Floods of water and wisdom

First, an article on Iceland, which went bankrupt in 2008 and is now refusing to pay the debt of the bankers that got them into that mess! A true case of governance of, by and for the people: http://www.truth-out.org/why-iceland-should-be-news-not/1322327303

And, speaking of doing the right, radical thing, consider this: Rewriting the Constitution

Also you can see my latest video of Kentucky flood-waters HERE 

12/13/11 Clinton, KY to Ripley, TN: 72 miles

After further consideration, I believe that the thing Americans are most afraid of is giving up what they have. Security, certainty, routine and knowledge. We, as a society, are afraid of giving up what we have accumulated and accomplished, even in the pursuit of something better. It feels like too much stress and pressure and pain to let go of our current systems of operation. Too much chaos to give up what we have already spent several lifetimes building and coming to understand and working with and finding success within. But when we finally acknowledge that there is something better than what we have now, shouldn't we have the courage to break our current ways of life and embrace the adventure of building a new, healthy society? When we collectively realize that the American way of life is broken, isn't it our duty, as individuals in addition to being parts of the whole, to find ways to fix it and support new ways of life? How can we sit back and ignore the wrongs that our own nation, our own people, our own selves are exporting to the world? The answer lies in facing our fears. The new frontier lies not in discovering new lands or new planets or new species, but in new methods of operating in harmony with the Earth and our fellow humans. Let us acknowledge that the American experiment is in need of drastic revision, and let us have the courage to let go of what is wrong.

Since St. Louis, I have seen at least 10 Red Tail Hawks during the ride. They seem to be scared off of their perches just as I ride by. I often see them in pairs, and several times, I have heard the characteristic screech that immediately adds so much atmosphere to an otherwise hum-drum situation. I feel like they are a good sign.

Yesterday, I had more of an adventure than I planned. Riding through Columbus, Kentucky, I was following the Mississippi River Trail (MRT), a route designated by the states bordering the river which runs alongside the river from beginning to end. When he was president, Thomas Jefferson suggested that the capital of the nation be moved to Columbus in order to be closer to the center of the country. His petition failed by just 1 vote in the Senate. At one point, I passed a rather faded looking sign which read something like “road closed 6 miles ahead due to water in road.” I looked at my GPS, and decided that there were several other ways I could go if I ran into trouble, and it hadn't rained in at least a week, so I thought the water might not be such a big deal, and I rode on.

Through what was probably the most enjoyable stretch of the MRT yet, I slithered through gently sloping valleys lined with fields of green grass and old farmhouses. The sun dropped as I chased the sunset southwest, trying to outrun the early winter night. Finally, I approached a series of signs which read, “Road closed, 1500 ft, 600 ft, ROAD CLOSED (local traffic only). There was no sign of water, and though there was a temporary fence blocking half the road a few hundred yards to the left, the road to the right was open, and according to my GPS, would get me to the town where I was heading on a more direct route.

I pedaled off up the well-packed dirt road to the right, heading slightly uphill. Around a corner about ½ mile along, the road sloped sharply downhill, and became paved once again. “What luck!” I thought, as I followed the road past another sign which read, “water in road.” The next gully after the sign was dry, and I smirked and congratulated myself for making the right decision. And then I came to the water. About 200 yards of what appeared to be a straight, flat section of road had turned into a shallow lake. Murky, brown water surrounded tree trunks and inched up the grassy slope on one side of the road, while the other side was water surrounding tree trunks as far as I could see. I weighed my options. I decided to turn around, pedal back the ½ mile to the intersection with the “road closed” signs, and try the other direction. But before I pedaled off, my sense of adventure kicked in.

I took my front panniers off and placed them on the back of my bike, with the rest of my gear. The rear panniers are waterproof, so I wasn't worried about them getting wet. I then pedaled down the road, straight into the water. I figured it was probably a pretty flat road, judging by the terrain, and thankfully, I was right. I was a bit worried at first that it might get too deep, and seep into the top of my panniers, but it was never more than up to my knee. My bike had no trouble slogging through the opaque brown water. I imagined snakes and alligators and leeches might be lurking in the depths, but I saw nothing move but myself. I had no exposed skin anyway. The reflection on the water was beautiful, full of clouds and trees and sunset. A few times, I ran into what must have been potholes or small piles of gravel, but never toppled over. My biking sandals, wool socks, and the thermal bib tights I was wearing all got soaked up to the knee, but everything else fared just fine through the first crossing. Victorious and elated on the other side, I made a short video, documenting a successful adventure. I got back on the bike and rode for another 300 feet until I came to the next “water in road.” The sunset was beautiful orange now, and reflected brilliantly on a pool of water so large, I could not see where the road came out on the other side. I could not cross.

