Neroing across the country

Day ^: The mountains hurt us. They hurt us really badly. We were both feeling it hard and so we decided on a nero. A nero is a day where you do near zero miles. It's really a hiking term, but me and Stumbles are trying to bring it over to the cycling community. We did about 38 painful and uneventful miles before spending pretty much the whole day in bed drinking wine and trying to recoup.

Day &: We had super good intentions for this day. We'd planned a pretty big mile day just short of Wheeling hoping to finally get out of Pennsylvania and hopefully out of the mountains as well. Then we got to little Washington and sat around a bit watching the wind rattle the streetlamps outside. It turned into a nero. Obviously we're really good at this bike riding thing.

Day *: Finally! Finally finally finally I made it to blogging the same day that I lived. Because that is just so much easier to do. Once a day becomes not today it blurs together with all the rest of the not today days. There is nothing as specific as last Monday, yesterday, or the 12th. In my mind days fall into one of two categories, and two categories only. Today, and not today. If it's today, cool, if it's not today, whatever. And that's how I see it. But it's today! Oh gloriousness it is today! Today today today! Let me tell you about today! Because today was one of those days where it didn't really go as planned and it was all the more eventful for it!

I woke up feeling pretty good today. So did Stumbles. We both woke up around 5:30 and unanimously decided to go back to sleep for another half hour before starting to get everything together. Since we'd neroed the past two days I was feeling fresh and I swear my quads are an inch or two wider than the day I started this trip. Stumbles informed me that she'd booked a place for us 70 miles away. Okay cool, that means we ARE going to go 70 miles today. It's time to start getting at least a little bit of distance now that we are out of the Appalachian mountains. We need some street cred you know? Instead of being these two fools drinking wine and eating their way across America we need to be these two fools drinking wine, eating, and riding their bikes across America. I was cool with it. It was a great day for big miles, super overcast, but cold. And so we were off.

We were off and doing great. The hills weren't killing us, in fact they were just enough to keep me warm. The terrain was good and my ass wasn't alight in pain. All was well, we were hitting it good and feeling great too. Before we knew it we were at the border of PA and WV! Woo! Goodbye PA and good riddance to your mountain riddled southern half! Hello West Virginia, I hope we get along well.

I realized quickly we wouldn't get along because West Virginia is still living about 100 years in the past and doesn't know how to pave a road properly. Pot hole after pot hole after giant crack traversing the entirety of the road. Every 10 feet there was something unavoidable and it took its toll on my already bent rim. I felt something go, and, at first, I thought it was a flat. I looked down at my back tire and no flat, but something was wrong. I stopped and looked at it. Looks like I just broke a spoke. No problem, I can handle that. Stumbles borrows some wire cutters from the working crew that happens to be across the street and I just cut it off thinking I'll ride the 10 more miles to Wheeling and get it fixed there. Well... it wasn't just the spoke. The rim was bent more than it was before hand. It was bent, really bent. Bent like I was in Ireland bent. Completely unrideable... No way at all. My grandpa, always having the best words of wisdom, would say this to me: you're SOL, shit out of luck. Thanks grandpa.

What was there to do but try and hitch into town? Good thing I'm the best hitcher there ever was. Stumbles wandered off to see if she could find a ride while I good ol' fashion thumbed it. 10 minutes maybe, that was it, before Jeff picked us up (a well doing mom tried to help us before that but we couldn't fit the bikes in the car). Jeff is a volunteer firefighter and an EMT. He was just on his way to breakfast when he saw these two no good bicyclist on the side of the road and being a biker himself (motorcyclist) helped us out by taking us to the bike store in Wheeling!

The guy at the bike store fixed me up good with one of his wheels that he'd recently acquired, he was a super nice dude. Lovely little bike shop and enthusiastic about life. It was awesome! We then proceeded to have breakfast at an amazing little diner with Jeff where we got to know him a little better. Super kind and nice guy! It was great meeting you Jeff!

(Bike guy and Jeff)

Since that took us a little while me and Stumbles decided to get on our way and hit it hard. Which we did for a while. We had to jump on the interstate once because we weren't going to take a 10 mile detour when we could just ride the interstate for one mile. Problem was half the interstate was missing...

We needed to do that same thing again later, jump on the interstate for a bit that is, by jumping a fence, hopping on the interstate, and riding a mile or two to the next access road. We decided to climb up over this little hill and the barbed wire fence to get to the interstate on the other side, but when we got to the top there was a little baby cow inside the fence. When I say little baby cow I mean, since I don't know anything about how to age a cow, he was probably like a 12 year old boy in human years. He was angsty and curious about us. We were considering braving him, but I was totally getting a rape vibe from him so we decided to ride back a ways and find a better crossing. As we rode off we heard a moo from a lonely cow follow us down the road.

When we were about to forge through the forest to the only fence stopping us a truck was driving by and we put our thumbs out mostly for fun and because it was a truck that could take our bikes too, Funnily enough mike stopped for us and drove us the 2 miles stretch of the interstate so we wouldn't have to ride it. It was awesome, thanks Mike!!

We finished out the last 16 miles of the day to make it to a total of 70 miles no problem, A really random day with a few twist and turns, but that's how adventure is supposed to be!

Be happy everyone!

