And the adventure begins...

Dear Blog,

This is my first blog post of all time, and I must say I'm a little nervous. I never thought of myself as a "blogger." In fact, I rarely write down anything unless it's for school or some other less-than-voluntary obligation. But I think that writing stuff down will be good; good for me practice writing and recollecting, and good for people like the fam and others who might be interested in the types of things we are turning into memories.

So with that pretext out of the way, here’s a little update of our travels:

Well we are finally on the road.. And by we, I mean me, Casey, Gabe, and Evan. For those readers who may not know, Gabe and Evan are our best buddies who we’ll be traveling with for a while. Port Angeles, WA is our current location. But getting here has had way more pickles involved than we ever could have planned for. In fact, we made a list of said pickles the other day called the Trip Pickles List, but of course, that list was destroyed during another pickle. My treasured entries in the journal that was in my fanny pack were all sweated into smears of red, blue and black oblivion. Bummer, I know.

So since I can’t provide the whole list, I will just say that I think we overstayed our welcome in Seattle by several days. Not only was Seattle sick of us, but we had a bit of cabin fever ourselves. I also had to make a last-minute bicycle purchase from a nice man named Ed. Bought the night before we left, this fine specimen of a bike is a vintage verosport (apparently with a really valuable crank). But two days ago, on Sunday the 15^th, we set off at around 9 pm to Pier 52 to catch a ferry to Bainbridge Island in Puget Sound.

We missed two ferries due to a couple of pickles, and got into Bainbridge around 11-something. A nice man we met on Pier 52 told us about a public park a few blocks from the water where we could probably crash for the night, and we found in pretty easily. We figured it was a relatively safe place to stay, as the local teenagers felt safe making all kinds of a ruckus on this stage that looked like a boat about 30 yards away.

We woke up feeling refreshed and ready to bike to meet up with Adam and his lady companion, Chelsea in Port Angeles (about a 75 mile ride).

The ride went well for most of us. Yours truly, however must take a moment to gripe. I am injured. I knew it was going to happen, and some might say that is the explanation for the injury. If it is my own psychoneuroimmunology working against me, I have really messed myself up. My right knee is busted. The pain started within the first ten minutes of biking. I figured I just needed to warm up, so pedaled forth. Abut an hour into the ride, I was in significant pain, but decided to push through it. Why? Well, I felt a certain obligation to the boys to get to our destination. I also wanted to make it. And I figured it must be something wrong with my setup, so at each resting point, I would make a new experimental adjustment. But I think the main reason I that I’m young, foolish and sick of injuring myself every time I do something that requires a healthy body.

I was behind the group the whole ride, and for some reason this caused me some anxiety. But there was this one moment when I felt at peace that I would like to share. It went like this: Were on the bridge crossing Puget Sound and the boys have stopped to put on sweaters or jackets. I pedal ahead, thinking that it’s only going to be cold while we’re on the bridge. I look back and everyone is still off their bikes, and I feel at ease to pedal at my own cadence. Looking around, I see dark water so smooth that sets the standard for glass. It must be really cold. To my left, I see a beautiful landscape of snow-capped mountains and mountains covered in dark green firs that look soft enough for a giant to use as a pillow. I look back and the boys are on their bikes, but are quite far behind me. The pain in my knee is no longer sharp, and I am filled with a kind of metaphysical now-ness I’d like to think worthy of being tuned into some Ram Dass aphorism. In the moment I am aware of the beauty around me, and the adventure I’m on, and the everything feels significant, and I look back to see the land that we have already traveled as George Vancouver might have done in 1792, and as I turn to look, a voice seems to drift into my aural cavities, telling me “on your left,” and the boys pedal past me. The pain in my knee kicks back in.

So about 50 miles into the journey, I was absolutely miserable. My left thigh was about to die from overcompensating for my right knee, and each down stroke on my right side was an exercise in major ego strength-diminishing mind-over-matter. I told the boys that I had to stop. We were a couple of miles outside of Sequim (say it like “sqwim”) and found a spot to sleep in the far end of an elementary school playground.

Off the bicycle, I was able to enjoy myself and the journey, and we dined on a delicious amalgam of ramen noodles, chopped hot dogs, and baked beans. I slept in a tent because my sleeping bag is apparently a little too thin for the Washington nights, Evan slept in his mosquito hammock because his thermarest has a hole, Casey slept on the grass, and Gabe brought his farty self into the tent with me. We all slept through the night.

The next morning (this morning) we ate a breakfast of pigs in a sleeping bag (hot dogs and corn tortillas) and quickly found ourselves in the middle of a surprisingly large summer camp. We packed our stuff up as quickly as we could, but were definitely a source of wonderment for the youngin’s.

Seeing that my knee was worse than the day before, I told the group that I couldn’t travel with them. So they set off on the Olympic Discovery Trail on their way to Port Angeles, and I walked my way to Mike’s Bikes to get some professional help. The man named Dalon suggested I lower my seat slightly, but that was all he could see that might be wrong. I found a bus to Port Angeles that only cost two dollars. Apparently the public transportation is federally funded. The bus fares only provide about 4% of their operating costs. I arrived at Port Angeles coincidentally at the exact same time and place as the boys. We walked to find Adam and Chelsea, who told us to go behind the Safeway.

We found them staying in this guy, Cody’s front yard. Man, it was good to see Adam. For those who don’t know, he has been my best friend since before pre-school and I hadn’t seen him for a long time. Our visit was rather short-lived, as he, Chelsea and the boys pushed off to camp out in the national park by the hot springs. But before they left, Chelsea bought me a big ole’ tub of mint moose tracks ice cream because that heals injuries.

So here in am in the Bella Rosa coffee shop trying to mend myself and keep up with the website. I am severely bummed about missing these bicycle journeys and my buddies, and I fear how long this injury will last. As of now, it only gets progressively more painful. I wanted to heal myself at the hot springs, but figured getting there would trump any healing I would receive not going. I am getting some good lessons in trade-offs here (my high school economics teacher would be happy to hear that).

In these injured times, I find homesickness a little more easy to come by, and self-indulgent self-pity readily available.

But don’t worry, mama, I’m happy and having a good time. I’m on my big adventure, and I have no deadlines or destinations. We do what makes sense in the moment, and see what happens. Cody is letting me stay in his front yard and use his kitchen and bathroom and all that good stuff, and I’m making memories with my best friends. I have a tub of ice cream, a can of chili, a tiny laptop, a little town to explore, and time to spend with good ole’ number one.

*I hope this blog post was satisfactory. I don’t really know how they’re supposed to be, and I welcome any suggestions or requests for other types of information or forms of narration.

Until next time, this is Wounded Knee signing out.