So back I went, across the first pool of water, freezing my feet in the frigid wetness, thinking of a new plan. I was short on drinking water, 15 miles away from my planned destination, and about to be riding in the dark. I did not think it would be a worth-while effort to test the other “water in road” direction, so instead, I headed back toward Columbus. Not too far down the road, I stopped at a house with a big streetlight on, just before dark, to ask for water. As I approached, I could tell that the house had fallen into disrepair. I knocked and shouted, but no one answered. Mud-wasps had made their nests in the corners of the door frame, and cobwebs were thick. I tested the door, and found it unlocked. I yelled one more time to make sure, and then stepped into the kitchen. A dust-covered kettle sat on the stove, and more cobwebs filled the sink. I tried the faucet, but it made no hint of providing water. A telephone stuck to the wall with its cord wrapped around the outside. I peered into a room which had a mattress on a dirty carpeted floor, but little else. The electricity also didn't work, and the sun had set, so light was not in great supply. I decided to glimpse in the fridge, mostly for entertainment's sake, before I took off. Just a box of baking soda. The freezer, however, contained a half-case of 16 ounce bottled waters. I helped myself to 3, and drank one before departing. I silently thanked whomever had put them there. That night, I camped in a farm field not too far down the road, and it rained on me all night. Then, it rained the whole next morning, until around 2 pm, as I rode on.

12/15/11

Memphis is a city of black and white. Or so I am told. I have not been here long enough to judge for myself whether this is true, but it feels true. My couchsurfing host, Giovanni, told me of the racial inequalities that still exist here, 50 years after the civil rights movement was at its high. Memphis has a higher violent crime rate than any other city in the US, surpassing Detroit just this year in crime and poverty levels. I was warned, literally, not to cross the railroad tracks into the “black” areas of town, where the overwhelming majority of violent crimes takes place. Because the neighborhoods of Memphis are so segregated, the schools, jobs and other societal constructs are as well. I didn't know this still existed in the USA, but as I make my way further south, I suppose I should be prepared for reality.

Today, I spent the afternoon in two museums of tremendous cultural value here in Memphis, the Stax Museum, and the National Civil Rights Museum. Stax is a record label which signed and brought to fame some of the most famous and influential soul artists of all time. Otis Redding, Isaac Hayes, James Brown and others came through their doors at one point or another. More important than this, however, was that local artists, some of whom literally lived down the street, came in and formed groups that hit the charts in a big way. A great collection on the roots and history of soul music (most commonly described as a blend of blues and gospel) as well as a small mom-and-pop record label that bent the rules and enjoyed wild success. Their success was so great, in fact, that they lost the family feel of their small record label, and fell apart shortly after Martin Luther King was shot here.

The National Civil Rights museum is housed in the defunct Lorraine Motel, where MLK spent his last night alive, and was shot on the balcony. I stood below that balcony (and took a few pictures), and imagined the sense of loss that must have been felt that day when such an amazing leader was taken. The message that carries on from his legacy is that you can kill the dreamer, but you can't kill the dream. The museum cataloged the history of African American struggle since the beginning of slavery in 1619 until present day. I learned more than I ever knew there was to know about the KKK, Jim Crow laws, Rosa Parks, the integration of schools, and so much ignorant prejudice I was aghast. I watched old footage of countless white Americans explaining their reasoning for being mad about blacks demanding equal rights, and I cringed. Without a doubt, one of the saddest and most shameful legacies of American culture.

Today, homosexuals are on the front lines of the battle for equal rights, and experiencing the same types of ignorant, hateful discrimination. I took a photo of a map from the mid 19050s which shows which states had racial discrimination built into their laws, and it looks very similar to the maps today of which states discriminate against homosexuals. It wasn't right then, and it isn't right now, and when people look back at America of the early 21^st century, they will cringe at our prejudice, not understanding how so many people could be so stubbornly hateful and wrong for such a long time.  

Fear and cycling in Missouri

12/9/11 St. Louis to Fort Kaskaskia State Park, 73.5 miles

Fear. I believe it is one of the key features of what is keeping humanity from uniting. Not only a fear of certain social systems that talk about “uniting humanity,” but fear of almost everything.