Beacon

Confirmed: We really have no idea what we're doing

Day #: Stumbles convinced me to get up early and get ourselves on our way, but, I'm going to be honest here, my butt was absolutely killing me from being on the saddle for the 8 (or however long) hours it took us to ride the 78 (or however far) miles we ended up going the day before. My butt was so sore it was tender to the merest whispers of the wind, how was I supposed to perch the whole of my weight on a slim saddle atop my Cervelo? I just had to man up and do it. There was no questions about it, I knew this trip was going to hurt. After some goodbyes to Phys Ed and his wife me and Stumbles were on our way west! Not even knowing what we were really doing or where we were going for the night. We just knew we were on our way.

Until, 8 miles into that mornings ride, Stumbles' pedal fell off her crank again. Well....... It's hard to pedal one legged so I gave Phys Ed a call and he graciously drove the short distance we'd managed to put between us and Gettysburg, picked our sorry selves up off the side of the road, and took us to the bike store in Gettysburg so we could attempt to get our shit together. Stumbles got her pedal fixed and a new helmet so I couldn't make fun of her for looking like she was in elementary school anymore. We tried a to bend my rim back in to shape with some small success and I bought a new saddle. The best $100 I have ever spent, ever, in my entire life. I wasn't worried about my skinny little chicken legs for this ride. I wasn't worried about my pale complexion in the sun all day for this ride. I was worried about my ass. Only my ass, and this one purchase has saved my ass. It ain't like I'm sitting on a cloud, but it no longer feels like I'm trying to cut myself in half with my saddle.

After the bike store we took a nap in the grass. Made it 25 miles that day. I know, I know, we're pathetic. And I don't disagree, but we're gettin' there regardless of our lack of any idea about what we're doing.

Day $: This is it. This is the day we hit the mountains. This is what Stumbles had been fearing the whole time, and, probably, what I should have been fearing as well. My philosophy doesn't work fear into it though. I like to say things like 'It's all good' or 'no worries' or 'this is easy' the whole way through any adventure, even if it's not, because it gets me through the pain, and once all the pain is over I can look back and legitimately say 'that was easy' because it's over. Truthfully though, they hurt. They f'n hurt. We did 3 climbs on this day. 2 mountains, one hill between the two. That's how I would categorize it. 40 miles in the end, because the mountains hurt us. They hurt us bad. I reckon we rode 10+ miles at 9% on this day. Considering neither Stumbles or I am in shape, it hurt. It hurt a lot.

I could probably right some fanciful thing about how we conquered the mountains here. I absolutely could actually, because at the top of each mountain I could feel that we might actually make it all the way to the West coast on this insane endeavor of ours. I could feel the ecstasy of conquering something that was giving me doubts. Those sort of 'come to Jesus' (I don't think I'm using that how it's supposed to be used, but it's how I think of it) feelings where you don't actually know you can do something but you want to, and, then, suddenly, you realize you're already doing it. It's happening. It's going to happen. Some day next month I'm going to coast up to the West coast and, since I'm a wuss, probably cry a little bit as I look back and know I rode from the Atlantic for no other reason than I wanted to and I knew I could. I'm doing it, it's going to happen. That's all there is to it. Those sort of feelings, where you see all that coming true, make me want to write fanciful things full of imagery and impressive vocabulary (yeah right), but honestly I'm too tired to get fanciful for you right now. So, let's leave it at this: the mountains hurt, but they didn't kill us.

Day %: This is a notable day. Why? Because, the day before, we beat ourselves against mountain after mountain and we probably weren't ready for it. And we did the same against some other formidable hills and a mountain on this very day. The only thing that got us through this day was the antique shop. The cutest little antique shop almost at the top of this brutal beast of a climb. We were out of water, even though a car pulled over and gave us two extra bottles, out of energy, and out of desire to wage war against gravity. We reached the little store defeated with talks of hitching to a town because we just couldn't do the rest of the miles we'd planned for the day, and we needed a place to stay for the night. Camping wouldn't do it when we were wrecked like this. We needed a shower and warm water and shitty television. But we couldn't ride on.



Until the little antique shop. The sweetest old people inside. They gave us iced tea, brownies, fruit salad, pork sandwiches, bottles of water, and, the best of all, words of encouragement in the shape of 'you're done with the hills'. It was exactly what we needed in the middle of a sweltering climb. We needed it so badly and they were there to pull us out of the darkness we'd been sinking into. Such incredibly nice folk. And with that, we rallied. We fucking rallied and we fucking rode the 20 more miles into Somerset where we'd planned on making it for the day. It wrecked us, it hurt us bad, but we made it.

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I'm doing my best to get caught up to where we are now, but at the end of the day I'm usually pretty exhausted and can't muster enough heart to write. Sorry these are boring, but it's just us riding our bikes around screaming out Taylor Swift and Adele songs. Having catch phrases like 'summer of skinny' and 'let's just night bike to Cali'. Quite a damn good time actually, I'm loving it. And yeah we get flats and whatever and normal things happen, but that ain't worth writing about. We're having fun, and we're on our way! I'll write more when I can and, again, I apologize for the low quality of the blogs. I'll think up a fanciful one soon. Maybe.

(We've no idea what we're doin') 

Be happy y'all!

