Learning How to Relax the Mind and Find Calm

Duke helping me scout for Trout on the Clackamas

I'm always learning. Learning about living. Learning that it is important to step away from yourself every now and again to see what direction you're heading and headed. I recently did just that, although briefly, it felt good.

I make photographs almost everyday. Mostly as part of my career. It used to be a thing I did to create calm and peace at the end or beginning of a busy day. Fishing and riding bikes also calms my mind down and allows me to remove the clutter. It's easy to get stuck in the cycle of a busy life and forget that we all need this reflection time, this time of purging thought and allowing the soul of who you are to breathe and receive. 

Sunset on Sturgeon Lake

Last week, I took a tripod and camera over to Sauvie Island near our home and photographed sunset; something I do very rarely these days. That was it, I just drove, parked, and walked up to Sturgeon Lake's bank and took some pictures. Nothing to it really, but the peace during the activity and the clear thought that followed was incredible. I've been missing these simple activities in my life. I also went fishing with Duke (our pup) last week with the same result. Both activities took about an hour or so, and both had the same powerful affect which lingered for days. Riding my bike does this as well although it's a more complex feeling. Still wonderful, but not as simple. Something about watching the light change while standing in place or feeling the water redirect itself around your legs while casting creates that..... simplistic moment. Riding is more about exhaling hard, moving quickly, and tiring the physical aspects of your person. Amazingly restorative, but getting there is slightly more hectic.

Fleeting rainbow over Sturgeon Lake. The light changed quickly this evening.

Duke resting and finding his calm spot in the middle of the Clackamas River

Salmon River

Gina, Duke, and my shadow near a waterfall in the Labyrinth, Coyote Wall

Salmon River last Autumn

Quick forest road spin outside of Scappoose Oregon

Ride around Sauvie Island after work. I remember this being a good spin, but that seat and I are not friends anymore in the least. Shortly after this ride, I got rid of that saddle for the wider standard Brooks B17, which is a million times more comfortable.

Ride in Forest Park right across the river from our house.

This morning I culled through images from the past 7 months or so and all of these images were taken during short reflective outings. The pictures taught me that I must allow the freedom to go out and cast a line, ride a bike, or carry a tripod around sunset more frequently. No meditation session or yoga class can deliver me the same level of calm that these activities always have and I hope always will.....

Mud always makes me super happy for some ridiculous reason. Funny how some folks find peace in a long yoga pose, while I find peace in the dirt that flies off my tire and lands in my eye....hmmm?

The End of a Sojurn....feels like it just started

Woooeeee.... It was a good one. 

I'm sitting in the comfort of my parents home trying to think of a way to wrap up the last day. It's a tough thing to do it seems. Usually I don't blog or really even think about trips while they are in-process. This is a first for me. Sometimes, I wait up to a year to share thoughts and pictures from a trip like this. Why? Well, I think it has something to do with how slow my brain processes experiences. It's like reading a book, and thinking you understand it, then a week rolls by and some little daily thing happens and you think "oh shit, the Valley of Ashes, duh!" I listens to several audiobooks on my trip and the Great Gatsby was one of them. Anyway, the point is, thoughts and emotions need to marinde for awhile before I believe you can truly understand them.

There are some interesting things reflecting daily shares with oneself though. For instance, the edges of the experience are sharp in the mind. Time doesn't have time to soften the memory of an intense moment. One of these moments would be when I stopped to walk down to the wonderful beach on Lake Michigan along Hwy 2; the vast cloud of Caddis Midge flies and the sensation of hundreds landing on my body as I tried to hurry through was both creepy and meditative. I wouldn't describe the experience as comfortable, but it was unique and strangely acceptable for a moment anyway. Over time, I might even completely forget this experience, besides a simplified version of how many bugs there were. Another experience was how, for the first time since the beginning of the trip, when the Macknac Bridge popped into view, I felt as though I was going to make it. The tendon and knee issues that plagued my thoughts starting on the 4th day gave me little confidence that I would roll up to this massive bridge on 2 wheels. That felt damn good.