I have gotten rid of a lot of fear in the last few years, most of which I didn't even realize I had. I can't remember the last time I was scared of something physical, unless I was teetering on the edge of a cliff, which is a perfectly rational and useful fear. But I had lots of social fears that I didn't recognize until very recently. I still have quite a few. I fear being ridiculed, made fun of and laughed at for lack of knowledge or lack of skill. I fear that when I share the deepest parts of myself with someone else, they will use the information to hurt me. I fear being turned down by attractive women in whom I am interested in flirting. I fear being rejected for jobs that I apply to, and not knowing the right answers to interview questions. I fear causing others pain or discomfort.

I don't fear blizzards or floods or fires. I don't fear snakes or spiders or bears. Once in a while, I fear my fellow man may cause me harm. I did this yesterday while riding through St. Louis at dusk, and realizing that I was the only white guy on a bike in a very black neighborhood. And then I scolded myself for my own ingrained stereotypes.

But many people have different fears. Terrorism, losing and/or not getting all the money they want and not ever being fulfilled are some of the big ones these days. Fear causes people to isolate themselves, insulating them from certain types of harm. In isolating themselves, they neglect to realize that they are a part of everyone and everything, and fool themselves into thinking that isolation is better, because it is safer. In reality, isolation causes even more mental discomfort and disorder, bringing with it depression, anxiety and deeper fear. We are social creatures. Believing that we are completely separate from everything and everyone else is simply a lie. Living a lie will never bring satisfaction or contentment.

12/11/11

Two days in Cape Girardeau, Missouri. Last night, I arrived around 4:45, met awesome people, ate a burrito, went to a Grateful Dead cover band (called “Schwag”) show after a long talk with a guy who owns a local cafe, and went to bed late. Today, I ate at a ridiculously popular BBQ joint called the Pilot House (tasty), hiked on train tracks to an abandoned quarry (beautiful) and saw some Missouri countryside.  More instant friends.  More great places.  How can all this wonderfulness belong to a nation that is so messed up right now?  

Actually on a bike again

I begin this blog with an urgent call to Action! The UN is having climate change talks as we speak, and the USA is poised, once again, to water down any serious progress on a climate treaty. We must rely instead on China, Brazil and the EU to take a stand. Support a strong climate treaty here:

http://www.avaaz.org/en/the_planet_is_dying_us_2/?cSPFYab

Also, I realize that I have failed to inform readers of one of my favorite organizations of the era, the Environmental Working Group (EWG). EWG first came to my attention when I was concerned about the chemicals in sunscreen, which I had heard might not be so good for me. EWG has cataloged over 69,000 cosmetics, from lipstick to shampoo to toothpaste, and analyzes the ingredients of each to determine which contain the most harmful and least harmful ingredients. Using their database, you can check out the products you currently use, or find alternatives that are less harmful to you and the environment.

Most recently, I was impressed by EWG's “Meat Eater's Guide to Climate Change” which details the carbon footprint of a fairly comprehensive list of edible proteins, both animal and plant.

And finally, I have added a FAQ page to the blog (see above, between the photo thumbnails and the main article), to compliment the "Mission & Goals" as well as the "Route and Itinerary" pages, both of which have gone through minor updates.  Lastly, I will continue to update the trip STATS box (top right of the page, under the photo thumbnails), and my location and photos of the whole trip are still accessible at the top left of the page.

12/7/11, Day 76 (of bike travel since 7/6/11)

Yesterday morning at 12:55 am, I loaded my boxed bike (a monstrous, heavy thing, also filled with 60% of my camping, cooking gear & clothing) onto a Greyhound Express bus in Minneapolis. 8 hours later, I unloaded in Chicago, sat in the bus station there for 2 hours, and then boarded another bus to ride 7 hours to St. Louis. The Greyhound Express is a far cry from the Greyhound buses that I remember traveling on several years ago in California. The last time I took a long distance bus, I specifically remember waiting hours for the bus, which arrived late, had severe mechanical problems which were clearly smellable from the interior, and had trouble squeezing our luggage into small compartments. The seats were cramped, the floor was filthy, and the bus was filled to capacity. Cheap perfume and body odor floated on the air, and the heat was cranked too high. We stopped in what seemed like every city, and it took us twice as long to get to our destination as a car would. I had trouble sleeping because the seats leaned back only an inch or two. The Greyhound Express was almost the opposite experience. Clean, well-maintained buses with new seats and decent leg room. Free wifi and power outlets at every seat. Only 1 or 2 stops in the middle of a 7 or 8 hour drive, making the ride similar in time to taking a car. I slept well. I could smell nothing but myself.

Just before departing from Minneapolis, I spent a few hours with friends, old and new, enjoying a few beers, some music, great company and lots of smiles and laughs. I hugged everyone on my way in and out. I could not properly communicate how excellent they had made my time in Minneapolis.