Beacon

Stumbles Tumbles and a couple days into the ride

I still find it the funniest damn thing in the world that me and Stumbles' first day 'riding our bikes across America' was a zero day. A zero day being a day where we do zero miles for one reason or another. And that one reason or another for us happened to be that we partied a little too hard the night before to be going on such an endeavor the next day. But that tends to happen every once in a while and now we are actually kind of on our way. Let me see, we've probably only done about 140 miles at this point and right now we're in Breezewood Pennsylvania... umm.. I just really don't know what to write about this sort of adventure you know? Do y'all want to know how we're doing it? Why? Should I write about miles and specifics? Or just romanticize the idea of the whole adventure on a whim sort of thing? The 'my body has no limits I don't tell it' sort of thing? I don't really know? It's really just me and Stumbles riding our bikes across America and all. Nothing fancy, and the funniest thing is how utterly and ridiculously unprepared we are. I'll just give a little outline with a little details of how on all this silliness we've been about, that sounds good.

Day !: That was the zero day, y'all know that. Stumbles maintains that we didn't really start until the day after, but I like to say we started out with a 0.

Day @: I made it out of the parking lot in the cute little park at the edge of Havre de Grace, Maryland. Well, maybe made it to the edge of the parking lot before I had to pump up my back tire for the first time. We made it another few blocks before I had to stop to pump it up again, because it was just looking really low ye know? After that I gave up and we went on for a few miles before, for the final f'n time, I decided to figure out what was wrong with my back wheel. While I stopped to examine it Stumbles had her first adorable tumble because she wasn't quite practiced at unclipping yet. Hell, we've all been there when we first get clip in pedals, it's a strange and foreign concept! Having your feet attached to your pedals like that! I only laughed at her a bit, and then discovered that my back rim was bent. My wheel was going whomp-a-whomping, nearly rubbing the frame with every rotation, and, if you don't know, that's not a good thing. Don't know how it happened, but I have my theories (I'm looking at you AMTRAK). This means that I couldn't use my rear break at all because the whomp-a-whomping simply would not allow. Grand. Nothing I could do about so I decided to keep on riding and ignore the fact that my back wheel looked drunk.

Ride a bit, get to a stop light, and down goes Stumbles, right in front of all the cars. Clip-ins take practice. Stumbles being Stumbles, she takes it like a champ and we get about 10 miles more before her pedal comes detached from her bike, still lodged in her shoe. And then she falls over. Well we rigged that as best we could, and that about does it for mishaps on the first day. Oh wait, except that Stumbles has never done a bike ride over 15 miles before and I hadn't ridden my bike in about a year and a half.... We had a painful lull around mile 40, where all the hills were. Regardless, we rode 78 miles to Gettysburg on day one and at one point we came to a road upon a lake where I had a serious sense of deja vu (where are accents on a computer?!). I realized I had hitched down that same road last year when I was doing my little hitching thing around America! It got me super excited. I love realizing I've been everywhere. Compared to our first day, the zero, we kind of had an infinite increase in mileage production. 

I'm sure people are going to be curious about how we eat and where we stay and all. For some reason people are always interested in specifics like that. On that first day we just ate at little country shops we found along the way. We stayed at my friend Phys Eds house in Gettysburg. Phys Ed is one of the coolest guys I know. I met him hiking the Appalachian trail and he does so much for trail that it's inspiring. It seems like he is always up at the museum giving a talk about trail or trying to figure out some cool way to do trail magic. Plus he welcomes my smelly self in whenever I role around on whatever random adventure I've been participating in at the time (AKA hitching/bike rides). Him and his wife both are some of the most generous and genuinely interesting people I've ever met. His excitement about things is unparalleled. When me and Stumbles finally got to Gettysburg there is no doubt we were a little beat (especially my ass). Phys Ed was hosting a fancifulish gathering at his house so we kind of got snuck into the upstairs where we showered up and got ready to hit the town. We'd meant to go to the bike store but it was too late by the time we were there. We just went out and met up with Lost'n'found, who we both know from trail as well. It was just one of those really good trail reunion nights where we can all really let loose all that held up trail talk we'd been waiting to get out. Phys Ed met up with us later that night and we all just had fun talking about trail. Couldn't get too wild though because we were dang beat from the 78 miles. But whatevs, it was all good!

Day #: To be continued....


I understand this is a reaaaaally boring blog. But this bike riding thing is pretty hard, at least while we're still fresh into it AND in the middle of the mountainish country. I am darn exhausted by the end of the day. Real writing takes time and energy, neither of which I have at the moment. Wait a bit and I promise they'll get better. This was as much as I could catch y'all up on for now!

Be happy,

Beacon

This one's for the Goose

4:30a. I'm still drunk. I haven't opened my eyes yet, but I can feel it. I know it. I'm still drunk, and pleasantly so, as my alarm is wailing beside me. I really don't want to wake up, I feel like it might even be physically impossible for me to leave the warm fuzzy stupor that last nights shenanigans have left me in. I groggily unstick my eyelids from each other and... I shoot straight up! What the hell happened last night? Why is there a bag of Cheezeits slung all over the bed and myself? Oh man. Standing on the hotel nightstand next to my bed is a lamp I reach over and switch on, turn off my alarm, and check my phone. It's blown up. Brushing the Cheezeits off me I make sure no ones trying to reach me for a reason. Nope. What time did I even go to bed last night? We couldn't have left the the bar later than 10pm... but we did start kind of early... And it was Cinco de Mayo... As well as the start of our trip... Those will be my excuses for how much I'm gonna' hurt for it today. Set my alarm for another half hours sleep, turn out the lamp.