Unfortunately, you can't ride across the bridge, you must be transported. The bridge authority who gave me a lift did not seem to keen on cyclist. He seemed a bit put out and made a few comments such as "Are you riding on the roads, why don't bikers ride on the dirt next to the roads instead. Seems safer for everyone." He could have been genuinely concerned but his dark sunglasses and rough approach made it difficult to get a read. What was interesting to me though, was when he dropped me off. He was sporting a Red Wings cap. Gina and I happen to be huge fans of the Wings. I asked him his thoughts on the playoffs, and the flood gates opened with conversation. About 30 minutes of hockey talk actually. Nice break and good conversation. Go Wings!

There is an incrdible bike path that connects Macknaw City to Indian River; it's mostly a pressed gravel mix though and my tired body was done with it after a few short miles. I jumped onto Hwy 23 along Lake Huron. There was a cold breeze that slowed me down and caused my knees to begin steadily aching. After 14 miles, 23 cuts inland to Cheboygan. Now there was only 20ish miles left until my home town. This last leg was a true highlight of the trip. Everything was familiar to me, my knees and tendons loosened up in the warmer inland temps, and I knew I was going to make it all the way to my parents front door. 

I rode fairly slow and steady to take in the last moments of the trip. When I reached Topinabee, about 12 miles from the place of my youth, my parents pulled up along side me for a bit of support. I continued on to town to meet them at the Dairy Mart after a short visit to a swimming hole I used to hang around most hot days as a teenager. The ice cream hit the spot, never tasted so earned. An easy 5 miles took me the rest of the way to White Rd. and the Sturgeon River where my pops met me on his bike. 

The ride started at my good friends house in Minneapolis 13 days back and ended at the house of my childhood. The longest bike trip I've done thus far; it dished out all sorts of experiences my way, some good, some bad, and all interesting. Paul told me that he wouldn't be surprised if I just started to find my rhythm and felt the urge to continue on the last day. He has 6 months of experience traveling with his partner through South America on 2 wheels; he was absolutely right. I would need 3 or so days to rest up, but could see continuing for another few months. That being said, I miss my family in Portland, A-Lot. I need to get back to running a business. I need to get back to a relaxing weekend bike tour through wine country with Gina and some close friends in just over a week. And I need to eat ice cream, lots and lots of it.....

One day left.

Lake Michigan

Killer breakfast at a diner in Brevoort. Cathy and Tina.

First view of the bridge which connects the upper and lower peninsula 

Bike reaches maximum speed of the trip

Happy and tired Indian River

Pops greets me close to home

All finished......

What a stretch....

Another interesting and complex day on the road. Actually, it turned out to be the hardest day both physically and mentally of the entire saunter. 

I slept well but woke to rain drops pattering on the tent. It sounded miserable, but synthetic tent materials always have a way of making weather of any kind sound worse than it actually is. I forced myself from the comfort of my bag into the damp air. Besides packing away wet gear, the morning was calm and I felt ready for a day of riding. Engaged in a small world conversation with my camp neighbors who have a daughter who lives right down the road from us in Portland and who happens to go to the same bicycle pub we do. They were both in their seventies I believe the man said, but looked much younger. Maybe it was their spirit, sense of adventure and the VW Westfalia van keeping them young. They were driving from Tucson, AZ to Maine and then over to Oregon. Nick & Kim, get ready, it looks like a killer trip.

From then on the day was quite challenging. I threw my leg over the bike and a hard rain started almost in sync with my departure. Windy, cold, and rainy, my favorite mix. These conditions lasted for about 18 miles or so. A slow, cold Southeast headwind would remain throughout the day. But what found its way deep into my skin was the 30 some mile stretch of road without a bend or change of landscape to be had. Ugh, It felt like I was riding in place for days. Several times I retreated from the bike to yell some obscene meaningless phrase  like "Fucking Hell of a road these assholes built. Who builds straight roads like This anyway!" In hindsight, I'm not entirely sure why this bothered me so much. Probably had something to do with riding 12 days solo, too much time spent in my own head I guess. Or the wind; wind drives entire cultures to go mad. 