In St. Louis, I spent over an hour putting my bike back together. I put warm clothes on, and rode out into the dark, cold streets of a new city. I rode east, straight toward the Jefferson Arch that the city is so famous for, then turned south and west toward the home of Stephanie, my couchsurfing host. I arrived at her home 20 minutes later without issue. She welcomed me warmly, set me up in the living room, and gave me a biking map of the city.

12/8/11

My last two days have been spent in the city of St. Louis. My host, Stephanie, provided me with a wonderful itinerary of things to do and see, and I pedaled about 45 miles around the city in the last 2 days. I visited the botanical gardens, the Forest Park, the City Museum (more like a giant playground made from re-used things), a doughnut shop, the Jefferson Memorial (with the giant Arch) and some good restaurants. Along the way I cycled past a park with giant cement turtles, a burning building, the original Budweiser factory and lots and lots of brick houses and giant, old deciduous trees.

I am excited to be heading south! My friend Pete is flying into Jackson, MS on the 20^th to join me for the ride into New Orleans. I have set up couch-surfing hosts in Cape Girardeau and Memphis for the ride south. I'm ready to ride!        

Now I'm pissed off, and here's what we can do!

Thought Occupy Wall Street was on its way out?  Not if people hear about this. A MIND-BLOWING article on just how corrupt and criminal the major banks and corporations are: 

Audit of the Federal Reserve Reveals $16 Trillion in Secret Bailouts

A couple of helpful videos to visualize a better America in the face of such slap-in-the-face greed:

This one is about an economy based on PLENITUDE rather than debt.

This one is about the psychology of MATERIALISM.

And if you haven't seen it yet, here is my most highly recommended feature film: The Corporation

Lets make it better starting NOW!

Tomorrow morning, I board a bus to St. Louis.  From there, I will ride south to Jackson, MS where I will meet up with my friend Pete who is flying from San Francisco to join me on his bike for 10+ days.

I have made so many good friends in such a short time here in Minnesota, as well as stoking old friendships.  I will miss the people and the place, but plan on returning late spring to early summer of next year on my way back across.  Thank you Minnesota, and thank you Minnesotans!

Messing about in MN (and a bit in NC)

In this weeks photos, you'll find 3 Gregs, my friend Tom's new baby girl Lily, my new friends Danielle, Anna and Gretchen, as well as a sunlit haircut and a surreal stare in a kitchen in North Carolina.  Also included are the Graffiti graveyard of Duluth, and a frozen river on the Superior Hiking Trail.  And a boot full of beer.

In the next 2 weeks, you will find me in St. Louis, MO, Springfield, MO, Memphis, TN and heading into New Orleans, LA for the new year.

11/27/11

Cold. Living outdoors in the cold is quite a different experience that visiting the cold outdoors from the comfort of a warm home. I experienced cold last year in Berlin, but not like this.

My Minnesotan friends will tell me that I ain't seen nothin' yet, and I'm OK with that. I don't plan on sticking around for long enough to see the true cold set it. The average temperatures in Minneapolis for the month of December are 10 degrees at night and 34 during the day.

I think I experienced one day last week that was close to zero degrees. The previous night was around 10 degrees, which was plenty cold, but the day never warmed up. At around noon, it started snowing tiny, light, popcorn snowflakes as five teenagers, my co-instructor and I summited 1500 ft. Carlton Peak, the highest spot on the Superior Hiking Trail. The snow sputtered on and off, and we were working hard, so my body heat was enough to melt the flakes that landed and sat on my shoulders and hood. There was never a time when we couldn't see our breath. As the sun sank lower in the sky, the temperature dropped. The wet coating on my shoulders and hood turned to ice, and crunched and creaked as we continued on. The moisture from my breath had been condensing on my mustache, and this also turned to ice. A little later, the moisture inside my nostrils also condensed on the hairs there, and again, turned to ice. Spending the night in zero degrees was cold. I woke up several times because I was shivering, and my toes never actually became warm until I started hiking the next day. In the course of just 3 or 4 days, the lakes went from clear, reflective water to ice so thick I could jump on it and not make a crack. The snow that fell stayed exactly where it was for the next 3 days, still powdery and perfect anywhere that animals had not wandered through. Even the trees held the light dusting of snow for over 48 hours, sitting in stillness and frigid, dry air.

For some reason, this reminded me of Halloween night. I arrived in Chicago at 2 am via a craigslist ride from Sal, the Indian dental assistant. He dropped me off on a corner in Chinatown, a few blocks from a red-line station so that I could catch the el-train to my friend Cody's place. It was cold out, and the streetlights cast shadows on the dark sidewalk.

