardi's idea with the idea of travelling volunteers, so that we would have an income by selling our product, but return all of the loot back into our various causes.

As we travelled around to different fundraisers, festivals, and concerts to sell our product. We could spend the week in between volunteering in different cities. Doing things like spending time at old folk's homes, organizing fun events for underpriveleged children, working at organic farms, wildlife refuges, and working for different causes that could use our labor. What a perfect mix of travel, music, art, and giving back.

With the discipline, knowledge, and experience I gain from my bicycle adventure, I will adopt this new lifestyle of volunteering and the spreading of joy. Thank you Emily and Galardi for inspiring me to figure out how to follow the noble path, and do so in an endlessly fun manner.

Sonnet for the Lost

2008-10-22T21:06:00.000-07:00

What inside of me
knows it is forever?
Swells of tears fill my eyes,
which separate now and never.

I can not lie, valedictory tides
rise on the shores of truth
avert my eyes, in these goodbyes
while we share a finite youth

As we seize this void in a breath
an immortal wind blows through
it's whispers make us laugh,
in the face of a timeless truth

Before I leave, close your eyes, remember now forever
shed a tear, then crack the smile, that separated now from never

My intended path, two more months...

2008-10-20T14:42:00.000-07:00

faith, fear

2008-10-19T09:46:00.000-07:00

faith, fear... fear,

need I remind you what it does?
as my brow weighs heavy
on a forgotten love,
fear knows what it takes
to enslave your so called love
and try to keep you down there,
til its all said and done

these chains bearing heavy
though bound to me they're not
the light glaring from above
though bound to me its not

as the words and sting of fear drowns you in defeat
and signs from beyond haunt you in your sleep
what light is that inside to what force does it belong?
what space can I take in this time forever long?

my destiny approaches like its been there all along,
dont feel the chains
but feel the change
in the direction of your song

Run in tattered rags from the dungeon that you had
the fear fades like dust in wind, no stagnancy is had
your hair grows long your rags turn white, their is something shining out
that light from above is in your hands, share it as you shout
its me!
its you!
all is one were free!
open up my arms...
and love you eternally

Bozzle: Global News

2008-10-16T07:24:00.000-07:00

Geological Sonnet

2008-10-15T18:45:00.000-07:00

I pressed my palms into the dirt
upon a mound of granite where I sat
Atop the summit I squeezed the earth
upon this mountain which I sat

I felt the weight held in my hands
to the Earth it was attached
a tectonic plate, made of land
twas on lava where it sat

These stones they told a story
an earths generation in a moment
They revealed an ancient quarry
of quakes and ocean currents

Somewhere on Pangaea was a single cellular birth
Now I sit upon this mountain, an extension of living Earth

Walk Yourself

2008-10-15T17:42:00.000-07:00

We have a lot in common with our canine companions, we have had a mutually
beneficial relationship for quite a while now.  Weve been through a lot
together, and over time, weve become pretty strange creatures.
In an evolutionary sense, there is no advantage, much less time for,
depression, illogical compulsions, and stagnant anxiety.

It seems to only get worse the more we visit the pharmacy and the
pay by the hour couch with a Ph.D.
How have we arrived to these uncomfortable emotions and habits?

If you have ever seen a wolf, a coyote, of even farm or
outside dogs who have a mutual relationship with their human friends,
you will notice they act like animals.  They don't do strange things like
get obsessed with a tennisball, or shiver when nervous, or bark
excessively, or chase their tails, or chew their own hide when there is
nothing wrong with it.  These are examples of behaviors acquired when
removed from their natural state and contained in an environment with
unnatural boundaries and schedules, with no outlet for all of their
natural energy that they evolved to have.  Humans also acquire these
strange neuroses.

For tens of thousands of years homo sapiens hunted, gathered, adjusted
their dwellings and location for season, rested when their environment
permitted, ate when they were hungry, walked everywhere, were not in
contact with thousands of people daily, did not stress about currency,
but recently we have had forty hour work weeks, television (instead of
stars and sunsets), cars, you are only allowed on certain plots of land
on certain paths, food in excess with little of the natural energy that
aboriginal diets contain, phones, traffic, schools, lines.

We are dogs who dont get walked enough.  Homeowners with the resources
that could house an entire native south american tribe get depressed
and anxious and take pills and drink and do destructive things because
their lives have no challenge, all protocol, all of their energy is
either destructively focused inwards or neurotically focused outward in
the cases of excessive exersizers or cleaners or overcare for their
children who end up with their own problems because they are not
allowed to exersize their young creative brains, staying busy with
things their folks think they should be doing to maintain the status
quo, and when they get a break they just shut down their creative
processes and jump into the imagination of some other guy in the form
of a video game.

When people undergo the natural cycles of lower energy they overthink
their seasonal changes and inability to perform their repetitive tasks
and they get depressed and question their worth and what everyone
thinks about them.

Work when you need to, help when you can, chill when you want to chill,
sleep when you want to sleep, laugh when it's funny, eat when you
want to eat, express when there is something to be expressed,
adventure when you feel its time and if you cant find a relative balance...
go somewhere and do something where you can.  You don't have to be a
slave to society, you wont get captured and euthanized for running away,
hopefully.