5:00a. I'm still drunk. Well, that wasn't really gonna' change with a half hour sleep I suppose. Thank the lord I'm not hungover. I don't know what I did to deserve that beautiful blessing, but, regardless, thank the lord. Then I see my water bottle on the nightstand next to me and know that was probably the saving grace. My stomach's tight, but not in knots. I vaguely remember chugging as much water as I could each time I randomly awoke during the night, oh, and I was doing my laundry? I look at my bike on the other bed and I can see I certainly didn't change out my tires or pack anything like I was supposed to do yesterday. I check my phone and see that Stumbles texted me. "Who the fuck decided that shots of whiskey were a good idea!!!" Well, I slyly raise my hand, I guess you can blame me for that one. We agree to leave the hotel at 6:30a. Breakfast at 6:15a. Because WE ARE DOING THIS. And, with that realization, I really need to start doing this, we're supposed to leave on our 3000 (why can't you CAPS LOCK numbers?) mile bicycle ride across America in an hour and a half and I'm more than half drunk from margaritas, beers upon beers upon beers, hell in a shell (whatever the hell that is), and four shots o' Jameson. Instead of making a move I lay there staring at the ceiling, feeling out if I'm really up for this. Because I kind of knowingly and maybe a little bit on purpose/laziness/dgaf/I really don't know what I'm doing in life attitude didn't do JACK ALL in preparation for this itty bitty ride... Nah, it'll be grand and dandy, I ain't worried. So, I set my alarm for another half hour.


5:30a. I can do this. I can get up. I check my phone, Stumbles has changed the leaving time to 6:45a. Well that'll help me a little bit at least. If I get up that is. Alright, I'm doing it. RALLYING. I guess you could call it rallying? I don't know the logistics of what is or isn't a rally, but, fuck, I'm rallying. And roll off the bed to land with a thud. Pull my phone down on top of me by the charger cord and start to blast some upbeat music. 'Whistle while you work it' comes on and I can get my head around that. Moan, stand, look at the fake cheese all over the bed. Where did that even come from? Looks like I slept snuggling a bag of Cheezeits. Which, in fact, it also appears that I did sleep snuggling a bag of Cheezeits. I walk out and across the hall in my bibs (basically a unitard), no fucks given really, pull my laundry out the dryer, and then go back to dump it in a heap by my pack. I need some hot water, that'll get the blood goin'. So I go sit in my handicapped shower.


6:00a. Falling asleep in the shower is a thing cool kids do right? I guess I probably rightly deserved this handicapped room looking at how retarded my night must've been. Surprised I woke up in my room at this point even. I dress in my beacon of a cycling uniform slooooooowly and shoelessly wander out to the free breakfast where I expect to meet Stumbles. I rearrange some furniture and kick it with my feet up.


7:00a. Falling asleep in a crowded hotel breakfast room is a thing cool kids do right? Stumbles shows up, it looks like she may be feeling last night as well. And from the way she is describing Mr. Miller right now it sounds like he may be in the roughest spot of us all. But that's okay I guess because he isn't riding his bike spontaneously across America, he was just the one kind enough to drive us down to Maryland and see us off. Stumbles gets some coffee to take up to him and our chatty jibes about last night unlock some of what actually happened in my brain. I remember us laughing at Mr. Miller's spot on comment of 'your ass will be so tight by the end of this ride you won't be able to drive a nail into it with a sledgehammer'. Damn, we really did go at it last night. We really did get pretty turnt. I'm about to fall back asleep in the chair when Stumbles tells me to go sleep in my room and we'll leave a little later. I oblige.


9:00a. Stumbles is knocking at my door and I let her into the war zone (because of course I STILL have not done anything I need to). 'What is all over this bed?!'. 'Uh.... Cheezeits? Don't remember what happened really, but it's something to do with the Cheezeits I woke up covered in'. Definitely a wild night for a wild adventure to come. And then she drops the bomb. Mr. Miller is gonna' call in to work. Meaning we could potentially, actually, like we were supposed to, prepare for this trip and get a nights sleep before endeavoring on this silly adventure of ours IF we take a zero day... So,......? Decisions? Everyone's thinking it and he was just the one to say it. We walk over to breakfast for real and meet Mr. Miller there. First day riding our bikes across America was a zero day. Anyone who knows the two of us together wouldn't be surprised by it. First day, zero day. This is gonna be an awesome bike ride. We laugh and laugh about it.


Sometime during breakfast. Stumbles mentions the goose. I facepalm. THE GOOSE! HOW COULD I FORGET THE GOOSE! I can't believe we killed a motha' fuckin' suicidal goose yesterday guys!! But really, it flew right in front of the car. Surprised it didn't crash through the windshield actually. And then I ask myself what even is my life and go back to sleep.

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P.S.

I am aware that in some world far far away a blog post such as this could be looked upon as 'bad taste'. That retailing my drunken adventures and endeavors could be seen as 'unprofessional' or some such nonsense. And now, I'm saying to you, the reader, let's be honest with each other. People get drunk and do silly things and it's hilarious. And we all know damn well I ain't no saint. Plus I just enjoy writing, and, even though this blog is about adventure, I stand by that this sort of thing is under the classification of adventure. So, if you're offended by the content or my mouth (fingers?), then I apologize.

Other than that, if you didn't gather, Stumbles and I are about to ride our bikes across the country. Starting in northern Maryland and headed west. Maybe to Seattle, maybe to San Francisco, but we're not 100% sure. It's gonna be fun and I'll blog it for y'all! If you're kind of on that latitude somewhere hit me up and maybe we can stop in for a visit!