Waiting for me on that corner, a young latino guy with big, dark, glassy eyes and a thin, pale face asked me for some money to get home. He looked cold too, and the scent of booze was on his breath. He was wearing jeans and a worn-out black hoody. He was skinny and frail-looking. I guessed that he was around 19 years old. Instead of giving him money, I asked him where he was going and I offered him an apple. He refused the apple, and pointed in a direction, toward the train station. We were going the same way, so we walked together for a while, and he told me about his predicament. His brother had recently been in some kind of accident, and had died. He was very sad about this, so he drank so much that he ended up in the hospital. The hospital had kicked him out on the street at 2 am, or so he claimed, and he showed me his wristband with his name on it. It was not an unbelievable story.

When we arrived at the train station, he told me that he could get us tickets. I stood back and watched as he told his story to the attendant on duty, showed her his wristband, and then pulled out a cell phone lacking a battery, to show that he had no way of contacting anyone. She bought his story, or at least took pity on him, and let us both through the gates. I felt guilty about not paying the $2.25 fare which I certainly had in my pocket, but I also understood that for my new friend, this was a victory. He had exercised a skill, had achieved something for the both of us that night, and he was feeling a little better about himself because of it. I complimented him on his salesman skills. He got on the next train heading south without a goodbye, and I waited for the train heading north.

On the train, my attention was drawn by two very tall black women, one dressed as Bat-woman (with a large Batman symbol on her chest), and one dressed as a police officer. They both had fishnet stockings, short skirts and high heels on. My first thought is that they might be prostitutes, out at 2 am in fishnets and revealing outfits, but then I remembered that it was Halloween only 2 hours earlier. They were engaged in sporadic, slurred conversation with two young, well groomed black men on the other side of the aisle. I sat facing the four of them from about 12 feet away, a doorway between us. My eyelids were heavy, and I let them drop several times over the course of the ½ hour ride north through Chicago's downtown. At one point, I looked up and noticed the two young black men kissing each other. It made more sense now. I looked back at the two very tall black women with strong jaws, wearing wigs. One of them had the beginnings of a five o'clock shadow. I drifted off again with a smile, recognizing my own stereotypes and enjoying the fact that I was in a major metropolitan area, where these things happen with more regularity than in rural Minnesota. A few stops later, the four of them all departed the train together, smiling and laughing and stumbling and cuddling. Sometimes I forget the marvelous diversity that is to be found in the city. I wasn't cold anymore.

Another 3 weeks in the woods with troubled teens. A beautiful trip through untouched forests, across ice-encrusted rivers and over mini-mountains. Lake superior loomed in the distance, a vast magnet of deep, blue, beautiful reflections. That lake is what parched, on-the-verge-of-death desert crawlers dream of, even if they don't know it exists. Hiking for 8 days and seeing just ¼ of one of its shores is a magnificent way to get a sense of its glory.

As we wandered down the banks of the Poplar river, the snow that had fallen on its solid ice surface had somehow formed itself into little white spike-balls of snow crystals, each an inch in diameter, perfectly formed, glimmering in the sunlight like clusters of miniature white daggers alongside 10,000 others just like it. I failed to bring my camera on this trip. But I think sometimes the images in my mind are worth more than what I can capture with a digital sensor. We passed through some of the same camps that I had been to on the previous trek. 6 weeks later, it was a completely different season, and a completely different experience. I wish I could come back to every beautiful place at the height of each season, and experience them all in their seasonal glory.

Meanwhile, grumpy teens huffed and puffed their way up and down the trails in front of or behind me, groaning with each new hill, as I secretly said “yes!” to myself inside, relishing the chance to breath hard and feel my body work. We had a fire every night. I love a good campfire. It calms the nerves and soothes the soul, while warming the body and the stirring the coals that dwell within. We shared stories and gave advice and told jokes and ate dinner and embraced the night together around a fire.

11/28/11

There is something not entirely satisfying about writing for an audience. For years, I kept a “diary” on my computer, in which I said exactly as I had felt and done, regardless of how lewd, sexual or private those topics might be. I discussed my mistakes and regrets, what I was ashamed of and proud of. I had no problems expressing my disgust or contempt for certain people or events taking place on this planet. I have very little contempt for any person now, but still find myself moved to anger over certain acts of what appear to be wickedness toward people, animals or the earth at large.