For You

2008-10-07T09:57:00.000-07:00

listen to noise of your body,
but speak love,
with the voice of your heart,

demand pureness,
soothing deep from the soul,
disrupt distraction,
with the voice of your heart

simplify,
the thoughts composing your mind,
look inside,
with the minds eye,

then close it,
and hear with your mind,
seek truth,
and truth you will find

listen to the heart and the voice that resides,
so humbly, faithfully,
but the essence of life,
and embrace it,

with only your mind
and watch it dissipate
and the heart it will find

no vanity as the heart doesnt have pride,
with no frame of reference or edges or sides,
just natural synergy, an extension of THE,

grand ol divinity, this part is me.

love it

In and Out of Quanta, In and Out of Space

2008-10-06T12:24:00.000-07:00

I Leave

2008-09-30T12:21:00.000-07:00

To smell the world
the essence of life
in all great cities
and the countryside
I embark on a journey
that shall fill me with awe
at the scent of the seasons
in the winds promenade

To push my legs
and my breath to the edge
Sacrifice comfort
when the earth is your bed
But experience shines
in a disciplined path
not dulled by a static
existence that's flat

Uphill I'll fight and downhill I'll ride
My reward is the moment, not ego or pride

blue and red

2008-09-17T04:01:00.000-07:00

Her eyes have no gaze, just a curious wander

Lust and desire... she quietly ponders

Her flirtations make me smile,

and I long to hear her laughter

touch her nape and pull her in,

write the affair chapter

my ego subsides, a conquest dies

not mine to be had, love from outside

but is the ultimate appreciation not one holistic?

physical, spiritual, sensual beautiful

to create and take away,

to hurt but leave stronger,

a favor to some, abhorrent to some...

the answer lies in a land of no questions

my ego subsides, a conquest dies

and love is washed of all desire

polished to shine, no rust or grime

for a moment in my hand, to let her be mine

Bozzle: My Friends Sure Are Strange

2008-09-03T03:34:00.000-07:00

Ive made some friends travelling around this country, and I keep in touch with most of them via Facebook. These are some of the stranger "status updates" posted recently, I wanted to share them with you.

Simon Seed insists octagons want asymmetry.
Kat Poe kills any neighborhood solicitor around suppertime
Bo Slucum has always wanted an indigenous inbred
Gus Atua makes any invention not exciting
Lou Hulon only has insane observations
Kyle Clitasta unselfishly takes a half
N.E. Cheney wishes you offered more industrious ninja guidance
Peter Limon vulcanizes every rubber made on northern terrain

I switched two of my friends' status updates with eachother, I hope they aren't offended by any misrepresentation, but it should be quite obvious which ones they are. Can you point them out and correct the error?

Bozzle: Which box does not belong?

2008-08-27T15:00:00.000-07:00

One of these boxes contain a set of dots that do not follow the set of rules used for the other eight. Which box is it? feel free to guess and discuss.

How to Play Frisbee Tennis:

2008-08-27T14:37:00.000-07:00

Materials:
-Tennis Court, standard net
-175 gram Frisbee

Servature:
-Beginning on right side back court, serve behind the box you serve to in tennis.

Returning:
-No bounces or ground touch allowed.
-You must catch the frisbee and throw while in the air, if your feet are on the ground
while holding the frisbee, point against you.
-So long as you are in air, you can smack, throw, slam, kick, head butt, body block the
frisbee into the opponents territory.(no alleys in singles play)
-You are allowed to breach the net plane

Scoring:
-like tennis, love, 15, 30, 40, deuce, advantage, etc...
-best of seven game sets
-best of three set match
-optional third set must win by two, or first to reach seven games.

Its an intense game with bruised fingers and frustrating wavering domination.
If you think you stand a chance, let me know.

To Lucy, its Lloyd

2008-08-24T10:06:00.000-07:00

As the wind lifts you aboard,
and fills my sails
the seas rise and the tempest wails

my mind floods with the desires of man
but the ship stays course
with a steady hand

embrace the unknown
and like a diamond in coal
under high pressure
I shall reach my goal

wordly distractions and ill thought out actions
short term satisfaction
the tempest presides

the light through the clouds
a hand lifts the shrouds
see the beauty beyond
and enjoy the ride

ask what it means and youre half way there
this sure is fun and a pleasure to share
Ive got to go now but one thing I must tell,
not sure why you asked...
but my middle name starts with a,

L

World Inspire You

2008-08-24T09:43:00.000-07:00

as my personal flow goes see the hurt of the world
the tests of life only said in the words
but the truth of who feels it is the hurt of the earth
and the stress by its growth always his and hers
protectin they welfare any way life does

aging historical prospect,they simple like insects,but live on experience
a crazy experiment,

daily affirmations of the things that important
only make a difference if your soul is a student
so it expands and learns all the things that around it
find your world,,, and see how your soul fits

relax, but dont sit around dont flood your desires
the overflow is trash not the trash that inspires
get off yo ass get out the past make the world inspire you
get off yo ass get out the past make the world inspire you

All One

2008-08-24T09:37:00.000-07:00

all alone grew the space, where solo particles occupied,
alone wisped the time, where movement went unescorted,
by itself a star was formed, lonely hydrogen densely packed in,
as a companionless planet drew a lonesome circle around,
and around that wandered a single solitary satellite

A solitary instance of matter acted upon itself,
a single life was born, with a single split, followed by another
and consciousness spun into fruition
where a single self is recognized,to be alone in ones given mission
of a simply singular paradigm

alone she lays, breathing, a sole warmth
alone I feel that wave, from my skin to my lonely breath
alone my hand explores her thigh,
and alone she rubs her ear across my lips,
alone i imbibe her smell,
and alone she utters her love,
alone i embrace her soul
and alone we whisper, all one.