Anyways,

Be happy everyone!

Beacon

Sunday (What's next)

I'll be honest, I miss Amber already. Her and I have such a great familial relationship now that it's like saying goodbye to an older sister when I get off the boat. But it is what it is and I'll be seeing her again in a short two months for the summer salmon season. I'm looking forward to going back up for it, but it's good to get some time off the boat too ye know? Fun as well to go through Seattle on the way home!

       Flashback!

Not too long ago, right before herring season in fact, I went through Seattle on my way to Alaska. I spent a few days there in Seattle and, while sitting at a Starbucks in Edmonds, I met a woman named Deanna. Casually you know? How you normally meet someone in a coffee shop. I was sitting in a plush chair, she was sitting in a plush chair, then we started chatting. Now I couldn't tell you word for word how the conversation went, I could probably fudge it to make it passable, but there's no need because I still know how the conversation went even if it isn't word for word.

I was sitting there with the bags and bags of gear I needed to take with me all the way up to Alaska. Sweatshirts packed on top of sweatshirts on top of an orange rubber jacket and orange rubber bibs. I had kind of barricaded myself into the chair I was sitting with my all my packs and my duffle locking me in, so there was no way I could get up without upsetting some article of luggage. I'm sure it looked a mess, but Deanna sat next to me anyways and kindly put the questions of where I was going and, then, what I did up in Alaska. I'm sure I gave her a bit of my traveling spiel and some stories as well because soon the conversation turned to traveling. We talked about Rick Steves for a little bit, and she told me all about her kids then, the traveling and things they've done. About her sons and her daughter, especially the traveling her daughter has done and is looking to do in the near future. The way she talked about them though, I was sucked in. I mean, people tell me about their kids all the time. About how Johnny is going to school for accounting or how Susie is waitressing at Ihop (it's not all so dull as that, ye know I'm exaggerating). And don't get me wrong on this either, everyone's kids are important to them. It's not like some parents care about their kids and some don't. But some people tell me about them and then some people tell me about them, and Deanna told me about them. It doesn't happen very often, but, sometimes, when someone is describing someone they love, the way Deanna was talking about her kids, you can feel how much they care about them. You can feel it really really hard. I could feel how much Deanna cares about her kids, and those sorts of people are the most beautiful kind in my opinion. I didn't walk away feeling like I knew her kids, but I did walk away wanting to know them.

It was exciting meeting Deanna in that random little Starbucks. Meeting a stranger in a place I'm not expecting to is always a shot of espresso in my everyday life. She was so nice and friendly. It was the perfect start to the day I ended up having. I left her with a hug and my name on a piece of paper so she could add me on Facebook, which she promptly did.

End Flashback!

Deanna had been so genuine and kind in our short meeting that I kept up with her a little bit during my time in Alaska. When it was time to purchase my flight back south I planned a couple days in Seattle so I could hang out with her and meet her family. I still can't believe the generosity Deanna showed me upon my return to Seattle. Her and her daughter, Meredith, came and picked me up from the airport, took me home to her lovely lovely home (seriously the cutest house in the world), fed me, we swapped stories, and then I went back to Meredith's where I attempted to woo Charlie, the giant St. Bernard. 

For some reason Charlie was having none of me. I could tell she was the sweetest giant dog ever, but for some reason she didn't want to be my friend. I have a few theories on this. 1. The smell of Gordon on me 2. My beard 3. My dreads 4. I'm a dude. That was the extent of me and Meredith's speculation on the situation. I love dogs though and I couldn't handle Charlie hating me. So I did all I could to get her to love me. I started out getting low ye know? Like you normally do with a dog, letting her sniff my hand, yada yada yada. I was met with low growls the whole time. Okay, so I get on my belly, see? Complete surrender, and inch my way closer and closer to her with my hand stretched all the way out. Now maybe I shouldn't be doing this with a HUGE dog whom I don't know anything about and whom does not seem to be very pleased with my presence in her home. But, like I said, I couldn't bare having her hate me, and I could tell she really was just a sweetheart and something about me was putting her off. But still nothing, no love. So I pet her a bit, kind of forcing it. She doesn't like it. I sweet talk her. Nada. Meredith is nice enough to get me a treat to give to Charlie and she won't even take the treat from me. I let her sniff a dreadlock, because sometimes dogs like to chew on them, and it seems, for an instant, she is interested in it, giving it a good couple sniffs, but I quickly get the cold shoulder again. Then I find that secret spot on every dogs belly where you scratch 'em and their leg just starts air scratchin' right? And I'm sure she enjoyed it, of course she fucking enjoyed it, but she still wasn't happy about me after it. So I ran through all of this again and again and eventually I got some doggy kisses on my face the next morning, but they were very tentative at best. Regardless, I thought they were well earned and I was very proud of those doggy kisses. Charlie, I'm sorry you didn't love me, let me make it up to you some day though, I'll bring you a present next time I'm through.

Meredith, Deanna's daughter, was kind enough to let me stay at hers for the night. Let me tell you, Meredith is awesome. She has traveled all over the place doing all sorts of things. Her personality is super bubbly and I didn't seem to offend her too much with my crude humor and foul language (I should really work on that). Her spirit was infectious, that was for sure, and I'd put money on it being impossible to be sad or down in any way when you're around her. That's just the energy she gave off. She was even nice enough to let me tag along on her morning workout when we woke up. As excited as I was, it wrecked my poor out of shape body. Thanks for that Meredith, I really did enjoy the hill sprints, and I really loved meeting you. Keep up your exciting life style and let me know when you're around Ireland area, Galway is the place to be!