Before I left on this bike trip, my previous computer was stolen. With it, my diary, which I had written in an average of once a month from age 16 up until I started writing in my blog regularly at age 28, has ceased to exist. 12 years of contemplation, reflection, journaling of activities and emotions. A good 75%+ of what I wrote about was love, or the complications thereof. I re-read the first 5-10 pages probably ten times over the years. Each time, it was fascinating to realize how my thought processes had grown and matured, but how my concerns remained very similar. Does she like me? Do I like her? Where is all of this going? When will we see each other next? Though I wrote plenty about my travels and jobs and school and friends in other platforms, my diary was reserved almost exclusively to my pursuit of love and lust. Most of the 200+ pages that were written have never been read, even by me. I wonder what I said?

Wall Street, Halloween & The Tractors of Destiny

11/1/11

We start this entry with a list of links:

http://www.rebuildthedream.com/move-your-money/

This first link is for ANYONE with an account at BANK OF AMERICA, CITIBANK, CHASE or WELLS FARGO. These are the biggest banks in America, the most irresponsible, the ones investing your dollars in things you don't believe in and have no control over. Move your money to a small, local bank if you can, or at least out of these 4 corrupt giants.

Secondly, a basic explanation of what Occupy Wall Street (OWS) is about:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xpROKraKJxk

Third, a succinct viewpoint on OWS from a pro-capitalism journalist:

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/16/opinion/sunday/kristof-americas-primal-scream.html?_r=2&src=tp&smid=fb-share

Fourth, an informative word-vomit on an issue a little further into the future (2012):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sbBmlHGgsgc

I feel as though the tractors of my destiny are finally starting to clear a path through the wilderness of options that I have had to contend with in this life. Some of the “why?” questions that have been floating around in my head for a long time have now found comfortable, feel-good answers, and have nested down in the trees of my brain-forest. I have found a motivation that I lacked for many years. I have started to eliminate some possible paths from my future, making the options which are left seem much closer and more attainable. I have begun to know my truth.  And this is the thing that I have been searching for.  A friend wrote me an e-mail recently, and included this quote:

"What I really lack is to be clear in my mind what I am to do, not what I am to know, except in so far as a certain knowledge must precede every action. The thing is to understand myself, to see what God really wishes me to do: the thing is to find a truth which is true for me, to find the idea for which I can live and die. ... I certainly do not deny that I still recognize an imperative of knowledge and that through it one can work upon men, but it must be taken up into my life, and that is what I now recognize as the most important thing."

—Søren Kierkegaard, Letter to Peter Wilhelm Lund dated August 31, 1835

As I wrote in a previous blog, my mission is now to improve the well-being of all humans into the future. “Oh, is that all?” a friend asked sarcastically. “Don't you think that's what everyone is trying to do?” And the truthful answer is no, I don't. I think most people are trying to improve their own lives, and the lives of those close to them, without hurting anyone else along the way. And some are trying to improve their lives and lives of those closest to them at any cost, regardless of the harm to others. And some are not really trying to do anything but make it from day-to-day without dieing of starvation, going crazy or getting behind on their rent. Most of us don't operate on an “everything is connected, all the time” wavelength, which, in combination with the mindful mission of creating a better existence for future humans, is the mindset change that I hope to spread.

     The other reason that my friend was sarcastic about my stated mission is that she thought it was a little broad in scope. But the deeper I dig into the problems that I want to help fix, the more I realize that the scope has to be huge, because the problems are all inter-connected, just like everything else. Focusing solely on one aspect of what is wrong necessarily means ignoring what it is connected to. Focusing on the symptoms of a sick society will help heal some problems, but will not prevent the society from continued illness. I want to focus on prevention. If you step back far enough, the haze of complex problematic interactions blurs together. What really needs to happen is a great wind to come and blow all the haze away, so that we can start with a fresh, new, sunny day.

Yesterday, for Halloween, I started driving my rental car from Greensboro, NC at 10 am and turned it in at Dayton, OH at 5:45 pm, where I had rented it 3 days earlier. I then boarded a city bus, which took me close to I-70, where I would wait to get picked up by Sal, whom I had met 4 days earlier in Chicago through Craigslist, and who was giving me a ride back to Chicago, where I am now.

     During the hour-long wait for Sal, I took advantage of an offer from Chipotle (a growing burrito chain, which claims to be making strong efforts to serve naturally raised foods), which said that anyone dressed like something from a family farm gets a burrito for $2. So I stopped into the Walmart in the same shopping center as a Chipotle close to I-70, bought a pitchfork and a straw hat, put on my plaid shirt, and crossed the parking lot to Chipotle. There I joined a line which included 2 cows, a pig, a cowgirl and what looked to me like a panda, but she claimed she was a dog. The manager at Chipotle was thrilled to give $2 burritos to anyone in costume.