Meanwhile, my mother was planning to drive up and meet me in Naubinway, a town about 50 miles from the Mackinaw bridge. Little did she know a thoroughly crazed mind and terrible attitude was heading her way. When I got to Naubinway, mother now in route, the only place open was a small crumbly diner. When I opened the front door, a mouse or rat scurried by. I was tired of run down depressing places at the moment. Probably because I felt run down and depressing from the day. I turned around and walked out. The next town was too far for the hour and my strength. But, I called my mom and told her I was leaving and we would have to find a place along the road to stop instead. Luck would have it, 3 miles further a nice rest stop sat along Lake Michigan. By the way, I was inland most of the day when I thought I would be enjoying the long stretches of Michigan beaches. I was off a day. My mom arrived moments after I had with a famous UP pasty, oatmeal pie, and a Bell's Two Hearted Ale. Perfect! I'm a lucky son. We enjoyed a meal together and a walk along the shore for a few hours before she headed back home and I was left looking for a place to tuck my shelter in for the night. She called a few moments later to advise me that a campground was about 4 miles East. I packed up and decided to go for it. The sun was setting, however I had just enough time to make it. Thanks mom! You lifted me from a slump yet again.

Besides the thousands, and yes I do mean thousands, of Midges hatching, the campground was completely empty, well back from Hwy 2, and had beautiful sites all along the mighty lake. I found a place tucked back with enough cedars to block the wind but not too many to obstruct the view, and pitched. At this point I was thoroughly exhausted. All I had energy to do was brew a cup of tea and hang the food up before crashing in a sea of Midges. Again, thousands filled the inside of my tarp. 

I slept hard, until the Ring Billed Gulls on Hog Island, just off shore, woke me at some late hour squawking about this and that. Then a pack of coyotes, quite nearby, started their kill yelping for quite some time. The screams, yelps, howls, squawks never stopped, even for a moment. And I slept little, enough though.

Gear, I worked my ass off to hunt this Sasquatch down for you. 

One hell of stretch to ride. Subtle wind in the face and dead straight. I yelled some obscene shit here.

Exhausted and unsure of why I choose to do this here. I felt like sleeping for 20 hours on small jagged stones. 

The Best Camping Yet

I left Escanaba after an amazing sunrise and rubbery breakfast, but good non the less. Still dealing with the same tendon issues, however after 8 miles or so they seem to loosen up enough to evade my thoughts for a bit anyway.

Mostly a straight forward gloriously sunny day of riding. I took a picture of this field of Trilliums. This amazed me because where I live now in Oregon we also get trilliums, however, although much larger in OR, they never grow in a meadow like fashion as they do in the U.P. I'm used to seeing a small patch of 2 or 3 strewn about. Not sure why, but it was great riding through fields of white flowers. 

The Indian Lake Campground near Manistique is an incredible place to rest up. The best camping I've experienced on the entire trip actually. Main Street Pizza in town even delivered to the front gate not with the help of the DNR officer. The guy reminded me of the public safety officer in the Cusack film "Grosse Point Blanc." This guy took his job way to seriously. He asked me about a dozen times if the delivery guy came into the driveway at ALL! Apparently it's a major crime to deliver pizza to the State Park and he was ready to pounce on an opportunity to enforce. When he realized that his interrogation practices weren't getting him anywhere he looked at the box of pizza with drooling eyes and continued to tell me how great their pizza was, the best in town in fact. I think it was the only pizza joint in town. 

One more thought on pizza and bikes. A narrow handlebar hipster bike in Portland would never be able to transport a box of pie as well as my huge awkward handlebars can.