Deanna

Meredith

Charlie

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Passing through Seattle on my way south was amazing, and I'm sure going through Seattle on my way back to the summer salmon season will be amazing too. But now I'm home. Back in San Antonio for my sisters 21st and my moms 50th. I didn't know what to get my sister for her birthday since she doesn't really drink, but then I got her a bottle of honey Jack anyways, in hopes that, one day, we'll drink together. I don't mind writing it on here either (her birthday is yet to come) because I know she doesn't read the blog. I'm excited for the short visit home though. It's nice to dip my toes in Texas for a week before me and Stumbles are off. Oops, I let it slip didn't I? Yeah, me and Stumbles are off on our next grand adventure together! And what is that you may ask? We're gonna ride our bikes across America, no biggie. Go ahead, ask me details because I've no answers. I'm pretty sure we're gonna be winging it and you know what? I can't wait!!!

Be happy, 

Beacon 

Saturday (Amber)

I have some idols in my life, Who doesn't? I mean of course people look up to Muhammad Ali, Gandhi, Beethoven, what have you, but I mean people I've met who've made huge impacts on my life. There are about 10 people of whom I hold very highly. Topher, Zoe, Kelly. Those sort of people, the ones who I believe helped to shape me. Not forcibly, but by broadening my horizons and then allowing me to follow what appealed to me. People like them. People I admire more than anyone else in the world for the things they've done. Some for this reason, some for that, but, needless to say, they have all made a deep impression on my life. Some of them I've known since I was a kid and some I've only known a few years. Hell, one guy I met only once at a bar in Greece and I don't even remember his name! Ask me how that works, how can you admire someone at the level of an idol, looking up to them with the deep awe. Wanting more than anything to be as good at the game that they are, but believing I could never reach that level of ability. How could I look up to someone like that, and not even remember his name!

It happened something like this. I was in Corfu, Greece, and working at the Pink Palace hostel. The Pink Palace is a scatter of buildings starting right where the beach turns from soft island sand to a a strip of rock that the Ionian sea can crash into on the west side of the island. The palace is an odd pattern of buildings work their way up the steep hillside in a jumble of pink somewhere between flamingo and cloudy sunset, spacing themselves happily between the olive, walnut, and fig trees.

I don't know whether the chicken or the egg came first in the case of the Pink Palace. Maybe they named it that and then decided to paint it all pink, or maybe they bought it pink and decided to name it after the abnormal colour beating at anyone in the vicinity. Regardless of the origins from which the name Pink Palace came, the hostel owned the name. They were proud of it, and, still, three years later, I have a very specific shade of pink appearing in a multitude of spatter shapes all over my overalls from the many early mornings I spent painting walls that were becoming a little less ostentatious from the warm sun beaming down on them. They even went as far as dying the ouzo, the Greek liquor of choice, pink to match the concrete walls. I didn't mind though because, as benefit of being under the gracious employment of Magdalena, it was only a euro for a shot of ouzo at the bar on the high side of the hill.

It was sitting at that bar that I met a young man. He was older than my fresh 19, but still young. 24 if I remember correctly.  His blonde hair was cut in a military fashion and he had a sort of giant pink and white checkered bandanna wrapped around him from one shoulder to the opposite hip. I remember wanting one of those for weeks after I met the guy because I wanted to be just like him. He reminded me a bit of myself, or, at least, how I romanticized myself. Even though I like to think me and him were similar he had far surpassed anything I had ever done at that point in my life, and, probably, anything I ever will do in my life.

Like I said, I don't remember his name, but he was kind and energetic. I'll refrain from doting over him too much here because he isn't who this post is about, but I will tell you some of his accomplishments because they floored me a little bit. He'd graduated high school at 16 and college at 18 with a degree in nuclear physics. He went to grad school in Michigan and after talking a little about college we quickly discovered he had been classmates with one of my college professors. We had a little small world celebration after that, but back to his accomplishments. After college he enlisted in the marines and became so uniquely specialized in his field it's insane. He wasn't enlisted too long before he was injured and given leave, deciding to see the world with his new found freedom. And that exploration was how he landing in Corfu at the age of 24 sitting at a bar talking to me about how the peace corps had accepted him and he was soon to be sent to a semi-permanent location for the next two years.

He was so impressive to my young mind. At the time I had met no one like him and all the life experience I had could fit into a small boat out in the gulf of Alaska. Me and him talked most of the night. About traveling and things like that yeah, sure, but mostly about rubiks cubes, minesweeper, and, after being pleasantly surprised by how small the world is, professor Tucker. I was still new to the international world. Greece was the first place I'd visited, the first time I'd ever really been out of the country I could even say, and he taught me a lot about limits that night. Mostly, that limits are all self imposed and if you want it, just go for it. After meeting this mysterious fellow my ideas of what I could feasibly do had taken wing. All of a sudden I wanted to be more. Similarly, this is the way Maddie (a few blog posts ago) made me feel. Those are the type of people I look up to. And that's the kind of person I'm going to describe to you tonight.