     After obtaining my burrito, I crossed the parking lot back to Walmart and returned the pitch fork and hat I had bought 20 minutes earlier. Sal showed up shortly, and we made the 5 hour drive back to Chicago. I arrived at my friend Cody's apartment around 2 am. I was glad I got to dress up for Halloween. Haven't missed one yet! 

3 weeks in the woods

I have spent the last 3 weeks working for a Wilderness Therapy Program in Northern Minnesota.  Because I am not allowed to take identifiable pictures of the students, my photos have  been carefully selected and filtered.  I took over 300 photos during the 3 weeks, but am only sharing 50.  The only faces you will see are mine and those of my co-instructors, Frank and Danyelle.

10/15/11

I am back in it. The bicycle trip now feels like it is what I am supposed to be doing with my life, and this other stuff, this “work” stuff, is just a distraction. When every day is a discovery, a new horizon, a thousand unknown possibilities and unseen images from a world never before experienced, how do you leave that behind? How do you go back to what you were doing before? In my case, I had a good job with great people in interesting places, which would sound good to most people, I realize. But this journey is changing me. I no longer want a good job in an interesting place. I want the world to be different. I want everyone to enjoy what they are doing and where they are. I want to learn more and do more and see more and experience it all first-hand. In order to truly make my life as good as I know it can be, I need to help everyone else have a good life too. How can I be happy when others are suffering, starving, oppressed, living in fear and devastating poverty? How can I sit back and enjoy my cozy little lifestyle when I know that I have the capability to do so much more?

     There is very little from a sedentary lifestyle that I find myself in desire of. I miss my family. I miss many of my friends and co-workers, but also know that many of them are not tied to any one place, and certainly not all to the places that I've been calling “home” over the last several years. My community is the world.

Over the last couple of weeks, I have been in the woods with 2 co-instructors and a group of 8 teenage boys in the Minnesota Corrections system. 5 of the  boys were locked up for drug and alcohol related offenses, and 3 for other criminal acts. They come from various cities and counties of Minnesota, and share a few things in common. Most of them have had poor guidance, lack of guidance, or simply horrible guidance from their parents as to how to go about living in this world. Stories of physical and sexual abuse, drug use and law-breaking practices from a young age seem commonplace for these kids. A few of them simply don't know any other way to operate. One struggled particularly hard on an assignment to write about a positive role model that they knew personally, because he couldn't think of one. I felt needed by these kids. They have a hard time trusting anyone, but when I was speaking from the heart, they listened and thanked me for it. Most of them wear a shell of anger and defensiveness that goes up quickly at the first sign of disrespect. But at some point, all of them shared openly and honestly about their lives, their desires for the future, their knowledge of the need to change and find something better. I did my best to be a good listener and offer compassionate advice.

     

It seems strange to me to find myself in a place of work again after not working for a full 2.5 months. My bike trip was certainly not like any vacation that I've had before. It was plain hard work at times, but always with the most satisfying reward at the end of the day: a feeling of accomplishment. I have been thinking a lot lately about money, my relationship to it, and its effects on the world. Most of the time, I don't give it much thought at all, because I live a very inexpensive lifestyle, don't invest much, and have a chunk of cash sitting in an account that I've never let get too low. My only fixed expenses for the last several months have been a cell phone bill and my personal health insurance, both of which charge to my credit card automatically. When I'm working, I don't pay for food or lodging, and while on the bike, I paid only for food.

     I know that part of the money that I have sitting in a bank account is being used as leverage for loans to individuals and companies over which I have no control, and I'm not sure that's OK with me. My checking account earns 0.5% interest, which is much slower than the rate of inflation, so the buying power of the money that sits there actually shrinks with each passing day. The overwhelming flood of news stories about corruption in big banks makes me want to put my money somewhere else entirely.

     I have been thinking about trying to live without money for a year. Removing myself from a system of debt, labor and inequality which I would like to stop supporting. Is anyone interested in making a documentary about a guy trying to live a year in the USA without money? Instead, I would simply trade my labor and/or knowledge and skills directly for the resources that I need to survive. Or I would broker deals between people, work for one who then provided a service or good to another on my behalf. I think this would start people thinking about whether or not money actually does them any good. With the current state of the economy, money seems to be just as much of a headache as it is a convenience. If we had a form of currency which was not tied to a banking system of loans, debt and profits, but was purely a means of exchanging goods and services, things would be very different.

     I think that after this bike trip, I will finally be able to travel internationally on my own and be truly successful socially. I can no longer let fear isolate me from the conversations that I want to have, the people I want to hear, the knowledge that I want to obtain from someone, somewhere. I want to be more a part of the places that I go. Couchsurfing helps with this in a big way. I really enjoy meeting open-minded people who value the stories and opinions of others.

10/17/11

Yesterday, I got on the internet for the first time in over 2 weeks. Through a phone call from a friend, I learned that Steve Jobs died, and that a huge, worldwide protest had started over the lack of action taken against the irresponsible banks which are largely responsible for the current economic recession. We had an economic stimulus package of $700 billion given out mostly to large banks and corporations, and what are the results of this? Why should these irresponsible and corrupt banks be saved, only to turn around and continue giving huge bonuses to their top executives, while the rest of the country suffers? Finally, I see some frustration from other people. My own rants at corporate greed and collusion with politicians seemed so lonely and off in outer space until I learned that hundreds of thousands of people all over the world are feeling the same way, and now doing something about it.

     My immediate response to the “Occupy Wall Street” news was excitement, affirmation and curiosity. Who are the people who are protesting? How much conviction to they have to make real change? America has not seen any real, large scale protests for some time, but our situation is such that many people now have nothing to lose. Young people in college are going deep into debt to pay for their schooling, and unable to get jobs upon graduation. Unemployment remains in the double digits, with no signs of improvement. The volatile stock market, which is really only a useful tool to those to dedicate all of their time and energy to its mysterious workings, is still unpredictable at best, and unreliable for most.

     The America that I've grown up in expected me to go to college, get a job, invest my money into stable, continuously growing retirement accounts, get married, buy a house and a car, raise a family and 45 years later, retire a wealthy man. With my safely managed nest egg, I would take vacations at golf resorts with day spas, tropical island resorts, and deserts irrigated with water from far away places. The American Dream of the present, as pushed by corporate advertising, is one of materialism and disconnection. What used to be a land of opportunity, founded by great adventurers and pioneers (who undoubtedly displaced and massacred the millions of natives already living here, but I'm trying to be romantic right now) has turned into a land of corruption, confusion and escapism. What group of people in America is now truly happy and healthy? Are the “1%” who are now being picked on without hesitation, really living a healthy, satisfying life? Or are they too busy making sure that no one is stealing, shifting, downgrading, laundering or losing their money? Where is the happy middle-ground?

     The teenagers I am working with now are generally obsessed with material goods. Upon meeting them for the first time, I was in charge of helping them inventory their clothing and personal belongings that would be placed in storage for the duration of their wilderness experience. All of them not only knew, but were proud of the brands and labels of their clothing, taking special care to make sure that I noted which brands they were wearing before shoving these items into a suitcase or a garbage bag, and putting them in a basement for safekeeping. Many of them are here at least partially because of robbery charges. As one kid put it, “I'm not addicted to stealing, I'm addicted to the money that I get from stealing.” They have been convinced, so early in life, that the stuff they buy, that they desire for one reason or another, is important enough to break the law. In the wilderness, they are issued the same clothing as everyone else, which serves a functional purpose, rather than aesthetic. I am wearing largely the same clothing they are, which is all issued by the state of Minnesota, in drab and earthy colors. I feel that this has an immediate, positive impact on helping the students relate to their own identity regardless of their clothing, and instead based upon their personalities, actions and behaviors. It is disappointing to realize that many of them will be caught back up in the desire to purchase particular items simply because they feel these items add value to their image amongst their peers. This phenomenon is a product which is at least partially blamable on advertising, and an issue that I remember as a kid causing serious distress when one kid was deemed not to be wearing the socially appropriate brand or style of clothing. It was a serious emotional trauma to be made fun of for what you were wearing.

I have a good friend who is a clothing designer, and struggles with her role in the fashion industry. Like me, she sees clothing design as an art form, a method of individual expression, which in modern times, in metropolitan areas especially, can be seen on every street corner. Unique expression of identity, feelings and desire, worn on the outside, for others to be inspired. Unfortunately, the corporate agenda has turned the fashion industry into just that, an industry. Fashion is something marketed by skinny models on runways and in TV commercials, touted as being the desirable physical forms, and therefore, if you wear the same clothing, you will be more desirable. Because people have found a way to make lots of money from the fashion industry, it is now very difficult to be in the art of fashion without being swept away by the industry. My friend is disappointed that many of the job opportunities available to her involve much less creative freedom than she would like, and much more pleasing a corporate boss in order to make money. Sadly, I think many forms of art and design have headed in the same direction. It is very difficult for an individual artist to compete in a market so saturated with hyper-marketed products that have corporate advertising dollars behind them.