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My captain is Amber. Amber is a cute little Mexicana girl, about 5'4 with brown eyes and long raven black hair. She went to cosmetology school in Portland, but, she spends summers in Alaska nearly every year and has been doing so throughout her whole life. Yes my captain is a girl, no there aren't many girl captains in Alaska. There are a few, and they are all, by necessity, quite bad ass. And, if I had my say, I would say Amber is Queen of the Bad Asses because there is no one cooler than she is. She's deceptively tiny and sweet for how tough she is, tougher than anyone I know. Seriously, whatever the job is, no matter how long or how hard, Amber can do it. I have never, never ever ever ever, seen Amber quit at anything she needs to do. She is tatted up head to toe and the sky is the limit with her. If it is humanly possible, she has got it on lock down.

I don't know how to properly describe her though. What I know about Amber is how fiercely loyal she is, clever, fit, and she is THE BEST chef there ever has been or ever will be. Seriously, that girl could churn water and come out with butter. I don't know how she does the things she does in the galley, what sorts of sacrifices she offers up to the gods or whatever, but there is more than a little bit of magic in the delicacies she brings forth out of seemingly nothing. I still remember last year, 2014, when the Christmas party for the fishermen was going on (they have it in September since everyone leaves for the winter), and it's a party right? So everyone's going to go out and get wasted right? Well of course that's what we do, we work on boats in Alaska, don't be surprised. So first off, Amber made a rhubarb pie the day of the party, and it was the best fucking pie I have ever had in my life. Holy hell, talk about a mouthgasm. Anyways, that was left on the galley table for the crew (half of it was at least, we ate the other half earlier that day) when we all stumble drunkenly back from Rosies, the only bar in the tiny town. Super wasted in the early morning like that all you want to do is come home and eat some food and pass out right? Well Amber didn't just leave the pie, she made the best venison pot roast this world has ever seen as well. Loaded down with garlic and carrots and chunks of onion and little baby potatoes and oh my sweet baby Jesus it almost brought tears to my eyes chowing down on that after the night of festivities. It goes in the top 3 best meals of my life, it was INCREDIBLE, so incredible that I doubt that memory could ever really fade from my taste buds. It was the pot roast to end all other pot roasts.

She's the the most incredible boss too. She just gets it, after spending years on deck as a deckhand, she understands the people she has working for her. Working with her as my captain last year was fantastic. The whole operation flowed so well, and you've no idea how fucked up we can really get because it can get out of control. Even at the most hectic though, Amber is right down there with ye gettin' it done. She is no slipper skipper, hands on in the best way. Always up for hikes on the days off and a fellow adventurer, spending the whole of last winter in SE Asia having a blast. Needless to say, Amber is absofuckinglutely one of the people in the world I have a deep deep respect for. If just 1/10th the bad ass that she is could rub off on me I would call myself Hercules.

To top it all off as well, her sense of humor is spot on. A perfect 10 out of 10. Somehow we share the same funny bone because I swear we do more laughing than working. Sometimes I can't even work because I'm laughing so hard. I'll literally have to walk away from what we're doing so that I can collect myself and dry the tears from my eyes, but, even then, as soon as I turn around to go back to work, I see Amber and fall over with laughter again. I don't even know how we find the things we do so funny, but it's crippling sometimes. Not even a week ago Amber and I were in the Wrangell library trying to find a movie to watch when an old joke came up and I couldn't even catch my breath it was so funny. I felt bad dying of laughter in a library, and I'm sure everyone was glaring at me, but that's just what Amber does to me. She makes me smile. She makes me laugh. She makes me happy to be working on a boat in Alaska.

One of the best feelings I know in life, is, at the end of the day, sitting down at the galley table all exhausted, and having a shot o' Jameson with Amber. Nothing I look forward to more in life. Amber, you're amazing and incredible and the best captain ever. I couldn't dream of having a better friend. Thanks for everything you've taught me and thanks for all the gut busting laughter that Gordon looks at us funnily for. Keep it up, and have fun down under. Love you Amber! See you for the summer season!

Be happy y'all,

Beacon



  

Friday (Sky things)

Isn't it ironic that I'm writing this on a plane? I know I write about sky things a lot, but there is just something about them that pull on my heart strings and I feel like if I try enough eventually I'll find a way to describe them that'll satisfy me. I want to write it and make a word picture for you. It's like an itch that won't go away, but I can never seem to get it just right. Like trying to describe the Salar de Uyuni. Impossible, f'n impossible, but I still try for y'all. By the way, I've seen the coolest things on this flight. I flew over Mt. Rainier, half dome in Yosemite, the Hollywood sign in LA, and a thunderstorm out in Texas after the sun set.

Mt. Rainier 

Half Dome in Yosemite

You can't even see it, but the Hollywood sign is on the hill

It was a pretty dope plane ride back to Texas from Seattle if you ask me. There're just some certain things I love about flights. Like when you leave some shitty weather like Wrangell Alaska for somewhere you know there'll be blue skies and big fluffy clouds. The other thing I absolutely love is looking down at a place from the sky, being able to identify it, and saying 'I've been there'. Just like what happened with half dome here, but when it really got to be was when we were coming into LAX. I was looking out at the 101 and the 1 (highways) coming out of the massive tumor of LA roads and remembering almost exactly one year ago when I was hitching those very roads to get up to Alaska. It was like I was looking down and could remember the intersections I'd stood at with the dry heat and the sun beating down on me. And the specific memories of the people who'd picked me up at those spots were like the little hints of the ocean that'd float across the dry dirt to me every once in a while. It just made me happy remembering that. And if I can be so happy with memories like that at this age I think I gotta be doing something right. I liked it was all, I liked seeing those and being taken back to those special memories.

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I like to think that somewhere out there in the entirety of this big round world is the one best spot to stand or sit and look up into the sky to see the stars. There has just gotta' be one spot out there, one ultimate spot, that can't be beat. The very best. Some pink granite rock on an island in the middle of the Caribbean, a fallen tree trunk in the middle of the Amazonian rain forest, a frozen lake in Siberia. One place where all the angles are just right and there're only angels whispering in my ears. A place that when I look up into space at those twinkling beauties nothing shy of launching myself out of this atmosphere would reveal any more stars to my thirsty eyes than the ones I'm currently looking at. I want to be there, I want to stand in that spot. I want that spot to influence me in ways I never believed possible. I want to go search and search and search and know I did everything I could to hold their lights inside me, I want to live in the stars.

There're some places where the stars are, somehow, more beautiful. I remember the first time I ever even really saw the stars. It was in Colorado, outside the back of the condos my friends family had rented out. I was lucky enough to be the best friend invited to tag along on the vacation. I don't know why I was out back of our room that night, but somehow I was. Maybe I was playing in the snow, and, then, before I knew it, I was standing knee deep in snow with my eyes glued to the night sky. I'd never seen stars like that before. I'd grown up outside the city and I'd thought I'd seen stars all my life, but all my life I'd been wrong. Oh my god I'd been wrong. This was jaw dropping, my mind was blown. It was almost too much for me to handle. Think about it this way, I'd just realized that I had been fooled my entire life. I thought I'd known what the stars were like, but I really hadn't. I'd been lied to every time someone'd have me look up at the 'stars' in the night sky just North of Austin Texas. Those stars back home were nothing like the stars I saw in Colorado that frigid night. And those stars in Colorado that night could be scoffed at if you've seen Alaska stars.

Maybe it's Alaska stars, maybe it's just boat stars, or maybe it's the combination of the two, but, regardless, when I'm on the boat in Alaska and I look up through the cold night air into that abyss, I swear, on a clear night it's more white than black. The stars in Alaska blot out the rest of the universe. Looking up at that type of night sky is enough to make me forget where my feet are, and I lose my head in the lightness. I want nothing, nothing, more than to join them in the pitch. Because I hear them calling to me, and maybe, just maybe, one day I will answer.

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"Harry, wake up."

There're probably a million things that could run through my head at this moment, but all I think is 'it's fucking cold outside'. I just got off my driving shift, it couldn't even have been an hour ago that I left the wheel, making it maybe 2 am. And now Amber's voice is slipping in through the crack she's made in my door. Weather must've kicked up and we're anchoring in some shallows somewhere or tying up to a rickety dock in one of the small fishing villages tucked inside the rocky coastline we've been running along. 

"Yeah?" I answer, already putting a list together in my head of how this is going to work. First, I'll have to fling my blankets off, then, roll out of bed, pull on a thermal shirt, socks then overalls then boots, red jacket, gray jacket, untrap my hair from between my collar and the back of my neck because it itches, and then rain gear as I step out of the snakepit.

"It's the moon, you gotta come see the moon Harry." She almost whispers, too sweet to really want to wake me up. 

The moon? Why would I need to see the moon. I know it's been awfully full the past few nights, but Amber wouldn't wake me up to see a full moon. I'm at a loss. I don't know what it could be so I hesitantly tell her "Okay..? I'll be up in a sec."

"Take your time and get dressed, it's not going anywhere." Then there's darkness inside the steady humming of the mains as she closes the door to the snake pit. Well, alright then. I follow the plan, but at a more relaxed pace than previously planned. Taking the time to insure I don't put anything on backwards or inside out, which happens often when I'm getting dressed in a hurry. So I finish getting my jackets and boots, peer outside to check if it's raining, it's not, and squeeze up the small ladder that puts you at the bottom of the short stairs to the wheelhouse. I know Amber and Hans can hear me coming through the door because every time you open it the sound of the engines rumbling spills out through the tiny doorway. I poke my head up into the wheelhouse and pose the question.

"What's up?"

"There is a lunar eclipse happening Harry!" 

"REALLY?!?!" 

I was stoked because it sounded bad ass, and it was indeed. It's not like I had on my to do list for Alaska: See the lunar eclipse because I had no idea it was going to be happening, but getting to see the full lunar eclipse by chance was incredible. It was just so gorgeous up there in the sky. We'd been seeing the full moon for nights upon nights and now to see it overwhelmed by shadow. It looked like the world was ending almost. It really did, and the sharp cold night only served to enhance our view. I couldn't believe how lucky we were to see this considering most every other night'd been overcast with dark drizzly clouds. Sometimes you've just got to count on luck for things though.

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I wanted to see the northern lights so badly this season I think I scared them away. Seriously though, you know how like when it's raining and you put your rain jacket on it stops raining immediately? I think I had that effect on the north by starring skyward every night. In the end I did catch them slipping in and out of a cloudy night in Wrangell. They weren't fierce, but subtle, graceful. It was nice, not what I wanted, but what I needed. I left Alaska with no qualms and I'm looking forward to the summer Salmon season with Amber :)

Be happy y'all,

Beacon